Seeing Colour

by Amber Faucher

  Evie felt Connie’s chuckle rise out of him before the guffaw of laughter rent the air, deep and resonate, as he proclaimed, “Done!”

  That’s easy for him to say, he doesn’t have to cut all those extra lenses, Evie thought begrudgingly.

  When the rest of the business was finished up, the group enjoyed another bottle of wine amid friendly chit-chat. The couple left first, heading back to the flat so Serena could let in a late-arriving house guest. Close enough to walk home, Evie stayed behind to let the girls enjoy the walk together without a third wheel.

  Ian reclaimed his temporary bed, sprawling out on the length of the sofa. Evie thought the couch was a pinch too short to be a comfortable bed. She turned away from the cock-blocking-couch-surfer and faced Connie, who tidied up the glasses and wine bottles. Realizing there was still a bit of drink left in the last one, he gestured with the bottle at her. Evie took it by the neck and drained the last few gulps of wine straight from the bottle.

  It hit her belly with a splash, fouling her mood further. Empty, she handed it back to Connie, noticing he looked amused. As she held his gaze, she felt her own features fuse into an expression of challenge that she really didn’t have the gusto to follow through on. His eyebrows dropped just slightly, his teeth giving his bottom lip a bit of worry, before his gaze left hers to map the rest of her face. When they returned, unwavering in their commitment, his voice softened, “You, lass…look knackered.”

  Evie hoped the slang meant ‘tired’ and not ‘like shit.’ She waved a hand at him to dismiss his concern, whichever it was. Connie took the seat next to her, and she leaned toward him invitingly, wishing he’d kiss her.

  Instead, the Scot pulled back. It was not a quick or powerful movement. In essence, it was almost imperceptible but felt ten times worse than ought to, thanks to the wine and her trainwreck-emotions. Evie had hoped the wine would dull her mind and ease her tensions. Instead, it had mutinously rebuked her, kicked her out of the driver’s seat, and taken over. She wasn’t drunk, but only by a couple ounces. It didn’t matter. It still made Connie’s reservations hurt more than they should, and that left her guilty and ashamed.

  The Scot brought his hand up, fingers pleasantly beginning to massage the back of her tense neck. The sensation was delightful, and Evie tried not to purr as she dropped her head and inched closer. He leaned forward, whispering in her ear, “Let me take you home.”

  There would be no more privacy for them there than here. Serena and Becca were probably already back at the house watching late-night telly or sharing a cup of tea.

  Evie had no fight left in her. So, even though it was the last thing she wanted to do, she allowed Connie to direct her from the chair to the door.

  Ian stirred, lifting the pillow. In a groan just a shade above griping, he said, “Dinna feel like you have ta leave on my account. I’d gladly move to the bed if you two want to snog on the couch for a wee nip.”

  Evie was eager to accept, but Connie’s wits were faster than her sluggish tongue.

  “Shut yer gob, ya dobber!” The rebuke was more violent than the girl felt the remark deserved.

  Connie grumbled something else that the girl was unable to make out, but Ian retaliated in a heated string of words that Evie considered must be Gaelic. She moved to the door, and Connie trailed out after her, not bothering to grab a coat. He walked her in silence down the metal staircase to the alley below, where she stopped him.

  “You don’t have to walk me home.” She insisted.

  Connie looked offended. “You must think me daft if ya dinna ken I need to have these few moments alone with ya.”

  Evie was just going to have to accept what she could get.

  13

  “Dammit, Edgar, why now?”

  Evie raked a hand back through her red mane, mentally calculating how many ways she could murder the ill-tempered machine. The edger had been plagued with issues for days. The problems had started out minor, excess build up on the edges of the lenses. Then the bay door had become temperamental, not wanting to close, and now there was a terrible squealing from inside the machine. She had tried to rectify each as they arose. Still, they changed and grew more irksome, culminating into Edgar’s outright refusal to operate now.

