Jasmine Guillory - The Proposal

She still could not believe Carlos hadn’t told her that Alexa was black.

“That’s so interesting that your friend is a stylist. I hadn’t really realized there were stylists outside of the celebrity centers of New York and L.A. But of course there are plenty of people who live elsewhere who need to get dressed, too. I guess I’m so stuck in this world I’ve gotten myopic about it.”

Carlos tapped her on the hand that was just reaching for her wine.

“Excuse me. I hate to interrupt. But what the hell is a stylist?”

The rest of the table burst out laughing, even Drew. Carlos immediately turned on him.

“Oh, so this is something you know? You leave L.A. and now you’re an expert?”

Nik was still laughing, more at the look on his face than anything else.

“I don’t know why Drew knows it, but honestly, this isn’t the kind of thing most people know unless you pay a lot of attention to celebrities, which, for good or bad, I do. A stylist is basically someone to help you get dressed, which sounds stupid, but for celebrities, it’s totally necessary. And honestly, whenever I talk to one, I wish I had one myself.”

Alexa nodded.

“Yeah, that’s exactly what Maddie does. She has some local minor celebrities in her client list, but more of her clients are just really busy women who have to look polished, but don’t have the time or inclination to figure out how to do it themselves. Using people like her has become more common, especially for women who aren’t sample size, whether they’re petite or plus-size or tall or anything else where shopping for clothes is a lot more of a pain. I’m just grateful she’s my best friend and she helps me for free. I wouldn’t be able to afford her on my salary. And I’ll tell you how Drew knows what a stylist is—because Maddie told him he was no longer allowed to go out in public with me if he kept wearing those busted old canvas sneakers he loved so much, that’s how.”

Carlos’s laugh boomed across the restaurant.

“You mean someone actually managed to get him to get rid of those things? I’d been trying for years! I’m convinced of the utility of stylists now—no need to say anything else.”

While they were still waiting for their food, Nik got up to go to the bathroom and Alexa joined her. When they were washing their hands afterward, Nik looked at Alexa in the mirror, and the two glasses of sparkling wine on an almost empty stomach eliminated her filter.

“Okay, I just have to say. Carlos did not tell me that you were black.”

Alexa dropped her hands on the counter.

“Neither of them told me you were black! What is wrong with them? I know Drew saw you on that video, so he definitely knew. I never saw it, though—I don’t pay attention when he’s watching most things on ESPN, except when Serena is playing. When you sat down, I almost killed them both.”

Nik handed her a paper towel.

“I thought you looked surprised when I sat down.”

Someone else walked into the bathroom, and Alexa lowered her voice.

“Pleasantly surprised, obviously, but I mean come on.” She held open the door for Nik on the way out of the bathroom. “But hey, Carlos is great, so now I’m even happier for him.”

Nik decided to ignore that comment. She knew that she and Carlos were on the same page, and if his friends wanted to do some kind of “we want everyone to find the happiness that we’ve found!!!” thing that newly engaged couples did, he would have to be the one to burst their bubble, not her.

After dinner, dessert, and a few after-dinner drinks, the four of them hugged good-bye.

“Well, that was a lot better than I thought it would be,” Nik said when she got into Carlos’s car.

Oops. She hadn’t meant to say that out loud.

“What do you mean? You didn’t think you were going to like my friends?”

She dodged that question.

“You didn’t tell me Alexa is black!”

He froze, halfway through backing out of his parking spot.

“Seriously? I didn’t?” He laughed. “I was just going to say that I’m sure I told you that, but then, I’m sure that’s the kind of thing you’d remember.”

She looked at him sideways, her eyebrows sky-high.

“You’re absolutely right; I would have.”

He shook his head as he drove the short distance to her apartment.

“I can’t believe that. I’m sorry.” He put his hand on her knee and smiled at her. “I guess I’m going to have to find a way to make that up to you, aren’t I?”

She smiled back at him.

“Well, I did have plenty of rosé this evening.”

Chapter Fifteen

. . . . . . .

Wednesday night after work, Carlos drove straight to Angela’s apartment. The last time he was there he’d noticed that her cheap IKEA bookshelf was falling apart, so he’d bought her a new good one. He called when he was outside of her house.

“Hey!” she said when she answered the phone. “Did those million messages in the family group text drive you as crazy as it did me?”

He laughed and got out of the car.

“Oh my God, Angie—I checked my phone after a few hours of seeing patients and panicked because I had thirty-five new messages, but they were just Mom, Tia Eva, and Jessie all talking about Popsicles? What was even happening there?”

Angela sighed.

“I know! I’m sure Jessie’s going stir-crazy, but that made even me want to yell at her.”

Carlos popped open his trunk.

“Please tell her not to do that again. I know you’ll get mad at me if I say it. But also, come open the door. I’m here.”

He hung up the phone and lifted the box with her new bookshelf in it out of his trunk. He was at the front door of her building just as she opened it.

“What are you doing here? You didn’t tell me you were coming over tonight.”

He walked past her to the elevator.

“Do you have a hot date? I hope so.”

She rolled her eyes as they got in the elevator.

“No, but good try. Just making dinner and getting some work done tonight. What’s in that box?”

He followed her out of the elevator to her apartment.

“A new bookshelf. That old one of yours has got to go, and I knew if you bought yourself one you’d just make me put it together anyway, so I figured I’d do it on my own schedule.”

“You bought me a bookshelf?” She opened the door for him. The smell of garlic wafted toward him. “And you’re putting it together for me tonight? What did I do to deserve this?”

He set the box down on her living room floor and pulled it open.

“Probably very little. Where’s that toolbox I bought you?”

She went to her hall closet and took the toolbox off of a shelf there. When he opened it, he was thrilled to see that things were all in the wrong places. She must have actually used it since the last time he was here.

“Do you want a beer? I have wine, but you always get all fussy about my wine, so I’m not even going to offer it to you this time.”

He definitely couldn’t have rosé around his sister.

“Yes, please.” He slid all of the shelves out of the box and glanced at the instruction manual. This shouldn’t take too long.

“Here.” She handed him a beer and looked over the pile of wood and wood-like materials on her living room floor. “This looks like it’ll be bigger and less flimsy than the one I had. Thanks, Carlos.”

“No problem.” He opened the little bag of screws and reached for a screwdriver. He should have bought Angie an electric screwdriver along with this tool kit. Oh well, now he knew what he’d get her for Christmas. “Are you still in the middle of cooking, or can you hang out and talk to me while I do this?”