by Jan Moran
Her intern peered over her shoulder at a design she’d been working on for a while. “Wow, that’s amazing.”
Fianna smiled. She remembered how eager she’d been in school, just like this girl with the short black hair.
“Can I help with anything?”
“Sure,” Fianna said. “Can you bring me those samples on the desk? And the trend report. It’s on top of that stack.”
Tiffany delivered the fabric samples Fianna had gotten from a manufacturer at a recent show. The trend reports covered colors, patterns, and fabrics that were projected for an upcoming season. Textile manufacturers worked from these reports to create fabrics. She flipped through the samples and settled on a lightweight violet crepe. “What do you think about this?”
Tiffany ran her fingers over the material. “It’s beautiful. Can I help you cut the pattern?”
“Sure, when I’m ready. This still needs quite a bit of work, but the next step will be to make a toile.”
“We just learned about that in school,” Tiffany said, her kohl-lined eyes widening. “You make samples out of a fabric like muslin, right? To see how the design drapes on a mannequin.”
“That’s right. I usually do everything myself, but last year I was so busy I engaged a pattern-maker and a tailor to help create the prototypes.” And she probably would again. As her business expanded, she needed to be smart about her time and get the help she needed. Hence, the new interns. If they worked out, she might have jobs for them on graduation.
“How do you know when a design is right? When it’s ready?”
“Good question.” Fianna ran her fingers across her sketch, and then she touched the fine fabric. She could see it in her mind’s eye, knew how it would drape, and imagined how it would hang on an actual person. “I have to be a perfectionist. Nothing is just good enough. I always have to take it to a high level, and then another. That’s what sets my work apart.”
She’d always been a hard worker, and her runway show had been well-received, but was she capable of advancing? Camille had noted her progress, but could she really handle the pressure that went along with a successful, high-level career?
Tiffany gazed at her with earnest eyes, enthusiasm shining in her face.
Fianna brushed her thick hair back and tucked it behind her ear. “Want to help me drape and pin? I’m feeling creative. Bring the muslin, and we’ll work with that.”
No doubt about it, if she wanted a shot at the big time, she’d have to up her game. She barely had time to add to her collection before taking it to Ireland, but she had a couple of new ideas. Each show she did was more important than the last. Someday soon she hoped to show at Fashion Week, when all the media and buyers converged to see the next season’s offerings in major cities from Paris to New York, and from London to Los Angeles. A big show was a major investment, but new designers also showed in smaller venues.
Fianna twirled the mannequin around and Tiffany unrolled the bolt of material. As Tiffany handed her the edge of the fabric, Fianna caught a glimmer of a new ring on the young woman’s hand. “Are you engaged?”
Tiffany’s eyes twinkled as she grinned with glee. “I got engaged last week.”
Fianna felt a stab of… what? Not jealousy, no, she was pleased for Tiffany, but she had a flashing thought that she was missing out on a part of life that she really didn’t want to forgo.
Niall had stirred feelings in her she’d never known. He was different. Or had it been the champagne, the evening, or the high tide? None of it mattered now, not after the way she’d treated him.
Still, her work meant everything to her. She stuck pins in her mouth and swept the lightweight fabric around the mannequin, pinning as she went, feeling the design emerge under her hands. A tuck here, a shift there.
When she was in a creative mode, the world around her faded away, and she became entirely focused on her work. Fianna draped and pinned, stepped back to analyze, and then knelt to drape and pin again. Tiffany worked patiently alongside her, assisting her with tools, taking photos, making notes.
Fianna didn’t know how much time had passed when Evangeline appeared at the doorway. “Fianna, there’s a man here to see you.”
She glanced up and removed the pins from her mouth. “Can you take care of him? I’m pretty busy.”
“I’d sure like to, but he said he’s a friend of yours. Niall Finley.” Normally unruffled, Evangeline grinned with delight this time. “Some friend you have.”
Tiffany dropped the bolt. “Wow. Niall Finley from Finley Green?”
