Seeing Colour

by Amber Faucher

  “You’ll have to tell me how it is, lass, that ya convinced a multi-millionaire to invest in a small-time frame designer like me.”

  The laugh rose out of her, cracking the tension between them, as she sniffed back her tears. “Soon to be big-time frame designer.” She corrected him, “and I didn’t convince him.”

  Evie felt his body tense, even as Connie’s hands grabbed her shoulders and pushed her back. “If ya didnae, then why the bloody hell is he here?”

  Connie’s bewilderment made her smirk. He still didn’t have the confidence his work deserved. “I would try to explain it to you, but I’m not sure I fully understand myself.” In a butchered accent, she added, “It’s a wee bit complicated.”

  They both shared a laugh then, and Evie didn’t want to let him go.

  17

  It’s funny how life can implode one moment, only to right itself again soon after, Evie thought as she gently stroked back blond curls to peer behind an ear. The temple was laying just slightly askew. Another adjustment would do the trick. Checking the other side, she happily confirmed that the temple fit was perfect, before asking the patient to remove the glasses.

  Andy handed her the frame back. She made her way over to the work station, dipping the temple end into the heated glass beads. As she swished it around in the pan, Connie emerged from the back lab, followed by Ian. The smaller man gave her a quick wave as he marched to the door, obviously on a mission. Connie took the time to stop at the work station, where he leaned forward on the bar height counter, lips pursed invitingly.

  This was no longer an uncommon or scandalous occurrence.

  Now that their tryst had been aired out, Connie didn’t shy away from displaying that it was no longer a secret. Evie generally shooed his wandering hands, playful pinches, and those dangerous lips of his, wanting to remain professional—but, damn, the Scot was persistent. After all, it was the only real-time and place for it, given that their living arrangements still hadn’t changed in the last four weeks.

  Evie had Connie over to her place once, for a glass of wine on the balcony. With Serena’s guests, things remained unheated. Evie had been reluctant to go past some kissing and fond caressing. She couldn’t relax, and he didn’t push her to. Connie’s place was no sanctuary, either. Ian was still stubbornly on the couch, and Evie was certain he was deliberately stalling. There was no reason why he couldn’t be out looking for a place to live on his own now that he had been taken on again as a full time dispensing optician at the store by Mara and Connie.

  Evie was pretty sure that he was indulging in being a terrific cock-block for his old mate. Probably cackled every night when Connie returned to the flat with the genuine threat of blue-balls. At least, Evie hoped that was what he returned with because she was just as frustrated. It was terribly hard to be head over heels for someone you had nowhere to be with.

  They had considered going to a hotel. Didn’t all couples in this situation? That was what Evie had thought, but there was something that didn’t seem right about it when it came down to booking the damned thing. It made her feel secretive again, plagued by the stereotype, and like the wine on her patio, it had soured the excitement.

  Connie promised they would go away somewhere after the frame launch. Just the two of them. Evie had almost choked on her latte when he had felt the need to tack that little sentiment onto the idea. Who else would go away with them, she had wondered, feeling that Connie must have surely succumbed to Ian’s parasitic feelers, the two men’s closeness transitioning from one of friendship to one of symbiosis.

  Evie could see now where Mara had gotten the idea that they were romantically involved. If that was even how you put it—the girl still wasn’t sure about these things. She felt incredibly naïve when it came to understanding the politically correct way of going about considering if one’s boyfriend was really gay. She also felt dumb and ashamed for even thinking it in the first place. Connie’s boundless affections were proof enough that he felt a need to be with her and not with his best mate.

  Ian and Connie constantly bickered—her initial argument against Mara’s absurd suggestion—and even though they had seemed to become attached at the hip these last weeks, Connie was never anything even close to amorous with his friend.

  She had laughed outright when Andy had suggested it was a bromance. Yet the moniker fits perfectly. They enjoyed joshing one another, nit-picking, and wise-cracking sarcastic banter back and forth. They started hitting the gym together, beginning each day with a run. Ian had dropped the slight chub that he had in the jowls and midsection, and thankfully, kept Connie from pestering her about being his run-partner.

