Page 34 of Butterfly Sisters
“He did. But Smash owns his own construction company now and he gave it a facelift.” He walked her up the wide steps to the porch and let her in through the front door.
Rugged hardwoods stretched out through the open-concept space to the kitchen, where she was met with stainless-steel appliances and lustrous drop-lighting that illuminated the bright white-and-gray marbled quartz counters. A leather sofa sat at the other end, flanked by two trendy recliners, all facing an enormous stone fireplace and a flat-screen TV.
“This is incredible,” she said.
“I’m glad you like it.”
Elvis sauntered over to his bowl and began munching on kibble.
All of a sudden, Colton’s cell phone rang in his pocket. With an apologetic glance, he took it out and peered down at the caller, his kind look fading. His eyes narrowed at the screen, and he dismissed the call, slipping it back into his pocket.
“Everything okay?” she asked.
He took in a deep breath as if inhaling the sight of her, and a genuine smile returned. “Yes,” he said. “All fine.” He waved a hand in the air. “Have a look around. Elvis—”
Elvis stopped eating and looked up.
“Keep an eye on this one, okay?” Colton threw a thumb over to Leigh, and the dog peered up at her. With a grin, he said, “Be right back in a dry pair of jeans.”
Leigh went over to the living-room area, lowering herself on the sofa. A sophisticated coffee table with thin iron legs and a high-gloss wooden top held a stack of men’s fashion magazines and a tobacco-scented candle. She flipped through one of the magazines, stopping on the brand name she’d seen on Colton’s T-shirt: “Down South” in curly script with the word “Athletics” in boxy print underneath. She ogled at the price, her mouth falling open. All those years he’d teased her about her “uppity lifestyle” and there he was, in his massive house with his tobacco candle, wearing $250 T-shirts? He probably only drove that truck for show and had a stash of sports cars hidden in that garage of his.
“All dry,” he said, coming back into the room with a new pair of jeans on. He noticed the magazine open on the table and came over to her. “Ah, I see you’ve found some light reading.”
“Yes.” She tapped the T-shirt. “Investing in high-end clothing lines?”
He gave her a questioning look.
“You’re wearing one of these shirts.”
“Ah, yes. Guilty,” he said, holding up his hands.
“Wasn’t it you who claimed that because I chose to wear high-end clothing my priorities werea little different?”
“Not because you chose to wear it, but because you chose to spend so much of your money on it.”
“You’re one to talk! Look at you—” She jabbed a finger at the logo on his chest. “Wasn’t the one you had on at the party also that brand? You’ve got a stockpile of two-hundred-fifty-dollar T-shirts. How is that any different?”
Elvis perked up, walking over to them. He sat down next to Colton as if taking his side.
“I didn’t pay two hundred fifty dollars for them. I got mine for twelve dollars.”
She crossed her arms, skeptical. “How?”
“Because I bought them at cost.”
“So do you spend late nights finding online clothing discounters?”
He laughed. “Definitely not.” He reached down and picked up the magazine, flipping to an article and holding it out to her. As she honed in on the glossy headshot of him, he said, “I own Down South Athletics.”
“You started your own clothing brand?” She looked up from the magazine, stunned.
He shrugged. “I had all this cotton and nothing to do with it…”
Leigh clapped a hand over her mouth. He’d completely surprised her. She took the magazine from his hands, seeing the brand with new eyes. The color scheme was traditional southern: barn red, John Deere green, white, khaki, washed-out denim blue… The script was reminiscent of the old Coke signs, and the style was simple.Genius.“You designed all these?”
“Mm-hm.”
“I never knew you were artistic.”
