Page 62 of The Boyfriend Material Novellas

My dreams.

And I might even know what I want to do.

Someday I want a shop that becomes one of many. I plan to open a boutique that women flock to and love, and then I’ll open more.

But first I need to start with a basic J-O-B.

I’m offered jobs at banks and accounting firms.

But I turn them down.

Because I can’t stop thinking about something I said in Paris.

I’d probably do something where I could talk to people. Maybe work in a shop.

I’m still drawn to that.

When I’m offered an entry-level job at a lingerie shop with the potential to move up, I jump on it.

It might not sound like a sexy offer for a business school grad, but it works for me. It’s a chance to learn the ropes.

And I’m determined to find my way.

I do that every day for the next year, figuring out how to run a business, understanding what it entails, and helping customers every day.

A woman named Olivia comes to the shop once a month or more, and we chat about travel, life, and lingerie.

“My fiancée has a thing for lingerie,” she tells me in a whisper on one of her visits. “But then, so do I.”

“Sounds perfect that you both love it,” I say, then I show her some of our new styles, and she oohs and ahhs.

As I ring her up, we chat more, and she asks me if I plan on going back to Paris anytime. I sigh, a little wistfully. “I hope so. I’d love too. I spent the most wonderful day there.”

She studies my face for a few seconds. “Did you fall for someone in Paris once upon a time?”

I startle, surprised. Am I that easy to read? Maybe I am. “Something like that.”

“Then I hope you find your something like that again,” she says, and as she turns to leave, she offers a smile and says, “Maybe you’ll find him again.”

“Maybe I will,” I say but I’m not sure I believe that.

So I focus on other matters.

The store, my skills, my work.

I become friendly with my boss, even more so when she falls in love with her best friend, and it’s reminiscent of how I felt in Paris. Fine, she’s known this guy for ten years and I knew Reid for five hours, but those five hours marked me.

They marked my heart, and I kept them close.

The memories are as sharp as they’ve ever been.

I’m not a nun. I haven’t held out for him, because that would make me foolish. But I haven’t met anyone who makes my heart trip like that man did.

Which feels infinitely silly when I let myself break it down like it’s a business problem. It seems like math ought to defy the probability of that happening.

But nothing about that day seemed like math.

And it has stayed with me.

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