  Evie was glad the two of them enjoyed themselves. There was no way she wanted to get up for a run before her shift—it was Scotland! If it wasn’t raining, it was a mizzle that left her drenched just on the short walk to the store.

  Connie might be the size of the Hulk, but he was a simpering romantic, in need of constant verbal grooming. It was why the way he temptingly pursed his lips now for her was so hard to resist. She liked grooming his ego. She found the act to be so terribly simple and gratifying.

  Evie’s eyes did a double check of the room—even though she knew that there were no customers present—before she leaned in and pecked his mouth. Her efforts to be demure in front of their investor went unheeded by her counterpart. A steady hand gripped the back of her head, and Connie was deepening the kiss, just long enough to tantalizingly flick her bottom lip with his tongue.

  “Don’t suck her bloody face off, mate. The driver will be here soon.” Ian grouched from the door.

  Evie’s knees gave a little wobble before he let go. Connie assuaged any protests she was mentally calculating with that impish grin of his, allowing the redhead another clear example as to why this man was in love with her and not his best friend.

  “Sure ya will’na meet us at Wingers?” Connie tried for the fourth time that day to convince her.

  Evie gave a quick shake her head. Her waistline could not afford to eat out as often as the boys did, and she wanted to spend an evening with Andy while he was in town. He was only in Edinburgh for two days, busy signing papers, meeting with clients and lawyers, and confirming that Becca had everything in place for the frame launch, which was now two weeks away.

  Of course, the redhead had tried to tell Connie this beforehand, so she wouldn’t have to decline him in front of anyone, but he was so stubborn. She shook her head.

  “Not this time.” She made sure to pacify his disappointment with the offer of a future prospect, which turned out to be only marginally successful.

  Connie was working his way up to a fifth attempt to persuade her—she could see the cogs in his brain whirring away in the crinkle between his brows and the way that his jaw tensed to the left—when Ian stepped in for her.

  “Leave off the girl, Connie.” He ordered, delivering a sharp smack to Connie’s backside, “Let her spend the evening with her internet friend. He came half-way around the world to see her, didn’t he?”

  Connie’s dark head swivelled to glare at his mate, gesturing back at hapless Andy in the chair at the dispensing table, as he succinctly rebuked, “No, he came halfway around the world to see me.”

  Ian gave an exaggerated roll of his stormy eyes behind the denim-blue plastic frame on his bridge. This was his signature move to rival Connie’s belligerence, and it was surprisingly effective. The large man hated to be disregarded. He always puffed up like a muscly blow-fish, spines bristling as he sputtered to reciprocate—which he was never very successful at.

  “The world doesn’t revolve around you, Connie.” Ian was the witty one of the two.

  Backing away from a dog that had been kicked, the sandy-haired man turned and marched to the door, just as a vehicle pulled up. “That’s us,” he called back.

  Connie flashed Evie with another of his piteous puppy-dog looks, just as Andy rose to her aid. “Don’t worry, mate,” he reassured Connie, clapping a hand
on the designer’s beefy shoulder, “I’ll have her home by curfew.”

  Connie liked this even less, going green with possessive jealousy, on top of feeling patronized and disappointed. Ian barked urgently at him again, and the Scot finally relented. He gave a sullen farewell to his girl as he ran to catch his ride.

  As the cab pulled away from the curb, Evie finished bending the temple tip. As she handed the glasses back to her friend, she thanked him for stepping in.

  “Don’t worry about it,” Andy dismissed, slipping the glasses on. He returned to his seat at the dispensing table, mussing with his voluminous waves in the mirror as he wise-cracked, “He’s a like a cute ogre.”

  Evie erupted with a guffaw that threw her head back and ended in a snort.

  Connie was a devilishly cute ogre! Hard on the outside but soft on the inside. She pushed her friend’s hands from his hair, so she could check her fit behind his ears one last time, and the Aussie added soberingly, “He’s either putting on one hell of an act, or he is punch-drunk in love with you.”

