Chronicles of a Lincoln Park Fashionista by Aven Ellis Page B

bonus point for that, but for the time being I want you to take off your sunglasses. I can’t shoot you indoors with them on. It’ll look stupid.”
    I wince. “I really don’t want to.”
    “Why not? What are you hiding behind those ridiculous glasses?”
    “They’re not ridiculous. These are Jackie O inspired sunglasses,” I snap, irritated. “And she is a timeless fashion icon .”
    To my amazement, Deke bursts out laughing. A deep from within laugh, one that fills my tiny living room and wraps around me. One I’ve never heard before but already know I want to hear again.
    And despite my irritation with him, my heart flutters in response.
    “Sorry, Fashionista . I stand corrected about your icon-inspired glasses,” he says, grinning at me. “But come on, Avery, off with the glasses. I’m not doing anything until I see your eyes.”
    I know I’m defeated. I sigh heavily and slowly remove my sunglasses. Deke’s eyes widen in response.
    “What happened to you?”
    “I had a sorry wax technician this morning, and she’s left me completely disfigured,” I declare.
    He straightens up, his eyes shining brightly. “No. you’re not disfigured. Just seriously burned.” Then he rubs his hand along his jaw and studies me for a moment. “And despite the fact that shooting you parading around your apartment in oversized sunglasses is priceless footage, I’ll offer to postpone shooting until next weekend as a gesture of goodwill.”
    I breathe a sigh of relief. “Thank you,” I say quietly. “I really didn’t want to be on camera like this. I owe you one.”
    “You don’t owe me anything,” Deke says. Then he smiles at me, a really warm smile. One that makes his eyes crinkle up in the corners as he does.
    Suddenly I notice how his eyes are the color of the Caribbean Sea, a really vivid blue-green. And I’ve never seen a smile as beautiful as the one Deke is showering me with at this moment. That warm, wonderful, radiating feeling floats up my spine again—the feeling that I only get when I look at Deke—and I realize I don’t want him to leave.
    “So what are you going to do with the rest of your day?” I ask, honestly wanting to know.
    Suddenly the smile fades from his face.
    “Avery,” he says gently, “I’m not here, remember? You don’t need to know anything about me. This is all about you.”
    I’m stung by his answer. And his answer is not acceptable to me. Not anymore.
    “If this is reality TV, then you are here. You do exist,” I say strongly, keeping my eyes on his. “I’ve invited you into my home, let you into my life, yet I know nothing about you. But this is my reality, and I insist on knowing more about you.”
    “It’s not like that. I can’t be involved in your life.”
    “Bullshit. You got involved the second you commented on my spa basket idea the other day.”
    I watch as a stunned expression passes over Deke’s face. And he can’t say anything because he knows I’m right.
    “Why do you care who I am?” he asks, sounding completely surprised. “I’m just the videographer.”
    I put on my Jackie O sunglasses and stride past Deke to the door. I turn around and stare at him.
    “I care because I’m not a thoughtless, stupid little fashionista,” I say quietly. “And I normally wouldn’t invite a complete stranger to invade my personal life. The least you can do, Deke Ryan, is to let me get to know you better over a cup of coffee this afternoon.”
    I dramatically open the door. I take a deep breath of air, try to ignore how my heart has suddenly begun to pound inside my chest, and bravely ask my next question.
    “So are you coming or not?” I ask quietly.

Chapter 8
    My heart thumps anxiously against my ribcage as I await Deke’s answer. Much to my surprise, I want him to say yes so badly that I don’t know what I’ll do if he refuses.
    Deke lifts both hands to his head, slowly rakes them through his hair, and exhales sharply.
    “You’re not what you