“This T-shirt isn’t going to work.” I tug at the high neckline, aiming for practical and landing somewhere between breathless and bizarre. “Can’t see the chains properly.” “No?” His thumb traces one of the chains. The studio suddenly feels about as spacious as a broom closet. “I have something better. For the necklace.” Oh good, I’ve forgotten how sentences work. “Different neckline. To show it off.” Words. I used to be good at those. His lips curve. “By all means. I’d hate to miss any of the . . . details.”
