Seeing Colour

by Amber Faucher

  “That’s perfect!”

  Both the other girls sat up a little straighter, as an approaching figure drew the redhead’s attention. Evie was greeted by a warm smile and stormy eyes. “Ian?” she squeaked in surprise.

  “Hey,” He said, pausing to nod a greeting at her friends.

  Evie moved closer to Serena in the booth, making room for Ian to slip in on the outside, as she asked the obvious question, “What are you doing here?”

  “The same as you, I presume,” he shared, gesturing at the open bottle of beer in his hand, “out for a pint and wings. No one beats Wingers.”

  “You got that right,” Serena agreed, clanking her empty bottle against Ian’s.

  The man hitched a thumb over his shoulder, as he explained, “Connie’s just in the lavvy.”

  At the mention of the man, Evie’s breath caught in her throat—not with excitement this time.

  Of course, they would be together. Best mates and all. Evie wasn’t sure that she wanted to see Connie just that moment. The last time she had seen him, the man had looked like shit, scooped up and burned in a paper bag on some poor bastard’s front porch. An anxious lump formed at the back of her throat. She didn’t want to know how drunk he was this time.

  Suddenly realizing she had forgotten her manners, Evie launched into a round of introductions, to which all present clinked their bottles and slurped away.

  “Why don’t you join us?” Serena suggested.

  Evie gave her the death stare—What the hell are you thinking?!

  But Serena’s response was blatant indifference. She quirked an eyebrow at her flatmate, as the corner of her mouth slowly curled. Serena looked as though she were suggesting—I am gonna meet this bloke whether you care to introduce me or not. Ian accepted, slipping into the booth beside her.

  A waitress came by, and Ian ordered a round for the table, as the table was cleared of food. Evie’s nerves were worrying about the man still in the washroom when Becca’s ongoing small talk with Ian caught her attention.

  “Those are nice glasses,” she complimented, asking, “Where did you get them?”

  “Och, these,” he replied, giving an uncomfortable chuckle, as his head dipped self-consciously, “I’ve had them for years.”

  Evie’s head bobbed up, homing in on the spectacles on the man’s face for the first time.

  The optician was shocked. This was the first time she had seen Ian with glasses. The design was unmistakably Connie’s, but they certainly looked like they had weathered tough years. The plastic denim-blue frame was pocked with dents and scuffs from wear and tear. Could this have been one of his very first experiments? Her curiosity was gripped by the possibility.

  “They really are befitting. You look so very handsome in them.” Becca knew how to butter a roll before she sliced deeper, “Is it one of Connie’s designs? Evie, here, was just explaining that her employer is a very talented designer and has an entire line of his own frames.”

  Evie saw his jaw muscles tense, as he gave an even more awkward chuckle than the first. The waitress returned with the drinks and Ian offered simply, “Aye, it’s one of his.”

  “One of the prototypes?” Evie jumped in.

  “Emm…yeah,” Ian admitted, his eyes on his drink. After a moment of careful consideration, he added, “the first.”

  Evie resisted the strong urge to snag the frame right off his face so she could inspect it. “But you weren’t wearing them the other night and, not to brag or anything, but I would have noticed if you had contacts in.”

  “I had ‘em laser corrected before I went to Skye,” he answered.

  That would have pissed Connie off, Evie thought.

  “And now he needs progressives,” Connie’s harassingly voice boomed, nabbing all the attention.

  Evie could hear the breath hitch in the other girl’s throats as she swivelled to see the Gaelic god standing by the table. He was a far cry from the robed Danish-eating zombie she had last encountered. With an appreciative sweep of her eyes, Evie noted that his curls had that just-washed sheen and bounce to them, defining his high cheekbones and straight nose. Gone was the beginning of a bushman’s chin warmer, leaving behind freshly shaved skin and a clear view of that dastardly cupid’s bow. His eyes gave a cursory glance to all at the table, before landing on Evie, where they held her entranced.

  This was her curse. Those eyes and this man. She wondered if she would ever be free of the fluttering in her belly that this man could initiate with but his presence. His broad shoulders were draped in her favourite navy sweater, complimenting his height and physical prowess.

  With her lack of introductions, Serena took charge. “You must be the bloke we’ve been hearin’ so much about,” she stated, her voice secretive and seductively suggestive.

