On Friday, Mara had no patients and spent her day out of the office. Evie whittled away the hours by herself, cleaning and straightening the workstations and the back lab. She had noticed that the edger and tracer—or Edgar and Tracey, as she had dubbed them—were sorely in need of some attention. Maintenance on the two machines was a big job to undertake with no one else to watch the front of the store, but with no patients expected and how dead the day had proven to be, she felt safe.
The redhead calibrated the tracer with ease. The machine whirred through the check-process without a hiccup, allowing Evie to move onto the more laborious task of cleaning out the closed-circuit water tank under the edger.
Evie dreaded this task. A closed tank system meant that the water being pumped into the cutting bay during lense cutting was being circulated back into the holding tank. Larger grit was caught and discarded as you went along, but the finer particles passed through even the finest sieve into the tank, forming a silty sludge at the bottom. To remove it, she had to drain the water and then scrape out the bottom with a silicone spatula. She also had to accomplish this without covering herself in the white slimy sludge.
It was an involved process that was smelly and required half dismantling the entire system. Evie was halfway through putting the cleaned parts of the system back together when she heard the door at the front of the store open. She cursed and dropped what she was doing to dash to the sink in the washroom to clean her hands. After wiping them, the optician scuttled back out around her mess to greet the customer in the front, only to find no one there. Evie peered around to make sure she hadn’t missed someone who had possibly mistaken them for the dry-cleaner or bakery next door.
“In here,” a familiar deep timbre called to her from the staff room to her left.
Evie called out a quick greeting to her boss as she headed back to her unfinished task in the lab. She slid the last few wet pieces of the system back into place. She had to wash up a second time, now that the worst of it was over, and quickly set to calibrating the edger.
Connie leaned in the doorway and watched her work. As though he meant to taunt her, he sipped at a steaming mug of coffee and sampling a fresh raspberry Danish from the bakery next door. Her stomach gave a little grumble. Both smelled temptingly delicious, but the redhead was more distracted by the man’s hungry eyes that were on her. She glanced askance at him, seeing the perfect quirk at the corner of his mouth, bemused as all hell to be annoying her.
Evie tried to focus. She had calibrated edgers before, but it was a specific process that she didn’t need to mess up because Mr. TDH decided to play games with her while his wife was away. To keep her mind on the process, she updated him on her progress, “Edgar needed to be cleaned and aligned. It looks like he went a little too long without it, so I’m going to make up a schedule. That way, we can track his maintenance and performance. It will help us determine when and if he requires any parts.”
“Edgar?” Connie inquired dubiously, cocking one of his dark brows at her, “You named it?”
“Sure did,” she acknowledged, not looking away from the small touch screen where she was finished going through the calibration protocols. She shrugged and explained, “Edgers are notoriously finicky. This way, if he starts giving me guff, I have someone to yell at.”
Connie gave a breathy chuckle and a wan shake of his head, “Of course.”
She pushed one last button, and Edgar began to burr away, the machine’s internal gears grinding as the arm inside the cutting bay moved in and out, up and down, against the test lens she had inserted. As it worked through this procedure, she tidied up the workstation, putting away the other tools for the machine in the maintenance box.
The raspberry Danish smelled so wonderful that Evie felt her mouth salivate as her nose took in the sugary sweet aroma. Her stomach gave another commiserating grumble.
“Did they have any double chocolate scones?” she asked, putting away the last tool in the drawer.
“Aye, there’s one for ya in the staff room.” Connie answered, gesturing with his coffee cup, “And a mug of coffee—if Edgar will give ya leave to take it.”
“Oh, I’ve taken good care of him. He will be singing a happier song from now on,” she replied.
The Scot made way for her as they went into the staff room. On the table was laid a fresh warm double chocolate scone and a creamy mug of coffee. “Thank you,” she said warmly, bending to pick up both, “You’re spoiling me. You even warmed the scone up.”