Fianna raked her teeth over her lower lip. What could he want after she’d stormed off in a misinformed huff? Her neck grew warm with embarrassment. Furthermore, she hardly had time for a relationship with a man who was moving away. What good could possibly come of seeing him right now? She’d save him the trouble. Still, an inexplicable wave of sadness filled her with regret.
“Tell him I’m out.”
7
NIALL SHIFTED FROM one foot to another, waiting. Fianna’s small boutique was stylish and welcoming. The scent of verbena and the sound of a jazz saxophone filled the air. Mirrors lined one wall, and zebra striped chairs sat on ebony wood floors. An Art Nouveau, curved burl wood bar stood to one side. Several bar stools sat in front of it, and men’s magazines were displayed to one side. He thought of how he used to wait for Laila to try on clothes, and an ache of longing filled him. He turned away.
Niall ran his fingers over a long silk dress the color of butterscotch, appreciating the way the skirt flared. “Beautiful,” he said to himself, recognizing and appreciating the creativity and artistry in the garment. He’d been drawn to Fianna’s designs when he’d first seen them, and then when he met her, something in him had shifted. He wasn’t sure what it was, but he’d been on his way to meet Johnny at Bow-Tie before the restaurant opened, when he’d suddenly decided to stop at Fianna’s shop.
He’d received a call from his realtor saying she had a cash buyer for his home in Malibu and asking how soon he could leave. They wanted to move in immediately.
Though he probably wouldn’t see Fianna again, he didn’t want to leave her with the wrong impression of him. He was so used to dodging the media and questions about his wife, or why he’d left the group, or when he was making a comeback, that he’d been astonished to meet someone who knew nothing about him or his past. He had to clear things up with her.
He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. His blond hair brushed his collar, mirrored sunglasses obscured his eyes, and the old black T-shirt he’d found in a drawer was stretched across his shoulders. The past few years he’d spent a lot of time with his thoughts, on long runs or swims or rides on his horse, assiduously avoiding people. And his music.
Now, he was unable to halt the melodies that ran unbidden through his mind. The last couple of days, words had started to mold themselves to the tunes.
Was Kaitlin right? Was it Fianna who’d opened some shuttered part of his mind? He shook his head. He wasn’t looking for a woman to replace Laila, though well-meaning friends invited him to parties he never attended. He’d only gone with Kaitlin to the fundraiser last weekend because he’d promised his father he’d look after her. She was his kid sister, and L.A. could be rough on young girls, although she was smart.
Bells on the door tinkled when two young women with long hair, blue jeans, and high heels strolled in. He angled his face from them. They were chatting and laughing, and they paid no attention to him.
The saleswoman who’d introduced herself as Evangeline reemerged with an apologetic look on her face. “I thought she was here, but she must have slipped out the back.”
Disappointment filled him. “Thanks for checking.” He turned to leave.
“Do you want to leave a note for her?”
A note. He’d already written a song in his mind about her crazy eyes, without really meaning to, but he couldn’t imagine scribbling a few words on paper to her. What would he say? I stopped by to say
I’m not married. I’m really not a cheating husband.
Right.
Who was he kidding? In his heart, he was still committed to Laila.
“No, thanks.” He walked toward the door.
“Shall I tell her something for you?”
He paused, his hand on the door. “Just tell her I’m sorry I missed her. And I’m leaving L.A.”
“Niall, come on in.” Johnny opened the back door to the restaurant for him. “Good to see you, bro.”
Niall slapped him on the back and stepped inside. The stainless steel kitchen gleamed under bright lights, and the prep crew was so busy they didn’t notice him. It was such a sunny day he’d put the top down on his vintage Thunderbird, but he’d pulled on an old baseball cap to keep from being recognized.
“Smells fantastic,” Niall said. The aroma of fresh baked bread hung in the air. The rapid staccato rhythm of a knife clipped against a board as a man chopped through a mound of chives, releasing a scent that reminded him of Laila’s herb garden.
