Page 72 of Gravity of Love
The interior was an explosion of wood and leather as well as cologne. There was a sharp, not unpleasant tang of cedar in the air, and on every surface, display cases glowed with cufflinks and pocket squares, or rows of glossy shoes lined up like soldiers. The left wall was lined with heavy wool jackets and tuxedos, arranged by color as if they were rare books. A long counter stretched across the back, cluttered with measuring tapes and swatches of fabric.
Behind the counter, a man in a crisp gray vest and checkered shirt was explaining the difference between a bowtie and an ascot to a teenage boy. He wore the name tag Gunnarson, couldn’t have been more than five feet tall, but held himself like he was built for battle. He was also almost perfectly square, with a shock of white-blond hair and a bristling ice-blond mustache. The accent that rolled off him was Scandinavian, but not specifically from one region, more like a cocktail of Swedish, Finnish, Norwegian, and maybe a hint of Minnesotan.
Gunnarson turned at the sound of the door. “Ah! Dr. Davies. You have come just in time, I just finished fitting your father, another doctor, so proud to run in the family, and am now working on the mayor and your brother, the lawyer.” He grinned, teeth perfectly even and bright, and slapped the counter with a meaty palm. “You like espresso? I make for you.”
Before Liam could respond, a chorus of laughter from the side room rose and fell in a wave of masculine chaos. He rounded the corner to find Henry Walker, the mayor, who he’d known from frequent visits to the hospital to visit Hope Falls residents, his dad, and Tristan. His father was the only person in his own clothes, the mayor, who typically dressed in jeans, cowboy boots, and a belt buckle the size of a small pancake, was in slacks with pins in them, and so was his brother.
The wedding was in two days’ time, Liam didn’t understand why they couldn’t just wear clothes that they already had. Especially considering Niko and AJ weren’t even in town until Saturday and were giving their measurements over the phone. But whatever Cora wanted, he would do.
Gunnarson shuffled over, moving with surprising quickness for someone built like SpongeBob SquarePants. He plucked a tape measure from behind his ear, and called out numbers in rapid staccato, “Shoulders, forty-two! Inseam, thirty-three! Mayor, you are shrinking again, I told you last year!”
After being shown into a fitting room by the teen boy who introduced himself as Drew, Liam began the fitting process, which was a marvel of efficiency and mild discomfort. The mayor was arguing with Gunnarson about the relative merits of French cuffs versus standard and whether or not his cowboy boots would be appropriate with his tux. His father was on his phone, not paying attention to anything going on around him, as per usual. His brother finished before the mayor or himself.Customers came in and out of the store, some were able to be assisted by Drew, while some required Gunnarson’s expertise.
Liam endured it all, arms outstretched, feet apart, while the shopkeeper muttered measurements and adjusted lapels with surgical precision. He felt the familiar ache in his left shoulder, a souvenir from his high school football days, but Gunnarson simply nodded at the slight asymmetry and made a note. There was something oddly comforting in the process: controlled, contained, and easy to understand.
Liam tried to keep his focus on the task at hand, but even there, in the supposed sanctuary of men’s formalwear, his mind drifted back to Frankie. He wondered if she’d ever had a reason to visit. If her grandfather had brought her there. If so, she’d love the place. She’d be best friends with Gunnarson in four seconds flat, try on every top hat, and probably have left with a stack of business cards and a six-month supply of those little lavender-scented garment sachets he’d seen on the counter. He grinned just imagining it.
“Where’s your brother?” his father asked when he came up for air from his screen.
The question immediately caused defensive walls to go up in Liam, like he was a child again. He’d always been responsible for Tristan, who was the most irresponsible person on the planet. And why wouldn’t he be? It’s not as if his brother faced any consequences for his actions. It was Liam who’d been held accountable, because he was the older, more mature one who ‘knew better.’
Refusing to let the past control him, Liam shook off the dark cloud of negativity. He reminded himself he was a grown man now. Whatever his dumbass brother did now was on him. It hadnothingto do with Liam. It didn’t affect him in any way.
“I don’t know.” Liam hadn’t even noticed he’d gone. He glanced out in front of the shop, thinking maybe he’d stepped out to get some fresh air. He didn’t see him.
He walked down the hallway past the fitting rooms, continuing through the stockroom and out the back door, following his brother’s voice.
When he stepped out of the back of the shop, he saw that his brother was on FaceTime, and the face was of a certain supermodel he’d promised he was no longer speaking to.
One week. He couldn’t go a week without lying to Frankie? Was it that hard to show her that minimum baseline of respect?
“Dad’s looking for you.” Liam spoke in a flat tone.
His brother clearly had no clue anyone was behind him because when he heard Liam’s voice, he dropped his phone and jumped about an inch off the ground. Tristan fumbled to try and catch his electronic cheating enabler before it hit the pavement. He managed, although barely, to save the device.
“Holy shit, bro, you scared the shit out of me.”
Liam stared at him long enough to let him know he knew what he’d been doing and who he’d been talking to. Then, without so much as a word, he turned and walked back inside.
This week couldn’t go by fast enough.
21
“What do you think?”
Frankie did a three-sixty in front of the mirror, her phone propped at the perfect but extremely unflattering chin angle on top of the bamboo laundry basket. The only redeeming grace was the flattering light of the guest room’s en-suite.
“I don’t know which Sterling brother you’re trying to assassinate with that look—,” Zion closed one eye as if he was looking through a sniper’s scope over FaceTime “—but target acquired. May the best man win, and to the other, RIP.”
“Shhh!” She grabbed her phone and quickly turned down the volume on the side. “I’m not trying to assassinate anyone. Yaya gave me this dress. It’s vintage.”
She balanced the phone again and ran her hands down the sides of her pinup-style dress. It was an emerald green, off-the-shoulder pencil dress with a sweetheart neckline that hugged her in all the right places. It gave her hourglass curves she never knew she had. When Yaya suggested she wear it, she thought there was no way she’d be able to, the fabric had no give, and it had a zipper all the way up the back. But as she slid it on her body, it was as if it had been tailor-made for her.
“Honey, that dress is even makingmefeel things. In fact, I need resuscitation, stat! Oh wait, isn’t the eldest Sterling a doctor? That could be fun. You two…playing doctor.” Zee wagged his brows.
She took one more look in the mirror and whispered, “I told you, he’s not a Sterling anymore, remember? He’s a Davies.”
“Oh right, I forgot. Your life has more plot twists than a Shonda Rhimes drama. It’s a lot to keep straight.”