“Best way to eat it,” he explained, with a cheeky wink, “the chocolate is softest then.”
Evie took a small bite, even though the temptation to devour the thing was nearly overpowering. The scone was so fresh and moist, it was like heaven on her taste buds, dissolving on her tongue as she moaned appreciatively.
“I didnae know how ya took yer coffee so, emm…” Connie said as she took a sip, “I just doctored it how I like it and, well…hoped for the best.”
The redhead could not believe how perfect the flavour was. A lovely blonde roast with just the right amount of cream and a pinch of sugar stirred in. “Mmmm,” she hummed satisfactorily, taking another indulgent sip, “it’s just right.”
The coffee was just what she needed as a pick-me-up to get her through the rest of the boring workday. The delivery would come in soon and then she would be busy with Edgar and Tracey, cutting and mounting lenses into frames for patients. It would be a large workload but probably enough to keep her busy for an hour. She took another bite of her scone, following it up with another swig of coffee.
Evie had tried the whole coffee pick-me-up on her own in the store using the pod coffee system that was provided in the staff room, but the end result was not nearly as satisfying. The coffee from the pods always seemed weak and watery, too acidic than she liked. Evie craved cream in her coffee and not that fake powdery stuff—which her brothers had informed her was very much flammable, via an entertaining story lighting it on fire in their welding shop and watching it burn like a line of gun powder to a keg. She had stayed away from the stuff ever since.
This brew was not from a pod. This was verified by Connie’s guffaw at the very suggestion.
“Och, no!” he howled. He pointed an accusatory finger at the offending machine, as he ranted, “That thing isna capable of makin’ much better than brown water. I made this at my place with my espresso machine.”
The redhead cocked her head at him in confusion. Curiosity swamped her. Not wanting to come out and verify ‘Your place? As in your place with Mara, your wife?’ Evie clamped her teeth together to keep the thoughts from coming out of her mouth.
In truth, the optician had been trying not to think about the couple, as a couple, at all. The more she saw the two of them interacting together, the more she was convinced that they avoided one another to avoid potentially maiming themselves or innocent bystanders in an all-out brawl. Mara was opinionated, to say the least, and Connie was fond of mocking her complete inability to keep those thoughts to herself.
But now that Connie had mentioned that he had made the coffee at home with his espresso machine, Evie was reminded of the cramped little flat she had bolted from in a blind panic that awful morning. It had been nothing fancy. It was smaller than the place that she now shared with Serena, and the entrance had come out into a back alley—not exactly the high and regal setting that would satiate Mara’s expensive taste.
Yet, it was none of her business and Evie scrubbed it from her mind. She really needed to stop getting lost in the nuances of this Scot’s life before she became any more involved in it.
When she glanced back up at her boss, over top of her ceramic mug, she noted that his eyes had been on her while she had been distracted. She bit the corners of her mouth to keep from smiling, as that naughty little voice in her head crooned boastfully, Woot-woot! Mm-hmm, ah-haa, he can’t keep his eyes off ya!
In a blatant attempt to deflect being caught ogling, the man explained, “I felt sor
ry for ya here all by yerself today with just that piss-water.”
“I appreciate the gesture,” she said warmly, “And I sure can’t turn down these chocolate scones, even though my waistline might beg to differ.”
Connie’s reaction to her comment was new. He laughed, a genuine belly-laugh that drew her eyes straight to his wide grin as he pointed at her with his last mouthful of Danish in hand. “Stop yer haverin’.” he insisted, with an incredulous shake of his head, “yer arse there could stand a few more of these.”
Evie hid her bashful smile behind the last bite of scone. Then, she washed and took her half-full mug of coffee with her as she returned to her work. Connie remained for a few more hours and took care of the reception area, while she went about mounting the lenses in the frames for the few orders that they had the previous week.
