Even though it was the middle of summer and the air was still warm, her fingers seemed chilled. The warmth of the mug chased the coolness out of her digits as she drew it to her lips to take the first creamy sip. They sat and enjoyed their drinks, sharing in the relaxing silence until Serena’s glances drove the girl to finally reply to her question.
“No one shat in my porridge.”
“But something has ya lookin’ like it.” Came Serena’s quick-witted response, quiet and politely prodding.
A sigh escaped Evie that was telling enough, as she mulled over in her head what she should say and what might be too much. Serena had already been briefed on her steamy romance, delighted over every little detail. But this was so not the same.
“Two weeks ago, you were all tittering and love-sighs,” Serena surmised on her own, “and now yer all dour-faced and dreary. Best guess is somethin’ to do with work, even though I’m loath to believe that it’s that bonnie bloke that has ya lookin’ so down.”
Evie sent her flatmate a scrupulous look askance as she sarcastically replied, “Heaven forbid Mr. TDH should do anything to hurt my feelings. He’s too perfect.”
Serena raised her hands in a placating manner, rolling her eyes, as she snapped, “Those sound more like your words than mine, Red. Prove me wrong. A man is a man, after all. They still think with their scrote before their brains.”
“Such a pleasant way of saying so,” Evie replied with a smirk.
“Not nice, perhaps, but undeniable.” Serena countered, tipping her head at her flatmate, as she added, “That’s why I have Becca. It’s much simpler to be with a girl. They think before they jump in the sack with ya.”
The girl’s blue eyes went wide with surprise as she spit tea back into her cup to keep from choking. Serena cackled at her, making Evie flush with embarrassment. Serena waved her off with a laugh.
“It’s fine, just fine!” the petite girl rushed to interject, “I wasn’t super upfront with ya about it. It’s not something I wanted to dump on ya right off the get-go.”
Evie felt ridiculous. She would never have guessed that Serena was gay or Becca. They seemed close. Just really close friends. She felt inept and lame.
“You still have that look on your face,” Serena pointed out with a cheeky grin.
“I’m sorry,” Evie tried to apologize, “I just…I’ve never really known anyone who was…gay before.”
That sounded worse…
“Well, now you do,”
It was said in a way that made the tension of not knowing, of being startled by it, lift. A simple acceptance. But the other girl could not just let it be. She had to make another witty comment, “But don’t worry, I don’t sneak peeks at ya naked or anythin’ weird. Becca and I are solid.” Crossed fingers, “Rock-solid.”
“I wasn’t thinking that!” Evie defended.
“Ya, but ya would sooner or later.” Serena chuckled, “So, no worries. Back to you. What happened that is not the fault of that gorgeous bloke you’ve been snoggin’.”
Evie thought she might feel differently now about sharing with Serena, but she didn’t. It changed nothing. She explained everything with Serena, and her response was predictable. Her flatmate sympathized with Connie and agreed with Evie’s fight to sell the frames, despite the argument it had set-off between the ex’s. It was comforting to have Serena affirm that the store’s success Evie’s concern as much as it was for the two business owners, and making profits was the bottom line.
Evie’s exhaustion waned as small talk took over while they finished their tea.
“Say, hadn’t you be getting’ ready to go out?” Serena changed the subject, glancing at Evie’s work clothes.
"Out?”
“To that band-thing that Mr. TDH invited you to.”
“Shit!” Evie cursed, jumping up from her chair, “I totally forgot! What time is it?”
“Don’t worry,” Serena chirped, winking coyly, “I’ll get ya lookin’ smoulder-worthy with time to spare.”
The girls ran back inside, rifling through the closet until they had decided on a heart-stopping combination. Black pumps, skin-tight leather leggings, with a gauzy royal blue top that emphasized her waist and bustline. Serena straightened her hair, letting her straight mane hang loosely, like a tidal wave of red and auburn that cascaded over her shoulders and down her back. They topped it off with Serena’s navy plaid cape.
Serena gave her flatmate one last primp, as the house-guests arrived home. The mother and her mature daughter complimented the ensemble as they came inside, leaving Evie’s cheeks flushed.
