“Thank you, sir.” I bounce once in my heels to expend some of the energy that’s bursting from my veins.
“I wish you could convince a few of these other yahoos to call me ‘sir,’ I might feel like I actually have some authority around this place.” Mr. Garnet’s chair rocks forward and he hands me back my file. “Reps from the company will be here next week, but the designers have it under control and I’m not concerned. I’ve got another one for you. I put it somewhere…”
As he’s rifling through his files, I’m stuck on what he said.
“Reps from Devil’s Harp Ale?” I ask. “They’re coming here?”
“Yeah,” he looks under a stack and tries to jimmy one free, “they want to meet with you and your team to discuss your vision.”
All of my happy energy shifts to anxious nerves at the idea of anyone from my father’s office coming out to meet with me.
“Do you know who, specifically?”
Mr. Garnet is flipping through the open file and only half-heartedly asks, “Hmmm?”
“The reps,” I can’t hide the fear from my voice, “do you know who they are sending?”
I can fool most, but not my father. There’s no way he can look me in the eye and not realize it’s me.
Something about my voice snags his attention, and Garnet looks up. “Do you make it a habit of memorizing the infrastructure of the companies we service, Maxwell? Why does it matter who comes?”
“It doesn’t,” I say quickly. “I feel anxious around CEOs and such. I don’t want to blow the whole deal because I’m a nervous ninny.”
Mr. Garnet’s eyes narrow. “That’s not like you, Indigo. Did you hit your head last week?”
My laugh is nervous and unnatural. “No, sir.”
The air goes still between us and I fear he can see that I’m not her. There are differences, her cheekbones are higher. My lips are thinner. Her ears pitch out a little more on either side and it’s hard for me to hide the fullness to my hair that comes naturally. Indigo’s hair is straight as a board.
“This is a new campaign,” he says as he extends the file to me, never breaking eye contact once, “a local boutique. They specialize in high-end and consignment wedding dresses. Both ends of the spectrum I suppose. They want a whole new look. Work with Declan, you make a good team.”
I smile and then stop myself. Indigo probably wouldn’t smile. “Yes, sir. I’ll get to work on it.”
“Yeah,” he says, but he’s watching me with far too much scrutiny. It wouldn’t take much for him to put it together. Indigo asked for the time off. He knew she wanted to go. Maybe the idea sounds farfetched, but from what I’ve learned about Indigo, she specializes in farfetched and risky.
And Garnet knew that.
∞ ∞ ∞
Bridal consignment.
Absolutely serendipitous since I have a certain dress that needs consignment. Is the universe lining up my life like a skeet shoot? I fiddle with the card for their store manager, flicking it twice between my fingers before I dial the number.
“Bridal World, this is Joanna.”
“Hi Joanna,” I say, and then I feel Delores’ eyes on me. I can’t have her listening to this conversation, so I push back from my desk and walk through the main lobby doors. “I wanted to set up an appointment to have my dress appraised.”
“Of course,” Joanna replies. “What are we dealing with? Off the rack? Grade?”
“Haute couture,” I say and I feel as though I’ve lit up like a flare in the backwoods swamp. I’m alone other than Ashlee behind the reception desk.
The pause feels as though it’s going on forever. “A lot of brides think their dress is haute couture, sweetheart. I’m sure it’s a really nice knock off, but—”
I frown even though she can’t see me. Who is she to think I’m lying?
“It’s an Aria Borelais,” I tell her. “An original.”
It’s become a bit of a joke to her. “Now you’ve stepped in it. That designer only makes three dresses a year, and you want me to believe that one of those dresses has simply fallen into my lap?”
“It’s your lucky day,” I say with a heavy dose of dry sarcasm. “Do you want the dress or not?”
Once more I’m waiting on her pause. Likely she thinks I’m lying, but on the off chance I’m telling the truth, she doesn’t want to give up the sale.
“I’d like to examine it further,” she says and I can taste her careful caution. “When can you bring it in?”
“Tonight,” I say, “after you close up.