Evie couldn’t decide whether she was happy to have the company. Things had gotten more comfortable between them—not as awkward as that first week—but they were also becoming increasingly familiar with one another, which was not good. What if Mara had come in while they were chit-chatting casually in the staff room? Evie knew his wife certainly wouldn’t think that it was just a coffee.
Evie weighed whether it would be rude to have rebuffed the offer. Perhaps in the future, but what was done was done. She had eaten the scone with delight, and her stomach was still revelling in the delectable indulgence now, even though her mind was beginning to calculate that she should feel guilty. Her satiated belly added to the other voice of desire, that whispered to disregard these trivial concerns.
◆◆◆
The last week of the month came and went much like the rest had. Mara saw no more patients than was usual, yet sales continued to increase. The redhead was complimented on her services by many of the patients who picked up their glasses. One senior even insisted that Evie be there to fit her glasses, which was a pleasant surprise to end off the week.
Connie had been in more as well. The Scot came in with coffee the following Friday, conspicuously waiting until after Mara was done seeing patients in the morning. He lingered without much cause, making small talk with about the city. It was a little embarrassing to admit that she had been too busy with work to do much more in the way of sightseeing. She redacted the fact that this was, of course, since they had galivanted around town together. Connie took afront at this, jokingly demanding that it be mended with due course.
Then came the invitation. It was seemingly innocent. An extra ticket for an Edinburgh based Celtic rock band that was playing at The One Horned Mare.
Tactfully, Connie clarified, “Not as a date. One of my mates bowed out, and I dinna want it to go ta waste when you could be there. You’ll love it…and then the arthritic chimp will stop askin’ me about cha if I bring ya along.”
There were a few points of this statement that she desperately wanted to review with him. What exactly do you mean when you say, ‘when I could be there’…? And can you explain what you mean by, ‘so Rockstar Roy will stop asking you about me’…? That pestering little voice at the back of her brain bypassed going over the subtle nuances of his wording, and before she knew it, she blurted an exuberant agreeance, “Yes, please! That would be wonderful. I would love to see Rockstar again.”
Evie knew it was a bad idea to accept the invite, but she had been shut in these past weeks, making do with a few more books and her video chats with Andy.
“Ah, he does seem awfully fond of you, lass,” Connie congenially responded, “Rockstar is over the moon havin’ the band in. It’s a special gig. It’s a tribute to the man’s own rock and roll history here in town, and of course, to his drinks as well. No one mixes a Rusty Nail like Rockstar.”
The redhead crossed her legs in her chair behind the front reception desk, as she picked her mug of coffee up and took another sip. The creamy coffee warmed her hands and her belly, delightfully aromatic. Connie sipped from his own cup, shifting his body forward more on the seat of the chair he had taken from one of the dispensing tables to join her. He reclined back, legs spread comfortably before him.
It was not exactly the most professional position he could have undertaken, but Evie enjoyed it nonetheless. He was looking too good for her to ignore, in a faded pair of dark wash jeans and a dark purple button-down that was a little too open at the collar. He had the long sleeves rolled up past his elbows, exposing the subtleness of the ropes of muscles that corded his forearms, leaving the bulk of his massive biceps for her to recall from memory—an image that popped into her mind unbidden, with predictable consequences. Evie took another sip of coffee to keep her hormones from running away with her sanity as she relished the thought.
“It’s not for a bit yet, two Saturdays from now, but somethin’ for ya to look forward to.” He continued, “We can head over together after we close.”
Knowing that this would look a little suspicious. It wasn’t what Evie wanted to bring up, knowing it would put a damper on the discussion, but she needed to know. There had been enough pussy-footing around the subject the past weeks. So, as nonchalantly as was possible, she asked, “And what about Mara? Will she be joining us?”
Connie’s jaw visibly tightened. The girl could see the muscles working as his teeth ground together. The Scot worked to school his features, before flatly answering, “Mara wouldna be caught dead at The One Horned Mare.”