  “You think so?” Her heart quickened at the thought, fluttering in her chest with spastic titillation. It was so satisfying to get this reassurance.

  “Who can blame him? You’re alright.”

  Evie 1, Mara a big fat 0.

  Things with the optometrist had gone largely ignored. Neither Connie or Evie confronted Mara over the backhanded intervention, and Mara had not stepped out in aggression or hostility towards their continued relationship. It was almost as though they had never had the conversation, which was as relieving as it was vexing.

  It would have been easier if the woman had given Evie a reason to hate her. If only Mara had played the jealous ex-wife. The optometrist certainly didn’t. She kept to her word, always keeping her comments professional, never straying beyond work, the store, or the frame launch. One might almost agree that she was impossibly cordial about everything.

  But Evie didn’t want to think about her relationship with Connie now. It already took up too much real estate in her head. She wanted to forget about all that tonight, and Andy was the perfect excuse for her to do just that.

  They closed the store and walked the short distance to the mall. They started the evening off with a stop at Starbuck’s, before casually meandering about the two-story shopping center, deep in animated conversation. They were both excited for the frame launch, and their discussion didn’t stray much further.

  Andy bragged about snagging a celebrity appearance for the frame launch from popular Scottish actor Blake Carter. The two had crossed paths during a film shoot for the actor's latest action flick that was being shot near Adelaide. Blake had agreed to model a frame at the launch and Evie was already mentally picturing which one she’d put on his handsome mug.

  Lost in a lively ongoing debate about what the actor would wear and whether he would shave or wear his signature one-day scruff, Andy stopped outside a shop.

  “What I’d rather debate is what you’re going to wear.”

  “You know I don’t have much fashion sense. I was going to let Serena dress me.”

  “Aw, that ain’t no fun. Why don’t you let me dress you?”

  For the first time, the redhead took note of where they were in the mall. The door of the store that he had pointed out was flanked by two large displays sporting long flowing evening gowns and sparkling cocktail dresses on faceless mannequins that struck posh poses. “You’re a closet investor and fashion-guru?”

  “There’s just so much you don’t know about me,” he joked, dragging her inside, “C’mon, I’ve never steered you wrong on a date out-fit before.”

  “That was different,” she laughed, “and this isn’t for a date.”

  “You’re right. It’s much more important.” Andy emphasized, with a conspiratorial wink, “You’re the face of Thistle, you need something perfect.”

  “Way to spoil the fun! Now it’s just going to be stressful!”

  Evie’s protests were swallowed by the prancing approach of a flamboyant young man. With a dainty hand drawn to a purposely flaunted hip, the twig-thin sales associate keened, “Did I hear someone say ‘perfect’ because that’s just what we’ll find for you, my dear.”

  The voice was as sweet as sugar cookies and as smooth as soft-serve, and totally addressed towards her Australian counterpart. Greedy eyes were focused on Andy’s bright smile, eager to serve.

  “You heard right, mate,” the surfer answered, a sudden steady hand on the middle of Evie’s back.

  The redhead was pushed her forward like some kind of offering, as Andy gave the associate a smarmy debrief, “We’re in need of your talented eye for my friend ‘ere.”

  Andy shamelessly brought a roguish drawl to his usually easy accent, stoking the fire of desire in the skinny attendant’s eyes. It had the intended effect. The associate took her wrist in his dainty pincers, and she was reluctantly drawn to a private dressing room at the back of the store. Thrust up onto a small round dais, she was measured and eyeballed repeatedly from every possible angle, as Andy lounged smugly on a plaid setee.

  That’s what Evie felt like—entertainment to amuse her friend. Although she was uncomfortable with the extra attention, Evie relaxed. It wasn’t as though she could possibly afford anything sold out of a shop that had private mirrored changing rooms bigger than her bedroom. This was just for fun. They were just goofing-off like they always did.

