Page 6 of Worth the Risk

In response, she moans as I slide the ice lower.

2

PIPER

3 WEEKS LATER

My grandmother hands me the television remote control to set on the coffee table. We just spent an hour watching her favorite soap and sipping our martinis in her living room.

“You know, I haven’t watched this in years and yet the same actors are still on there,” I remark as I hold my near-empty glass out to the side.

My grandmother plays with her pearl necklace. “It’s strangely comforting that I age with some of those characters. Anyways, what else is this old bat going to do?”

I chuckle at her thought. “What don’t you do? Symphony, tea with the ladies from your book club, giving the doorman an earful. And you’re not old. You haven’t hit eighty yet, you have a few more years, and besides, eighty is the new seventy. You’re hardly a dinosaur,” I assure her.

“Piper, I would prefer you tell me that I’m a frail old lady who needs to see her only granddaughter married one day soon.” She gives me a stern eye that only makes me smile more.

“I came here to spend quality time with you, my favorite senior citizen, and this is what I get?” I pretend to be offended.

She drinks every last drop of her drink before placing the glass on the side table which probably cost half my rent.

I can’t help but glance into my near-empty glass. The last time I had one of these was a few weeks ago on that night that will go down in my life’s history book as unforgettable and one of a kind.

Wild, magnetic, and I felt free.

I’ve never just hooked up with someone. For the first time in a long time, I felt an opportunity where I felt comfortable and grabbed it before I lost the chance.

I have zero regrets… okay, maybe one. But I don’t think too long about that.

“At least tell me that you’re having fun. A woman with your looks who is as successful as you shouldn’t be spending nights alone.” My face must look astonished that she’s prying into my sex life, but dear old grandmama has always been bold. “Oh please, you think your grandfather—God rest his soul—was my first? Besides, I’ve seen your designs, and you must get your inspiration from somewhere.”

“This conversation is not happening,” I lament.

“Oh, dear, don’t even try to hide the facts. You look like a woman who has seen more action than a Vegas showgirl.”

There must be a giddy look on my face. It’s because of Hudson and the moments from that night that have raced in and out of my head for the last few weeks. He had a command on me that I desire, and experience that I crave. Most of all, he could make me smile with our weird brand of humor.

Now I tip the glass to my lips and make it as dry as the Arizona desert. “It doesn’t matter. There is nobody to bring to Friday-night dinner. I’m too busy for a relationship anyway.”

“Piper, you’re never too busy to find a husband or wife, whatever you fancy. And I mean someone who is arealcontender and worthy of you.” Her pointed look is the reminder of why I am perhaps hesitant, but she won’t let me dwell over her reference for long, and I too move past it.

I sigh and put down my glass. “I literally thought ‘oh, I could surprise my grandmother on this cloudy day with some cake and watch some soaps with her since I’ve worked hard all morning.’ I’m very much regretting my choice.”

She folds her hands together and places them on her lap, straightening her posture with a smirk on her face. “You’re right, dear. Tell me, how are your designs? Did you try the new supplier yet?”

I purse my lips, because as much as everything is going well business-wise, it’s a lot of to-do lists. “I think it’s going to work. I need to see how the fabric stretches over the wiring of the bra of the new bodysuits, but the short loungewear jumpsuits with lace are selling like hot cakes.”

My grandmother looks at me fondly. “I always knew you would carry on the tradition.”

Now that is praise I can appreciate. Going back generations, my family came to the US from Europe. My great-grandfather was a tailor, my grandmother a seamstress turned corporate dressmaker, and she made a lot of money too. My mother skipped the tradition altogether, and well, me? I’m making my own path. I don’t even use my grandmother’s name, even though it would have given me an extra boost. Instead, I’m stuck with my father’s last name. I’m Piper Dapper—it has a melody and makes me crazy at the same time.

I admire my grandmother; I grew up watching her pick beautiful fabrics while someone with a notebook would follow her around taking instruction. It rubbed off on me, and somewhere in college, I started designing comfortable pajamas with cute prints and the epitome of loungewear, but then… I started a special line of lingerie. My parents nearly spit out their wine at that family dinner when I told everyone, while my grandmother just clapped her hands together in celebration.

“I might need your help. I promised April I would design her wedding dress. She wants simple but elegant.”

April is my best friend whom I met two years ago. April works in accounting, hates it, and is way too bubbly to be sitting behind a desk. We met in a jewelry-making workshop, and both realized we had no talent for bracelets, so instead, skipped the class and went for coffee instead. Over cupcakes and lattes, our friendship was solidified.

“She’s engaged?”

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