“Oh?” Evie responded, hoping for a little more elaboration.
Connie’s dark brows knit, forming a deep crease, and then just as quickly lifted, as he tried to pretend the question hadn’t bothered him. Jokingly, he gesticulated up into the air, “You know her. She’s hoity-toity. Thinks her education makes her elitist or somethin’. She’s always been entitled, and that paper just put the icing on the cake for ‘er.”
That actually summed up Mara’s action to a T.
Connie sat up and pressed a warm hand against her knee as he stood up. The touch was unwarranted, unnecessary, but eagerly accepted. The mug could not hide Evie’s appreciative smile as their eyes locked. There was a mischievous quirk to the corner of his mouth as the Scot moved behind his dispensing optician. His fingers burned a painfully slow trail across her neck and shoulders, her loose hair cascading over his hand. Then, as quickly as the tantalizing touch had been there, it was gone. Connie walked to the staff room to wash their cups. Evie was left, cold and frozen in place by the absence of his hands.
This is new, she thought feverishly.
8
The return of Connie’s touch to her body had ignited a guilty passion within Evie that the girl had never known existed. The man was all she could think about, day in and day out, making the next two weeks that passed blur together. She had trouble focusing on the more mundane tasks at work, she became jealous of Mara’s claim to him, and she loathed spending any time with the two of them together.
Evie had tried to explain all of this to Andy, but he seemed to either not understand or outright disapprove of her feelings—she had not quite been able to decipher which. Serena, on the other hand, enjoyed every little detail, tempting her with chocolaty sweets to get her to spill the beans the minute she returned home from work every day.
Today, Connie left when Mara did, only to return fifteen minutes later with coffee, mixed with Irish cream. They enjoyed the mid-afternoon break behind the reception desk, flirting brazenly.
Evie was vexed by the moral conundrum. One one hand, she feared that the flirting might lead to other unwanted repercussions—like losing her job to the wrath of Dr. Mara Sinclair, the man’s bloody wife! Yet, she grew more and more resentful of the persistently foul woman every day, slowly convincing herself that Mara didn’t deserve Connie! However, this was not enough alone to warrant Evie the right to move in. It was all she could do to keep a respectable distance from the Scot.
The whiskey laced creamer had been a bad idea all the way around. It was just enough to make her lips looser and to give her the gall to give her sensibilities the finger before it
threw her cautions to the wind. Her body was slowly betraying her, bit by bit, aching in places she didn’t even know could ache for a man. Especially one she knew she could not have.
Trying to regain her lost senses, the girl drew on the fear card, reminding herself that she at no cost could stoop as low as to become ‘the other woman’ between Connie and his wife. Knowing that her cheeks were so hot she felt she would probably break out into a sweat, the girl made a move to escape this gregarious man’s sinful presence.
“I’m going to check the front and call back that frame rep,” she mumbled her excuse—the one that had taken her way too long to concoct due to Connie’s distracting aura.
“Mara givin’ ya the grind about findin’ somethin’ new and different?” Connie asked, his voice sardonic. His inflection alone made it evident that this was another of the couple’s ongoing contentions that she did not want to get drawn into.
“She mentioned something about new frame choices.” Evie responded diplomatically, hoping it was grey enough to appease him, “This particular rep has been pestering the last few weeks, and Mara left the choice up to me. In truth, I’m not sure what to do. But I’ve been putting it off. The least I can do is call him back.”
Silence settled between them, thick and heavy. The redhead noticed that Connie seemed as reluctant to part ways and get back to work as she was—which sent a sharp pinch through her sternum that Evie knew was not a good sign. Mustering what little resolve she had left, Evie tore her gaze away, seeking to busy herself with the task.
Away from him, it was easier for Evie to feel like an ass now for flirting with him. She squashed those feelings—all the feelings—with a heavy sigh, as she repositioned her chair at the computer and started to filter back through her email correspondence with the frame representative.
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