  It took a considerable amount of mental effort to force her fingers out of the fist that trembled at her side. This was the last thing that she needed this week. A tower of trays loomed, as though she would never again see the light of day. She would be stuck forever in this stuffy windowless backroom, tethered to these two machines. Evie would have to MacGyver them back into a united operational force so she could eventually grind her way to freedom.

  Grind my way to freedom? Little over the top, Evie. Even for you, she thought to herself.

  The optician smiled, bemused with her own runaway imagination, as she felt her irritation slowly receding. She took a cleansing breath and blew it out.

  Just think, Evie. There is obviously something causing the problem.

  The optician recalibrated Tracy, thinking the answer lay with the machine that took the measurements of the frame for the edger, but this solved nothing. Then she recalibrated Edgar, without result. Evie opened him up, peeked around inside, and fiddled here and there with odd bits. She scoured the manual and then the internet, finding nothing beyond the primary forms of maintenance.

  Now, the only other thing she could do was place a service call for the bloody thing. Evie knew that cash was still tight despite the few healthy weeks of sales, and service calls were pricey. Without knowing where the problem lay, it generally took at least two appointments—one to diagnose and one to return with parts and fix the problem. Mara would not want to pay for the expense and Evie did not want to be put behind by the repairs.

  It crossed her mind, not for the first time that week, that they might need to find a seconde optician to get around it all.

  There was a whoosh of air as she heard the exit door pulled open.

  Perfect timing, she thought, hoping to be encircled by Connie’s strong arms. She hadn’t seen him all week and was desperate for some comfort.

  The designer was busy making arrangements with a photographer and choosing frames, building up his social media profile, networking with other business professionals, and putting the finishing touches on Thistle’s portfolio. Evie was always here, managing the store by herself. A difficult task seeing as Mara was busier than ever, thanks to word-of-mouth alone.

  She was relieved to have Connie here now! She spun on her heel to face him with a beaming smile as she jubilantly babbled, “You have no idea how much I need you right now!”

  From behind a denim-blue frame, Evie met stormy eyes. The man’s mouth turned up into a smirk and Ian transitioned from surprised to smart ass, bemused with the addlepated-way she gawked at him.

  “It’s nice to be wanted,”

  With her blood boiling, mortified and aggravated by his presence, she attempted to busy herself. Instead, he offered her a mug, saying, “You look like you could use this.”

  The mug was brimming with whip cream, drizzled with caramel sauce, hiding the coffee-goodness that lay beneath it. Evie closed her eyes, wishing Ian would disappear, so she could imagine Connie had brought it down to her…instead of his best mate.

  “Connie told me how you like it,” he explained, as he stepped around her to peer at Edgar’s insides, “Is Edgar giving you guff?”

  “Wait, you named them?” Evie asked in her surprise.

  Ian smirked and shrugged. “That way I have someone to yell at if they give me trouble.”

  The girl buried her nose in the cup and thought about this oddity. She took a grateful sip of the coffee, as Ian looked over the exposed parts. “Hey, don’t touch,” she scolded, slapping his hand away from her machine’s delicate insides, “he’s shy!”

  “Och, dinna fash,” he played along, roughening his accent, so it sounded a century older, “I’ve seen more of Edgar than you will have.”

  �
�Please don’t,” she tried to assuage him, as his fingers probed deeper.

  “It’s alright,” he patronized her with a shooing motion, “go on and enjoy the latte. Connie wants me to take over back here.”

  “He what?!” she demanded, the back of her neck prickling with shock and indignation.

  “I have to ‘earn my keep,’…remember?” he explained, with the use of petulant air quotations.

  “But you’re not trained,” she argued, her temper strained to keep her voice from shrieking at the invader, “and I don’t have the time to teach you. I have work orders comin’ out my wazoo here and patients to attend to this afternoon!”

  Ian gave a sardonic chuckle that served to only feed her outrage. He turned away from Edgar and faced her, his mouth a humourless line and his stormy eyes hard behind the coatings on his lenses. “I don’t need training, I’m an optician.”