Johnny grinned. “Today’s bread is rosemary. You have to try it.” He grabbed a black jacket from the back of a chair and slung a swath of red and black silk around his neck.
“Still wearing the bow-ties, I see.”
“Fianna designed this one for me. Got the wait staff wearing them as well.”
A broad-shouldered man in a white chef jacket rounded the corner, his arms laden with fresh produce. “Niall, my man. Heard you were in town. It’s been too long.”
They spoke for a few minutes, and then Johnny led Niall through the restaurant, showing him around. “We’ve been lucky. Business has been good.”
“Lot of hard work, too, I’ll bet. You and Lance make a good team.” He glanced outside. “The patio in the front looks great.” Ivy climbed the brick walls, and yellow umbrellas shielded the tables and lounging sofas beneath.
“It’s always packed. I should warn you, the paparazzi hides behind the privet hedge over there. I think some of the guests tip them off. Probably Fleur. She’s out on arraignment.” Johnny grimaced. “Ever met her?”
“No.” And he had no desire to. The celebrity’s wild outfits and pending trial kept her on the covers of the tabloids. Not that he read them, but they were at every grocery checkout and carwash. He’d learned how to go incognito. Sometimes people even told him he looked a little like Niall Finley, leaner and with longer hair, of course.
“I shouldn’t complain. The coverage brings in even more people.”
“That’s good for you guys.” Niall looked outside again. He’d like a leisurely dinner on a patio like that. Without the paparazzi.
“If you’re going to be in town for a while, you should join us on Sunday afternoons. We’re closed, but family and friends gather, and we try out new dishes.” Johnny paused. “Fianna comes around sometimes.”
Niall shot him a look. It had been a long time since he’d been among new people, but if Fianna was there, the idea was more appealing. “Does she ever come here for lunch?”
“Sometimes she meets Scarlett and Verena here.” Johnny perched on a bar stool and Niall joined him.
A server appeared with a silver coffee pot. “Got your morning juice, boss.”
“Want some?” When Niall nodded, Johnny pushed a coffee cup toward him. “Black, as I recall.”
“You got it.”
Johnny looked up. “Here comes Lance. Hope you’re hungry.”
Lance placed a tray in front of them. A small loaf of rosemary bread, a slab of butter, a saucer of green olive oil and herbs, crunchy marcona almonds with sea salt, thin shaved parmesan cheese, and other delicacies tempted him.
“The bread is just out of the oven,” Lance said. “You have to try our empanadas, too. They’ll be ready soon. Scarlett’s mother makes them from her family’s authentic Spanish recipes.” Lance tore off a hunk of crusty bread for him before hurrying back to the kitchen.
The scent of rosemary teased Niall’s nose. “That’s delicious.” As he ate, he couldn’t remember the last time anything had tasted so good. Laila used to bake, and he missed that.
Johnny dipped a piece of bread in olive oil and took a bite. “So how long are you going to be in town?”
“I’m leaving tomorrow. The house in Malibu sold, and Kaitlin wants to go to the island.” By the island, he meant Kauai, where he had a house on the beach. It was a classic Hawaiian style with rooms that opened to the outside. “Thinking of selling that one, too.” He’d only agreed to go because he’d made an appointment with a realtor. They’d have a week before his friend’s wedding.
Johnny raised his brow. “I thought you loved that house.”
“I do, but with Laila gone, why do I need it? Why do I need anything anymore?”
“Even the Thunderbird?” Johnny punched his shoulder. “I’ll take that off your hands.”
“Hey, that baby stays. I’ll put it in storage.” It was a wreck when he’d bought it, long before he’d made his money. When his music was topping the charts, he’d restored the car while his accountant and business manager were busy investing his share of the profits for him. From houses and real estate to Apple stock and private equity funds. He’d never want for money again, but without Laila, none of it mattered.
“Think of the Hawaiian luaus you used to throw.” Johnny wagged his head. “I think you spent too much time at the ashram.”