“That’s unacceptable. We are open between—”
“I don’t want to be recognized,” I interrupt, “it’s after hours, or I’ll find another buyer.”
That last bit brought Ashlee’s head around.
Great. Now she thinks I’m a murderer or a drug dealer.
No, just trying to unload a wedding dress.
“Eight p.m. I’ll have to keep my appraiser here as well,” Joanna says.
“Understood. Thank you for your flexibility.”
We say our goodbyes and I stare at my phone for a moment. It’s the last link to my old life. If I could be rid of it… I feel Ashlee’s curious eyes watching me from behind her desk at reception, but I can’t think of a great explanation for the conversation.
“A friend wants me to go to this club,” I say. It’s forced as it comes out of my mouth. I shake my head before I duck back inside. What does it matter? Who is Ashlee going to tell? I’m gone in less than a week anyway.
∞ ∞ ∞
“We have another one.” I drop the file on Declan’s desk. “A bridal boutique out in the industrial part of town. Garnet says we’re a good team.”
Declan is smiling before he ever fully faces me. “He’s not wrong. We are pretty amazing.”
He flips open the file and looks over the papers. I like watching him work. All of us disappear as he reads. I can already see the ideas bouncing around in his mind. He’s more creative than he gives himself credit for. Declan is wearing glasses today, thick black rims that make me wonder if they are real or an ironic fashion accessory. Either way, he looks amazing.
How do people work together when they feel this much attraction? Is this normal? Or is he the first guy I’ve found since my liberation? I glance to his desk clump partners, Greg Spiro and Harvey Nix. Greg makes my stomach uneasy, but it wasn’t as if our first meeting was all that great at Indigo’s mixer. Nix is good looking, blonde hair, wide jaw, broad shoulders, he probably lifts weights. I’ve seen the other women watch him like jungle cats in the grass. Rationally, I know he’s attractive, but I’m not attracted to him. Nothing happens when I glance at him. I might as well be looking out the window at the Swiss Alps or admiring a painting. He’s pretty, but nothing more.
When I look at Declan, it’s completely different. His deep blue eyes, the slight lump in his nose that makes me wonder if he’s gotten in a fight, his tanned skin that tells me he spent the summer outside, likely with Rory, and my heart melts at the thought. He’s not ripped like Nix, but Declan is athletic and I know he must attend more than one class at the gym, and yoga has done him well. When he smiles he doesn’t get dimples, but rather deep wrinkles in his cheeks that show his genuine happiness.
No, this is more than a crush on the first guy I saw. This is chemistry, real chemistry.
“So, dinner, tonight?” Declan asks as he waves his hand in front of my face. How long has he been talking while I stared at him? “Rory comes back tomorrow, but tonight I’m free. We could hash out a few of these details over Italian.”
“Yeah,” I say because I need to respond. Embarrassment urges me to leave, but in my good sense I turn back. “Wait no,” I say and his face falls a bit. “I have something tonight.” Out of the corner of my vision I watch Nix hand Greg five bucks as if paying up on a bet.
“Yeah, that’s fine,” Declan clears his throat and turns back to his computer, “I mean, I thought...”
“Unless we
can do it early,” I say, “maybe right after work.”
Declan hasn’t looked back at me yet, but still he speaks. “You don’t have another date?”
“No,” I laugh, “all business. Selling some old clothes.”
Greg hands the money back to Nix.
“Okay,” Declan agrees, “dinner at six. It’s a date.”
∞ ∞ ∞
It’s not business this time. That’s why he made sure to add that bit about it being a date. At least for once I know what to wear. The dress is black because one never goes wrong with a little black dress. I pair it with a spiked, strappy heel because I’m driving tonight. I thought about keeping it casual, jeans and a nice blouse, but I hear my mother scolding me in my head, “Ladies wear dresses, Harper, farmers wear denim,” and I can’t escape her reach.
At least not yet.
Last, I tuck in the only luggage I brought with me, the Aria Borealis dress. The garbage bag crinkles, but I smile as I shut the trunk on the reminder of who I used to be.
