Page 47 of Make The Cut

“Naoya, why do you need a passcode just to get into your bedroom?” A hint of anxiety creeps into her tone.

“It’s a very exclusive place. You should be honoured that you’re allowed to see it at all.” I punch the code in—my mom’s birthday—and open the door. “Voila.”

Chapter Twenty-Three: Poppy Black

The door swings open and I gasp, nearly stumbling back into Naoya’s chest. Hisnakedchest. I try to ignore the warmth of his body encircling me as I step into his room.

It’s always interesting to see how other people decorate their rooms. Not merely because it’s the place where they have sole discretion to decorate, but because it’s a reflection of what they love. I want to know what he surrounds himself with. What he sees all the time. What he puts up in his room; what he always wants to think about; what he loves to look at.

For me, it’s clothes, which take over my entire bedroom, spilling out of my closet and onto various racks and out of dresser drawers. For him? Music, of course. A few guitars are displayed on their stands next to an electronic keyboard. Music posters, including one of his very first concerts, are tucked up on a bulletin board. He has sheet music strewn over one table and a notebook with half-written lyrics on the desk, which he quickly closes. The walls are a surprisingly bright shade of pinkish-orange, almost coral, but more vibrant. Yet it’s muted enough that just seeing the colour doesn’t immediately give me a migraine.

An enormous, round bed sits in the middle of the room, like an island floating in a sea of plush carpeting. Next to it is a minimalist white nightstand holding a biography of Beethoven and one of theBridgertonnovels that I lent him. The other nightstand is bare.

“Where’s your closet?” I ask.

He guides me toward a dressing room. It’s exactly how I always imagined a celebrity’s closet would be: as large as my first apartment, with beautiful displays for shoes and belts, neat shelves of sweaters and t-shirts and jeans, which are folded in tidy stacks. “This reminds me of when we first met.”

I turn to him, surprised. “When you first developed your hatred of cats?”

“Nah, I always hated those evil monsters.” Naoya quirks a grin. “We met in a closet, remember?”

“You were wearing more clothes that day,” I note, trying to remember to breathe as he closes the closet door.

“I’m beginning to think you have a weird obsession with what I’m wearing.”

“That’s my job.” I pull out a t-shirt from a stack and watch in horror as the items above it tumble to the ground, nearly smacking me in the face. Underneath the piles of clothes is a small box, which falls to the ground along with his jeans and t-shirts. “What’s that?”

“Aren’t you going to apologize for rummaging through my stuff?” His expectant tone suggests he doesn’t care as much as he claims to.

“No, that’s my job.” I struggle to remember why we’re in this closet when he’s half a foot away from me, bending down to help me pick up the dropped jeans, t-shirts, and box. “What’s in the box?”

He flips it open for me. Aringsparkles up at me.

“Who’s that for?” I should stop asking questions I don’t want to be answered, but the way his dark eyes bore into mine is making me think I could ask him any question I wanted and get away with it.

“It’s my mom’s. She asked me to keep it safe for her.” He shrugs.

I’ve met his mom once or twice before, but it’s always been brief visits. I doubt she even remembers or knows who I am.

I study the ring: a tiny diamond on a gold band, simple but elegant. “It’s so pretty.”

“Yeah.” Something shifts in his tone, going from nonchalant to serious.

“But you’re never having a wedding, right?” I don’t know why the words fall out of my mouth. I’ve said at least half a dozen stupid things to him throughout our friendship, and just as many emotionally charged or too-heavy things.

So why does it feel like this one is so much weightier? I guess I always knew in my mind that Naoya Sugawa would be a player for life if past action is anything to go by, but… Hearing him say it drove a nail in a coffin I didn’t know I was holding open, peeking into it to see if the corpse was dead.

Now I guess it is. Along with any ideas I had about any woman tying Naoya Sugawa down.

“That’s what I meant to say to my dad,” he says. “I don’t know if I’d ever get married. Maybe… Maybe if I was a different person…”

A different person? I frown. What does he mean by that?

And why is it any of my business if he wants to get married? He’s my friend. He’s my boss.Idon’t want to get married. Not if it means sacrificing everything I’ve worked so hard for to live in a tiny town in the middle of nowhere where the most exciting thing to happen every year is the local corn festival. Okay, maybe I’m exaggerating a little, but still.

“Well, let’s just find you something to wear and then we can move on.” The toe of my shoe brushes the Kitson bags on the floor. “Why don’t we start with this?”

Half an hour later, I’ve picked out his outfit for tonight’s award show and he’s standing in front of a full-length mirror, frowning. “It needs… something.”

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