Page 26 of Partnering with the Artist

Go usfor sure.

?

Fabric as far as the eye can see. Rows and rows of bolts. Silk, and satin, and lace, and chiffon, and rayon, and muslin, and—

I forget how to breathe.

And also how to walk.

“Careful, princess,” Zakery murmurs, catching my arm to save me from careening face-first into the wall of rainbow ribbons dead ahead. “There’s a step there.” Holding back a laugh, he nods at the very obvious yellow-painted ledge.

“Oops.” I regain my footing, step tentatively down. “That there is.”

His chest shakes as he releases me. “I’m getting stood up again. This time forfabric.”

Well, it’s not my fault he keeps serving me my favorite things on a silver platter. I have no restraint around fresh, new fabric. Miles and miles of options. Hundreds upon thousands of laces and trims an—

He catches my shoulder and firmly adjusts my direction before I have a chance to collide with a metal part of a display. As I stumble away from danger, my daze breaks, and I find myself with his strong hand planted against my back. Looking down into my eyes, he struggles to contain himself. “You are—” His whole being vibrates. “—so badat walking.”

My cheeks heat.

He does not understand.

I have been making clothes out of pillowcases and sheets and thrift store finds for most of my life. This—this—is luxury. I’mdistracted. Because I’m anormal person.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he says, freeing me from the safety of his arms. “It’s not an insult.”

“How is it not an insult to suggest that even toddlers are better at walking than I am?”

His mouth opens, then his attention drifts.

“Well?” I fold my arms.

“I’m trying to recall where I suggested such a thing.”

“You were definitely thinking it.”

“I was thinking, exactly:she’s like a baby giraffe, assuming baby giraffes are like baby deer; are baby giraffes like baby deer? When can baby giraffes start walking? I need to look this up.”

We spend the next moment blinking at one another, then the following moments researching baby giraffes on our phones—purely to gauge my offense, of course.

The results leave Zakery clinging to a shelf, bent over to avoid the eyes of workers, and battling to speak. “You’re worse,” he sputters between chuckles. “Worse than a baby giraffe.”

“It’s not my fault baby giraffes can run ten hours after being born! You could have let this be a compliment! ‘Oh, Mae, you’re so elegant and skilled at walking, just like a baby giraffe.’ Butno.”

“I have no intention of ever calling youMae. That is a grandmother’s name.”

My mouthdrops. “How could you say such a thing to me?”

He snorts and covers his mouth. There are tears in his eyes. “A thousand—nay—a million pardons, my goddess. Your humble servant presses the limits of your benevolent humor. Forgive him.”

Jutting my lip, I say, “I’ll think about it. But don’t get your hopes up.”

This is the most fun I’ve had in years, and I haven’t even been able to start shopping for fabric yet.

“So,” he hedges once he’s managed several deep breaths and contained himself, “what are you thinking for your gown? Green,to match your eyes?”

I shake my head. “Pink.”

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