Chapter 15
Declan is waiting outside Mario’s this time. I had to park a block away, so I have a clear view of him pacing the sidewalk outside the restaurant. Glancing at my watch, I see that I’m early, which means he’s extra early. Maybe he’s worried that the label of ‘date’ he assigned our evening might have scared me off.
It would have scared Indigo, I’m sure of that, but not me.
My heels on the concrete bring his head around and he pauses to stare at me. A gust of wind catches my long hair and blows it off my bare shoulders. The dress has only a thin string tied behind my neck before the sheath drops loose until mid-thigh. Indigo has great taste in clothes.
“Wow,” he says while I’m still three feet away, “I mean wow.”
Reg never reacted like that. Occasionally, he told me to change because I didn’t look like a senator’s wife, but he’s never been knocked breathless at first glance.
“You’re looking pretty good yourself,” I tell him, and it’s true. His white work shirt has been covered by a maroon sweater. I have to admit I miss his suspenders, but this makes him look like a man. I can’t deny the heat that laces my veins as I try to avoid his stare.
Declan holds the door for me and we escape the growing cold of the evening. Our waitress seats us in the same corner booth. I have to wonder if it’s Declan’s personal booth. I set Indigo’s handbag on the seat and press my palms over my skirt because they’re sweaty again. When I look up, he’s still looking at me, caught in that breathless moment from before. Our eyes meet and he ducks his head, obviously embarrassed that I saw his unabashed stare.
“Sorry—I’m a little—you’re gorgeous,” he blurts out with uneasy laughter. Now, it’s my turn to blush and thankfully he picks up a card on the edge of the table and asks, “Do you want some wine?”
“I better not,” I say, “I need a clear head later. I’m a total lightweight with alcohol. But you can.”
Not to mention I have a hard time keeping my hands to myself. I remember drinking at this gala Reg insisted I attend. We’d fought earlier that day and I went through four champagne flutes in an hour on an empty stomach. I hung off him like used cling wrap. My father paid quite a bit of money to buy the pictures from that night. We weren’t anyone important yet, but that was how everyone in my life thought about things, far in the future. Path set in stone. No one wanted a scandal when Reg’s campaign started. Since that night I’ve been cautious when it comes to alcohol.
“No,” Declan laughs, “I’ll steer clear as well. I thought it might still these nerves I’m choking on.”
I lean forward, feeling conspiratorial. “What was that bet between Nix and Greg?”
My question does nothing for his anxiety. He looks once for our waitress as though she might be able to save him from answering.
“Guy stuff.” His smile goes crooked as he glances at me. “Greg said it was all business, and that you wouldn’t go out with me on a real date. Nix said you would.” Declan grimaces. “Don’t be mad, okay?”
I laugh and extend my hand to set it on his wrist. “I’m happy to be here. If they want to make a game out of it, then so be it.”
There’s soft music playing from speakers I can’t see. The tables aren’t all full but there is plenty of background noise from the other diners. Still, I don’t miss the way his teeth catch his bottom lip and pin it there as if he’s so hungry he might eat it. From the warmth in his eyes, it’s not food he’s wanting though. Declan’s hand slips over mine, hot, but not clammy like mine are. My nerves light up as his thumb traces over the back of my hand. He’s dying to kiss me, but he holds back and I’m grateful. This is all new to me. I don’t want to start jumping five-foot courses when I’ve barely had a minute in the saddle. Okay, bad analogy, but slow is my best bet.
“I’m glad we aren’t rushing things,” Declan says and he hasn’t moved his hand away, “I’ve been out of this world for a while now. I’m not sure I know what I’m doing. Dad time doesn’t lead to much dating, you know? Most dates don’t last long after they hear about Rory.”
“I love kids,” I say. “They’re honest. Nothing has scarred them or tainted the way they think. The world hasn’t touched them yet. It’s such a beautiful thing to see.”