“Don’t fash, Red,” Serena whispered, “You must know that yer bonnie. And if you don’t, I’ll repeat it. You…are…gorgeous. Any man would be pure mad ta think otherwise.”
Even though it was a Friday night, Evie was still surprised at the number of people crammed into The One Horned Mare. The low-ceilinged basement was packed to the beams, surely close to violating fire code. The air was rife with the smell of booze and sweat, sweetened by the thrum of electric guitars, the rumble of bass, and the pounding of drums, as she shimmied through the crowd to Rockstar’s bar top.
Connie was nowhere to be found, but the bouncer taking tickets at the door had allowed her inside when she had given her name. Evie hoped that Rockstar could point her in the right direction.
The barman was in good company. The older man was flanked by three others behind the bar, two men and one woman, mixing and pouring drinks for those that waited. She was relieved when Rockstar called to her, drink already in hand for her to take.
Evie leaned over the bar to yell her compliments, and Rockstar Roy laughed, as he handed her the purple fizzy mojito. “Connie promised you’d be here, pussycat! How're things been shaking?” he replied, leaning forward so they could talk over the noise without shouting.
“I’ve been good. You’re certainly busy!”
“Always am when my boys come back to town.” The man replied, gesturing at the band with a prideful smirk. Then his mouth widened, as his eyes lit up behind the green clubmaster on his face, “You’ve gotten yerself a Connie original, pussycat!”
“Yes,” Evie laughed, self-consciously adjusting the white frame on the bridge of her nose, “Connie picked them out.”
“And anyone can see it,” Rockstar crooned, “you look right fab.”
“Has Connie arrived?”
His voice switched from kind and wistful to displeased, as the bartender answered, “Oh, he’s here alright, but I’m sorry to say he’s in a ripe mood.”
“Oh,”
Was he still upset after the argument at the store? Her eyes scanned the crowd looking for that top of curly dark hair and those brilliant eyes, finding only an ever-shifting kaleidoscope of people’s faces and clothing.
“Mara must have dug her claws in deep this time,” Rockstar commented coolly, giving a sorry shake of his head, “He’s about six or seven deep, and I’d think twice before cuttin’ that man off. He’s got fists like bloody meat hooks.”
Evie’s hopes for enjoying a romantic evening with her Gaelic god sank like the rowboat in a hurricane. He must have drunk himself into oblivion because of the fight at the office. Perhaps to forget it. Six or seven deep? Maybe not oblivion yet—this was Connie after all—but it was only nine.
Rockstar must have seen her disappointment before she had thought to hide it, for he gave her a wan smile of encouragement. He pointed to the right and added, “He’s probably waitin’ for ya then. Over thereabouts.”
Evie turned to leave and was jarred. Another body stumbled against her, sloshing the mojito down the front of the cape, and sending her backwards. The man caught her forearm just before she hit someone else. He began apologizing, his voice half lost in the buzz of the music, and Evie tried to dismiss his efforts.
When their eyes met, Evie had a split second of recognition that never came to fruition.
“Evie, right?” the sandy-haired man asked.
“
Yes,” she replied, still unaware of their connection.
The man smiled at her. It was warm and inviting, under a short nose and dark stormy eyes that were half brown and half navy. Evie studied the strange combination of colours for a moment too long, not realizing until the man’s cheeks pinked with embarrassment.
“I’m sorry,” she said, “Do I know you?”
“Not officially,” the man replied, he stepped just past her to the bar, as he added, “let me get you another drink, then I’ll explain.”
As they waited for Rockstar to get her another purple concoction, Evie took the cape off, folding the wetness inside before draping it over her arm. Serena was never going to lend her anything again if it was stained purple. The sandy-haired man was only slightly taller, and when he leaned in to talk to her, she could smell a musky cologne that reminded her pleasantly of orange spice. “We were never introduced, but I was with Connie that night at Winger’s.”
It dawned on her. The friend from Skye. “Oh, yes, I remember.”