  It had not been a physical blow, but it left her just as befuddled. Evie felt herself going still, frozen as her mind reeled to catch up.

  “I can more than handle this. Connie wants me to take this off your hands, so stop all yer havering. Go sit and finish your latte. He gave me explicit instructions on how to make that for ya and I followed them to the letter. Ah, it’s a shame! Look, ya let the whipped cream melt away on ya.”

  Evie just stood there. She was the one having to absorb all this new and enlightening information. He didn’t wait for her to do that either. “Fine. If ya won’t leave, then fill me in on what tricks Edgar has been pullin’ on ya.”

  The redhead drew her latte to her mouth, sad to see that he was right. The whipped cream had melted away into the hot brew. She took a mouthful, attempting to swallow her anger along with the steamed milk before she began to explain her dilemma.

  Halfway through, Ian nodded and began tinkering with the machine. She watched him fiddle with wires, turn gears, and wipe down sensor plates. As the girl watched, it was easy to see that Ian really did know what he was doing. Obviously, he knew more than she did.

  “That oughta do it.”

  He slipped the plastic outer casing back into place. As he started the machine, Edgar hummed back to life, the mechanical arms inside no longer screeching, the bay door working on command, as it began cutting a lense.

  From the storefront, Mara called his name with delight.

  Beside her, Ian gave a loud groan that was accompanied by a short roll of his eyes before he turned to greet Mara with a pleased-looking smile. Evie found herself wondering how many of those very genuine-appearing looks she may have received from the man since meeting him.

  “What are you doing back here?” Mara curiously asked him, all delighted and sweet about it.

  “It can’t be that hard to figure out,” Ian chided.

  “Connie’s orders?” she purred the words in a provoking manner. One eyebrow quirked higher as she remarked, “You’re taking those again, are you?”

  Ian sighed heavily, but he did not stop his work. He slipped a perfectly cut lens out of the bay, trading it for the next in line. As it hummed loudly, preparing to grind, he just turned back to her with a thin-lipped smile and a nonchalant shrug. Over the top of the din, Mara shouted a very pleased sounding, “Nice to have you back.”

  Then her dark eyes landed on Evie, asking her to come to the front. They left Ian to take over the tower of work orders. It needled the girl’s already damaged ego, to see how satisfied Mara was to have the man working in the back.

  Evie felt the way her shoulders piteously drooped. The weight of her disappointment rounded them, and even though Evie tried to straighten up when Mara turned to face her, she knew it was not enough. The woman eyed her speculatively. Those dark eyes seemed like an x-ray, seeing the jumbled mess inside that Evie fought to hide. It left her insecurities feeling chilled and exposed.

  “Connie is with the photographer this afternoon, Evangeline, so you will be on your own here in the front. If you require any help, do not hesitate to grab Ian from the back. He should be able to still manage himself in the front. Try to show Thistle frames first. We need these sales leading up to the investor meetings.”

  “Investor meetings?”

  “Yes. Connie has two meetings already scheduled. We’re just waiting on the promo shots, so its crucial we have good numbers leading up to those meetings.”

  “When?”

  “Two weeks. So, let’s make them count.”

  Evie agreed with a firm nod of her head, and Mara left her to prep for the patients, turning to head for her office.

  The girl sank into the chair behind the reception desk, as though the force of gravity had doubled and her legs had turned to jelly. Edgar groaned away in the back, and for whatever reason, she could not bring herself to feel thankful for the help. All she felt was a great and welling disappointment. It bubbled out from the pit of her stomach. It filled her mouth with a sour taste, ruining the remainder of her drink, and poisoning her courage.

  Perhaps it was silly and ill-conceived, but she felt left out. She felt disregarded. Everyone else seemed to know what Connie was planning, what he was doing, except for her. Self-doubt swirled in her mind, leaving her coated in a thick vulnerable layer of diffidence. She wanted with everything inside of her to be with the Scot right now, that strong support by his side, that voice of encouragement in his ear. But that was not possible.

