“I did stop by on my lunch break today to make sure Roo was okay,” he said.
“Roo?”
“The dog I saved last night.”
He took his lunch break to check on someone else’s dog? Swoon again.
“How is she?” I pushed my glasses up my nose.
“She’s good. Appreciated the bone I brought her.”
Of course he also brought the dog a present.
A jangle from the back of the shop caught my attention, and Mitchell, the tailor, came bustling into the room. “Dr. Knightley, I do declare! Why don’t ya introduce me to your Mr. Darcy?”
Mitchell was about five foot five inches tall, slim and fit, and dressed to the nines. He was in his mid-forties, but looked twenty-five, and he was the most adorable gay guy you’d ever see. He was witty, and smart, and so fun to hang out with. I had adored him from the moment I’d met him. I hoped Jeremy would like him too.
Mitchell owned his own fabric store and tailoring business. He’d been born and raised in Milwaukee, but he insisted upon speaking with a slow, gentlemanly Southern accent that sounded as if he was perpetually sitting on a wraparound porch, fanning himself and drinking a mint julep. I thought the accent was cute. Harrison hated it.
“Hi, Mitchell. This is Jeremy Remington. Jeremy, this is Mitchell Hanson. He’s a genius at inventing men’s clothing. Especially vintage stuff.”
Mitchell curtsied. “How do you do?” he said in his faux Southern drawl, eyeing Jeremy up and down with unabashed interest.
Jeremy bowed, which was so endearing I couldn’t stand it. “Mr. Hanson,” he said in a formal tone. “A pleasure.”
I had to look away and pretend I was staring at something across the shop, my fist covering my lips.
Mitchell raised his brows and looked at me. “Ooh, gorgeous and polite. I think we have a winner here, Miss Meggie. Not to mention he looks exactly like Darcy. Be still my heart.”
Oh, great. Now Mitchell was in love with him too. Just like the waitress. I couldn’t take this man anywhere without him stealing hearts. I tugged on the lapels of my navy blue blazer, determined to be business-like today after blurting out far too much last night about Lacey Lewis and half-ass diets. “I’ve already told Mitchell everything we need for you, Jeremy. We just have to pick out fabrics that, er, complement your coloring.”
Suddenly it felt very intimate to be discussing Jeremy’s coloring. I was trying to recover from the blush heating my cheeks when Mitchell leaned over and, in a stage-whisper, said, “You told me he was handsome, sister, but you didn’t say he was this handsome.”
Before I could scowl at him, a small white dog came trotting out from behind the counter. The Maltese sidled up to Mitchell’s leg and he scooped her up in one arm, petting her back.
“Who’s that?” Jeremy asked, pointing to the dog.
“This is my bebe, Ms. Julia Sugarbaker.”
“Oh, like from that TV show, Designing Women?” Jeremy asked.
“Exactly like that,” Mitchell replied, his eyes widening with obvious respect.
I, too, was impressed. There weren’t many straight men of my acquaintance who knew who Julia Sugarbaker was.
“My mom loved that show,” Jeremy said, as if he could sense we were waiting for an explanation. “I see your Ms. Julia wears a scarf, too,” Jeremy pointed out.
It was true. Just like her namesake often did in the show, Ms. Julia wore a tiny but fabulous scarf around her neck that Mitchell, of course, had sewn for her to fit perfectly. At the moment, however, I was less concerned with Ms. Julia’s scarf and more concerned with the fact that Mitchell had just embarrassed the everlasting crap out of me in front of Jeremy. I had told him that Jeremy was handsome. Handsome and taller than Harrison. Mitchell knew Harrison. He had made his clothing too, clothing that I wished I had not helped design, because now Mitchell had to make an entirely new wardrobe that would not only rival Harrison’s, but would beat it. And while he’d had months to create Harrison’s looks, he only had two weeks to create Jeremy’s.
“I’ll be back in a moment, y’all,” Mitchell tossed over his shoulder. That was one of Mitchell’s quirks. He took breaks whenever he felt like it. “Ms. Julia needs her anti-anxiety meds.” He headed behind the counter and toward the back room with his dog in his arms. “Don’t worry,” he added in a singsong voice as he went, “now that I’ve seen him, I have some excellent ideas.”
Mitchell disappeared and I was left to stand awkwardly next to Jeremy in the wake of the handsome remark.
He wasted no time. “So, you think I’m handsome?”
I stuck my nose in the air. “Don’t be conceited.”
“Who’s conceited? Mitchell said you said it.”
“It’s unsporting of you to point it out.”
Still smiling, Jeremy folded his arms behind his back and strolled behind the counter, where he picked up a top hat and lowered it onto his head. He jauntily cocked it to the side with the flick of one finger. “Do I look like Beau Brummel?”
Did he Google that too? But it made me laugh. “Not yet. You need a cravat. You shouldn’t be back there, you know.” I nodded toward the counter.
“Who’s gonna tell on me?” he replied, a challenging sparkle in his eye.
I shook my head and rolled my eyes.
“You never skipped school, did you?” He leaned his elbows on the counter and contemplated me.
I was a nerd. Of course I never skipped school. “How did you know?”
“You’re not the only one who can judge a book by its cover.”
I paused in my study of a bolt of emerald satin. “What?” I spun around to face him and narrowed my eyes on him. “Really?”
“That’s right. I can read you like a book.” He pushed the top hat down farther on his head.
“Oh, really?” I went back to studying the satin, but I was barely paying attention to it. Instead I was trying to sound nonchalant when I was actually slightly panicked. I wasn’t at all sure I wanted to hear what his interpretation of me was. But I couldn’t tell him not to say it. Not after I’d analyzed him last night. Turnabout was fair play, after all.
“Yep, do you want to know what else I can tell?” Jeremy asked.
“Okay,” I offered, wincing and mentally steeling myself for it.
He took a deep breath before launching into it. “You probably have a bunch of anti-bacterial hand sanitizer in your purse, you always take the truth and never the dare, and you’ve never called in sick to spend the day rolling around in bed with a man.”
Wow. It felt like the wind had been knocked from my body. He could tell all that from looking at me? It was the glasses. And the sensible shoes, no doubt. I pretended to be studying more fabric, but all I could think about was what sort of witty comeback I could possibly invent. I took a deep breath and shook my hair over my shoulders. “First of all, anti-bacterial hand sanitizer has probably saved my life more than once, and it’s hardly my fault if they sell them in convenient little sets.”
“Holy shit.” His eyes widened. “You really do, don’t you?”
“So what?” I put a hand on my hip, trying, and failing, at not sounding defensive.