Evie was disheartened further to learn that she would have to endure sharing Connie’s attention. It wasn't his fault that Connie had failed to let her know that there had been more than two tickets.
“I had thought I wasn’t going to be able to make it, but…” The man explained, pausing to change his sentiments at the end of the sentence, “plans changed.”
So there had only been two tickets after all.
“Well, it’s nice to meet you…?” Evie returned, dropping the end of the sentence to make it a question that the man would hopefully answer. He didn’t leave her hanging.
“Ian,” the man said as he shook her hand. The answer was as strong and brief as his handshake.
Rockstar delivered the drink, and they exchanged it for the half-empty one, as Ian was passed a beer. Then the man slipped a friendly hand respectably onto her back. “We have a table just over there.”
“Evie!” Connie drunkenly boomed, as they parted from the crowd.
Before Evie could even think her wrists had been snatched up by the man’s large hands, and she was roughly settled on his lap. Connie smelled more like he was eight or nine deep and Evie supposed his behaviour explained why Rockstar was keen on keeping count. She felt frisky fingers draw her hair back from her shoulder, just before she was assaulted by a bristly chin that nuzzled the crook of her neck. Surprised and embarrassed by the very PDA, she tried to push him off. His strong hands kept her firm, as he complained loudly, “You’ve finally come to save me from Ian’s boring company.”
The girl looked across at the sandy-haired man that had pulled back a chair next to them and sat down. Ian was as annoyed as she was, “And just who is going to save me from you?”
The tight iron grip let loose, and Evie’s pumps hit the floor once more, as she scrambled out of his lap and into her own chair. Ian slid the mojito to her as he took a swig of his beer. Connie brooded between them, his glass empty and obviously perturbed that Ian hadn’t obliged to refill it with his trip to the bar.
The silence that followed was intolerable. Evie felt awkward with the two friends, like the outsider that didn’t belong. She wondered where the other ticket had come from. Rockstar must have made a concession, knowing how fond he was of Connie and now herself.
The week had gone so well, and then today had just crashed and burned. Maybe Evie should have stayed at the flat.
“So, now you’ve met Ian and vice versa, Evie.” It sounded like an accusation instead of a statement.
Ian and Evie shared a concerned glance that ended in knowing smiles. Connie was shit faced. Royally. And they both had the enjoyment of sharing the evening with the man, one probably having seen him this way or worse before and the other just glimpsing the possibilities.
Evie leaned towards the sandy-haired friend with the stormy eyes, “So, how far is Skye from here?”
“Too far,” Ian replied simply, with a shake of his head, “I couldn’t do it anymore. I had to come back.”
“So, you’ve moved recently?” Evie continued, taking a sip from her drink.
The girl caught Connie roll his eyes as Ian nodded his head. He took a long swig of his beer before answering, “Aye,” unhelpfully.
Obviously, she was going to have to carry this conversation, so they didn’t lapse back into an awkward silence. Evie couldn’t bear another minute of awkward silence today.
“Have you had much luck finding a place?” she went on, feeling slightly irked that she had to twist the conversation out of the other man like she was wringing dirty water from a dishcloth. “I kind of fell into my accommodations, but I’ve heard that it’s a tight market in Edinburgh.”
“Very,” Ian affirmed, draining the rest of the beer.
Evie wanted to strangle the man. Could he not at least try to make this easier on the two of them and play along? It was bad enough that Connie was drunk, did he have to play catch up?
Connie was dreadfully quiet to her right, having slipped down in the seat of his chair like a sulking child. Still, he was so damn fine on the eyes. He was dressed down from previously that day, wearing a simple cotton tee with the band’s logo on it and a pair of dark wash jeans. She studied the man’s dark brows cast low over his still brilliant eyes, as he fiddled with the empty glass in his hands, looking bored and petulant.
Ian’s gaze was also on his friend, a quirk of irritation at the corner of his mouth. Evie noted that he was not as pretty as his counterpart, but that Ian held a certain affability that was undeniably attractive. He was the type of person that appeared trustworthy and loyal just by the set of his jaw and the square of his shoulders. He was sensibly dressed, a lightweight jacket over a long sleeve tee. It gave away no more about himself than his short and sweet responses had to her questions.