It’s what he wants to hear, but that’s not why I said it. I said it because that’s how I feel. The world around me has painted my canvas over the years. Throughout the day my mother’s voice blares in my mind. She’s joined by trainers, teachers, and of course my father, telling me how I should act and who I need to be. I feel the pressure to be skinny, but not too skinny, smart, but not too smart, in charge, but not domineering. Children don’t have that, at least not at Rory’s age. They are who they started out being.
We order and this time I try Rory’s raviolis. Conversation flows easily between us, and not once is it about work. He wants to know me, everything about me, not where I come from, or who my parents are, he wants to know me. What I like, what I hate, where I went to school and why I studied communications. I’m happy to leave out the rest: Reg, my parents, expectations and life at the estate groomed to be the arm candy of a future senator. His questions help me to see that while everyone else painted on my canvas, I’d painted my own views as well. I was still there beneath their graffiti.
Why did Indigo avoid him? I can't stop thinking it. Why on earth did she say he was annoying? He's charming and wholesome. He wants to know me better. What guy does that? He keeps asking questions as we eat. Declan drops my hand for a bit while we eat, but as soon as he sees me push away the dish, he’s ready to scoop my hand back into his again.
Reg and I were together all through high school and then college and he still never knew me. But this, I feel how badly Declan wants me through something as small as the way his thumb brushes over my knuckles, but still he holds back and asks me what my first pet was.
“Dog,” I say. “Golden retriever.”
It's a partial lie because I don’t want to say that my first pet was a pony when I was four. That's not normal. And I did have a golden retriever, but that was my sixth birthday.
Declan glances at his watch. “How far away is your meeting?”
I can’t tell him it’s in the industrial district because he might connect it to our new account. I certainly don’t want him to know that I have a wedding dress in Indigo’s trunk, or that I climbed out the window of a country club to escape a marriage I never wanted.
“It’s about twenty minutes away,” I say.
“Forty with traffic,” Declan amends. I check to see if he’s joking, but he’s not and I’m glad I have him around to help navigate this city. “You better get going so you aren’t late.” I hear his disappointment that our night can’t go much farther.
“Maybe I can reschedule,” I say, and I know it’s a bad idea. I need to unload this dress in order to make a future for myself. It’s not like I can have a future with Declan anyway, not while he thinks I’m Indigo Maxwe
ll.
The booth groans as Declan shifts and slips free of it. “No, I don’t want you to have to reschedule because of me. Besides, we still have yoga tomorrow.”
I take his outstretched hand and let him pull me to my feet. There’s no excuse to get me out of yoga. Indigo loves yoga. She’s in the advanced class after all.
“We still have that,” I say, “or we could get the smoothies and skip the rest.”
He laughs because he thinks I’m kidding. “You’re nothing like I thought you’d be. I’ve seen you across the office for months, and never knew this was what was waiting for me. If I’d known, I would have told Garnet to pair us up sooner.”
The conversation has me uncomfortable. My secret is written clean across my face like a Tar Heel billboard back home. Thankfully, he’s too blind to see it.
“I’m not sure I would have been like this even a week ago,” I admit.
“Right,” he smirks, “your come to Jesus moment.”
It’s not true, so I nod and hope it’s enough.
“Come on,” Declan slips his fingers between mine, “I’ll walk you out.”
I glance over my shoulder at the unpaid check, but as I’m about to say something Declan stops at the bar and flags a girl down.
“Mel,” he says as if they’re old friends, “I’m walking her out. I’ll be back in a second, okay?”
The blonde bartender smiles and finishes drying the glass in her hand. “Of course, Declan, don’t worry about it. We know you.”
It says a great deal, not only about how often he must eat here, but also speaks to the caliber of his character. Even the most veteran of regulars could still slip out on a check. But not Declan and I immediately feel guilty for this game I’m playing.
The sun has set. He holds the door for me. The brisk breeze has transformed into stronger wind in the time we’ve been absent.
“I’m a block away,” I say, “you don’t have to walk me there.”
“A gentleman would,” he says, but it’s more about the goodnight than my safety. I can’t blame him. I feel the burn under my skin as well. Maybe that’s why I excuse him again.
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