  Mara needed her here. Even with Ian to help out, there was still a lot of work to do. Connie had entrusted her to sell his frames, and she pulled as much encouragement from that sentiment as she could. It allowed her to find her legs, and stand up, just as their first patient came through the door.

  ◆◆◆

  “Here, fit these, will ya,” Ian said, pushing a tray into her hands.

  Evie had not seen hide nor hair of the man the rest of that day. The only sign of his presence was Edgar’s continual groaning as lenses were cut. Now that the patients had just finished up, he had appeared long enough to give her orders. Was he her boss now too?

  As he walked away again, the dispensing optician lifted the two frames to read the scrawl on a yellow sticky note. It was Mara’s name, in Connie’s quick hand. Evie gave the glasses a cursory glance. The first pair was a beautiful crystal candy apple red, with white marshmallow arms, the second a more angular-cut metal full-frame in deep emerald green, with golden-yellow arms. Her eyes moved curiously to the lenses. She had assumed that Mara did not require a prescription, having never seen her in contacts or glasses, and the thin and flat lenses confirmed this.

  Of course, Evie thought caustically, she’s gorgeous, and she has perfect vision. Evie gave a grating sigh. Being negative would do nothing for her mood. She’d probably just end up with a headache.

  Evie found Mara in her office, finishing up patient notes on the computer. The door was open, so she knocked.

  “Yes?” the optometrist asked, without looking away from the screen. Her fingers chattered away at the keys, intent on their purpose.

  “Ian finished some frames for you,”

  “Yes, of course,”

  Mara finished the last line, clicking with the mouse a few times until the program was closed, and the computer began shutting down. When she was finished, she swivelled around in her chair to face Evie. “Do you want me to sit or stand?”

  “Sitting is fine.” The girl automatedly replied as she set the tray down on the desktop. She picked up the red frame, opening the arms before passing them to Mara to slip on.

  “Ian refused, did he?” the woman asked, dark humour in her voice.

  “I can get him if you prefer?” Evie offered, trying her best not to feel slighted.

  “No, that’s fine, Evangeline.” Mara smiled at her. It was not as reassuring as a smile ought to be.

  The girl stepped forward, ducking down to eye level with the sitting woman. She checked the balance of the frame, and then stepped to each side, gently pulling the long straight hair back to peer behind each ear. Uncharacteristically, Mara decided to
explain herself while Evie was busy checking the frame’s fit. “We just haven’t always seen eye to eye. I could have guessed that Ian wouldn’t want to fit the frames for me, and at any rate, I know I am in good hands.”

  The compliment brought a smile to the girl’s mouth, but she did not want to reply to the odd admittance. Needing the bead pan, she excused herself. Upon her return with the adjusted frame, Mara proved to be even more talkative.

  “Connie, let me pick what I wanted.” She said, her voice strangely apprehensive.

  Those dark eyes looked to Evie searching, for what appeared to be reassurance. They were no longer pitch and cold. This close, they were a deep umber, dilated with the anxiety. Evie felt her mouth curve warmly, as she looked at this auspicious woman who’s steely armour had shown a crack. She was human, after all.

  “You’re beautiful, and they are amazing on you,” she enforced, double-checking her work.

  Everything was in its place.

  “Thank you,” Mara whispered, her smile wide and flattered, as she took the glasses off and exchanged them for the green pair. “I was worried. Do you think he will approve?”

  The emerald was just as smart as the red. Where the red had been classy and sophisticated, the metal frame was intelligent and sassy. Mara was the kind of woman who was fiercely independent, willing to take on any opponent, and this frame challenged like no other. Being more angular, it made her appear sharp and strong, a force to be reckoned with.

  “I like this one more. Connie would approve.”

  “Headshot approved?”

  Evie mused what the headshots were for. Perhaps her business networking profile, or her professional license. Distractedly she gave a quick nod of agreement before leaving to use the bead pan. When she returned, the frame slipped perfectly into place.

  Mara assessed her reflection in a hand mirror on the counter and sighed contentedly. “Thank you, Evangeline.”