Evie decided to try her hand at making conversation again, “How long have you two known each other?”
“Too long,” Connie replied dryly, as he pushed his chair back from the table with a loud scrape of feet against the floorboards, “I need another. Want anythin’?”
Evie shook her head, gesturing at her half-full mojito. Ian declined as well, even though his bottle was empty. Connie cursed before marching off through the milling crowd. The people parted for him like the sea pierced by the bow of a speeding tanker ship.
“I’ve known Connie since uni,” Ian answered her question, finally divulging more than a word or two. He took a swig of his beer and hitched a thumb over his shoulder. “We bunked together in a flat with some other bloke’s the first few years. Before he got hitched.”
“So, you knew Mara before she was a Sinclair,” Evie mused aloud.
“Aye, that I would,” he confirmed, before continuing, drawing out the words longer and with more pattern to his accent, “and she was a bonnie lass then.”
“Then?”
“Well,” Ian began, leaning forward in a conspiratorial fashion, so his elbows were on the table, “Mara had it all, aye? The looks, the drive, the brains, and she was fierce. She drove blokes pure mental and took a lot of pleasure in doin’ so. Most of them were just too scared of shatting themselves in front of her to do anythin’ about it.”
“And Connie?” Evie pressed.
“Aye,” Ian laughed, with a shake of his head. It wasn’t a mirthful laugh. It cloaked itself as good-humoured but held a strong undercurrent of sadness. “She had him by the pecker the moment she decided she wanted him.”
Ian’s voice was different than Connie’s. It was softer and more refined. It lent his speech a tonal quality that matched his loyal demeanour, as though everything he shared could be taken with absolute sincerity.
“Connie never had a chance. I don’t think any man ever will, not with that woman. But wanting each other and being together are two totally different things…” His voice halted a bit, the man picking and choosing his words carefully, “It isna easy.”
Evie nodded. It wasn’t hard to agree with the sentiment. The relationships that she had ex
perienced had moulded her in ways that she had not expected—she certainly would not be in Scotland, sipping mojito’s with a Gaelic god and his best mate, if it had not been for a shitty breakup text.
In a quick, almost flirtatious air, she posed, “Sounds like you speak from experience, Ian?”
The man blushed adorably. His apple cheeks turned a bright fuchsia. He tried to hide it, but Evie already found herself endeared to the man. With a grin he couldn’t contain, Ian shook his head, “Och, no.”
The redhead’s laughter made a guilty expression cross the man’s face, and Evie understood that he was as open a book as she was.
“I’ve never had the favour,” he clarified, “But I’ve been single long enough to see it.”
Evie was finishing her own drink when he had said it and was admittedly shocked.
“You?” she said incredulously.
Ian blushed even brighter, and the redhead felt responsible. Had it been flirty? She hoped not.
“Unfortunately.” He chuckled, “You’re newly landed, so I suppose you aren’t aware, but Skye is sort of a remote place. Touristy, aye. Beautiful, ‘tis sure. But it can also be a very lonely place. Part of the reason why I’m back here, I suppose.”
“Aye, back to bein’ a thorn in my arse,” Connie threw in, returned from the bar with a tray of drinks.
Connie sat down, passing Ian another beer and Evie another mojito, having disregarded their decline. Remaining on the tray was a rusty nail and six shot glasses filled with something that smelled too strong for Evie’s taste.
“And what a pleasure it is,” Ian joked, much to his friend’s chagrin.
Connie didn’t hesitate to respond, but it wasn’t with words. He tossed back the rusty nail, as though it was one of the shots. The empty class hit the tabletop with a crack that made Evie jump in her seat. Those bright eyes lit on her, in a hungry way that made her feel predated. She looked away, assessing the shots. She certainly wasn’t doing any.
Connie must have sensed her apprehension. He extended a beckoning hand out to her, pleading, “Come, lass, I need to have ya on my lap, or I might burst.”
Seeing Colour Page 17