  Andy had helped her finalize outfits for other dates, always taking the stress out of it with his witty one-liners. She had relied on his opinion as she did Serena’s now, always too stressed about details and first impressions and being ultra punctual to relax. It was funny to think that Evie had so casually accepted the cultured-eye of her surf slacker. It made far more sense now that she knew he wore posh bespoke suits more than he wore swim trunks.

  Evie was delivered heaps of dresses, as the two men gamely discussed just what ‘perfect’ meant for the frame launch it was intended for. She was surprised by the breadth of the twiggy associate’s knowledge. He pointed out the proper fit and features that complimented her height, frame, and body shape, which she busily tried to catalogue for future use. All the attention made her feel glamorous.

  Upon the dais, she ran her hands down the billowing satin front on an a-line skirt that sprang out from her modest waist in a curve defining wave. She lifted one foot out the peek-a-boo front of the high-low skirt that swooped back and forth in an exaggerated ruffle around her shins to her heels, revealing the opportunity to showcase stunning heels that would otherwise remain hidden.

  The redhead felt a gentle hand take hers, and she glanced down into Andy’s wide eyes. Connie’s frame emphasized the gem-like tones within the webbing of his green iris’, as they dartingly tracked her person from head to toe, leaving no inch of her uncharted. The way he viewed her brought a warmth to her face that forced her to look away.

  To her other side, twiggy was gushing with delight, his sugary voice praising his own handy work, as the two men agreed they had found ‘the one.’

  Evie took a deep breath and double-checked in the three-way mirror. Alongside all three of her reflections, Andy held her hand, gazing at her with those large eyes of his, intent and sparkling in a way she had never seen them do before over wifi. She felt her cheeks flush, her body warming under his intent gaze—and then Evie reacted, snapping her hand from his with a quick jerk that left the Aussie confused.

  Flooded now with shame and a heady mix of other emotions the redhead was loath to put a name to, Evie turned to twiggy and awkwardly announced in a nearly robotic voice, “Well, that was fun! I’m going to get dressed now. Thanks for all your help!”

  Even more embarrassed at the sound of her own voice, she jumped from the dais and ran for the privacy of the change room. With the door closed behind her, she beat a closed fist against her forehead and reminded herself that there was absolutely no way she could feel what she was feeling right now.

  ◆◆◆

/>   Andy complained the whole way back to her flat about forgetting to snap a few pictures of her in the navy gown, going on at great length and detail about how perfect it was. Evie turned the collar of her coat up to hide her pink cheeks, even though the sky was clear for once, and the evening air was borderline warm. She wished he would stop. Everything he said made her insides twist and coil, making her feel like a washing machine on a never-ending cycle that failed to clean anything.

  Walking back had probably been a bad idea. It was slow torture in comparison to how quick and painless a cab would have been. Evie could have sprung free of the car to the safety of her flat, leaving behind all the tension that had crept under her skin since Andy had held her hand—a perfect prince beside his pretty princess in a pretentiously predictable fairy tale.

  Except we’re friends. Just friends. Really-good friends. And we will stay friends. Always and forever. Just Friends.

  Finally, her building came into view, and her heart crumpled, even as her stomach leaped for joy. Soon she could put all this to bed, and it would be over. She could reset and go back to normal.

  Just as she was celebrating the approaching doors to her building, cool fingers caught hers again. Her over-run system was re-flooded with all the things she had tried to compartmentalize, causing a short somewhere that left her paralyzed and incoherent. Andy pulled her back to him. It was not intimate, but a gentle coaxing that left her wanting to melt into his arms.

  Somehow she steeled her jellied kneecaps, finding the strength to face him with what was her best placid, easy-going, everything-is-cool look.

  His surf curls were bowed towards her, Andy’s face a perplexing cross between I’m-on-to-you and embarrassment. He tsked before he asked, “Something on your mind, Evie?”

  Cornered, her heart contracted like it had been plunged into an ice bath, sending her into an offensive flurry of ‘no-no-no’s’ and half-formed excuses. Her flustered response made his I’m-serious-what’s-going-on-with-you look crack into a playful grin at her expense. His hand left her fingers—which Evie had failed this time around to snatch back from him—and instead, took her by the elbows.