“Maybe so. The food’s definitely better here.” The luaus. Johnny and other friends used to visit him and Laila on Kauai, and they’d thrown parties for everyone. Laila had loved dressing up. He would hire local musicians, and they’d all eat and dance on the beach. He could just imagine the smell of her suntan oil, the taste of the fresh pineapple, and the sound of the Hawaiian music he loved. Music in all its forms intrigued him.
“Kaitlin should liven up the place for you.”
“Oh yeah, but she’s a kid sister, you know.” A memory of Laila running on the beach flashed through his mind. Maybe he hadn’t spent enough time at the ashram. He’d tried everything after his wife’s death. From the ashram in India to the Benedictine monks, from meds for depression to psychological counseling. From spending time at home to traveling. In the end, none of it had mattered. Laila never left his mind.
“Still, Kaitlin’s fun to have around.” Johnny topped off his cup. “She’s sure grown up.”
“Hard to believe. She’s not old enough to order a glass of wine in L.A., but she travels all over the world. Our dad’s decided I’m her chaperone here.”
“That’s good. Gets you out.” Johnny nodded to an employee who was unlocking the front door. He slipped into his jacket and knotted the silk that hung around his neck into a bow-tie.
Out of habit, Niall angled his back to the door. “Some, anyway. Kaitlin’s a sweet girl, and has a good head on her shoulders. She doesn’t need me. She’s got her own life to live.”
“And so do you. Planning any new projects with Finley Green?”
“Come on, Johnny. Not you, too. Everyone wants us back together, the music label, my agent, even the guys. Especially the fans. But I can’t live that life anymore. It was wild and crazy, and I’m just not that guy anymore.” Had he known what the future held, he would’ve spent less time on tour and more time with Laila. Another one of his many regrets.
Niall popped a few almonds into his mouth. Lance had warmed them and added sea salt and herbs. “Besides, the guys are doing great without me. Their last single spent weeks on the charts.” They were still recording music he’d written, so his royalties kept rolling in. He funneled a large portion into the scholarship fund for the arts that Laila had suggested they set up right before she died.
Johnny leaned over, snapping him from his thoughts. “So what are you doing?”
Niall shrugged. “I haven’t written anything in a long time. Not until last weekend.” He could hear people filtering into the restaurant, and the buzz of conversation began to rise behind them.
“That’s good. What got y
ou going again?”
He sat back and blew out a breath. “I guess it was that girl with the crazy eyes.” Fianna. Walking on the beach with her and waking up beside her had somehow energized him. She’d dislodged some creative blockage in his mind that nothing had been able to clear, not even the monks, nor the psychologist. But was he ready for someone like her? He still spoke to Laila every day, at least in his mind, or in his dreams.
Johnny laughed. “So why not hang around a while? You know, for more inspiration.” He winked.
“I can’t. Kaitlin has a break between jobs.” Niall had promised her, and Kaitlin had been looking forward to the trip. “Maybe I’ll come back soon.”
A woman’s squeal erupted behind them. “Look, Niall Finley is here!”
Niall squeezed his eyes shut. This is why he didn’t go to Beverly Hills or Hollywood. There were too many tourists hoping to catch a glimpse of stars. He’d never dreamed of stardom; he’d only wanted to play his music and watch people enjoy it. Still, the adulation came with the territory. He’d learned how to handle it with grace, but since Laila’s death, he’d found it impossible to plaster on the smile for very long.
“I love, love, love your music,” gushed a young woman about Kaitlin’s age. “Can we take a picture together?”
It wasn’t really a question for permission. She was already hanging onto his shoulder and vamping for her friend, who’d whipped out her cell phone and was flicking photos.
“Ah, sure,” Niall said, tugging his mouth into a half smile while her girlfriend kept snapping.
“Let’s go over there, the light’s better.” She pointed to a spot at the front and pulled on his arm.
“We’re fine here.” He enjoyed his fans, and he was trying to be amiable, but he wouldn’t be posed like a wax museum statue.
Johnny was watching him.