  “All good things, I hope,” Connie replied, with a charming smirk to the corner of his mouth that brought out that peek-a-boo dimple. He introduced himself, exchanging short pleasantries with both the girls. At the same time, Ian shifted out of the booth to allow his friend to sit beside his redhead.

  Instead of sitting, however, Connie asked to first speak with Evie. Privately.

  Evie was no longer entranced.

  The air outside was refreshing but did little to alleviate her anxiety. As they stood under the glare of the neon sign, Connie pulled a cigarette from a pack in his back pocket and lit up. He took a long drag before the smoke came rushing out of his nostrils, curling about his hair and head. Evie’s teeth gnashed her bottom lip, worrying it raw, as he took another pull on the fag, before finally getting to the point.

  In a deep tone, just a hair above a whisper, he began, “I wanted to make sure that I…em…apologized.”

  He hesitated, drawing the butt of the cigarette to his lips once more. The smoke came out of his mouth as he continued, “My actions the other night were unacceptable.”

  Evie was as impressed as she was relieved. She wasn’t accustomed to men apologizing. None of her exes’ certainly had. It melted the worry off her in a flash of heat that had her nearly swooning. “You don’t need to,” she started to say, wanting this over with and out of the way.

  “No,” he cut her off, those piercing eyes lighting on her, capturing her, holding her, “I do. You’ve done a lot for me. Given me hope again…and I let one little hurdle upend everything all over again.” His hand reached out, shy and tentative, cautious in its offer to her.

  Evie took it, without question, drawing herself close to him. Connie leaned back against the brick wall and settled an arm around her. He flicked the ash from the cigarette before he dropped it, half-finished, and stamped it out under his shoe.

  The Scot tipped her head up, so he met her gaze. “You deserve so much more than I can give you.” The whisper was raw and bleeding, as much an apology as it was a despairing regret.

  “You can do better for me,” she replied, with a smirk to the corner of her mouth, “and I’m going to hold you to it.”

  Evie raised her chin, an invitation which he obliged. His mouth pressed against hers with a heat that made her toes curl, tasting of beer and ash and him. It was a brief melding of lips that spoke all the other things that they need not say aloud, and when he pulled away, she briefed him on her recent discovery.

  Sounding curiously hopeful, he agreed with the idea, “Aye, an investor would make things easier.”

  Yet, as impressed as he was with her news, he seemed only interested in kissing her again. She allowed it. One more, less chaste than the last, and as she pulled away, his hands tried to draw her closer. His chin pressed against the side of her head, as his hot breath ghosted across the shell of her ear, “And then, when it’s all over, I’ll have ya all to myself.”

  “Mmm,” she mused, playfully, curling a ringlet of raven hair around her index finger, “Why wait?”

  The man heaved a resigned sigh that surprised her as he begrudgingly admitted, “Ian is crashing with me, and that flat is far to small for the way I would be wanti
n’ to have ya.”

  “Oh,” the word fell flat as it exited her mouth, and the redhead hated the way that it sounded exactly as it was. Like she was disappointed and jealous of sharing him.

  Between Ian and her flatmate Serena, there was nowhere for them to be together. It made her belly tense, squirming with the kindling of an urgency she now knew she would not be able to easily satiate.

  The man’s fingers flexed against the small of her back, itching to move lower, sharing her frustration. They would both be suffering until Ian could be relocated. At least they would be suffering together.

  With this prospect on her mind, the redhead made good on the time they had now, raising up on the toes of her flats to brush her mouth invitingly against the smooth skin of his freshly shaved chin. The smell of the shaving cream lingered on his person, with the sharp mixture of alcohol and mint. He acquiesced, his mouth moving in rhythm with her own, making her insides coil. Her fingers gripped the navy sweater, as she held herself up to his height, matching his force and need.

  The moment of passion, however, proved fleeting.

  The door to the pub opened and a gruff voice, chastised, “Don’t swallow her, mate,”

  Ian.

  Connie’s head pulled away from hers and Evie couldn’t stop herself from sending the man’s friend an agitated glare. The sandy-haired man took little notice. His hand moved with familiar ease to the back pocket of Connie’s jeans, filching the pack of cigarettes. Evie pushed away from Connie but refused to give him up entirely. She laced her fingers with his, leaning in, as Ian caught the butt of a cigarette between his lips. He snapped his fingers at Connie, who produced a lighter and tossed it to his mate.

  As Ian lit the fag and began to draw, Connie gave a groused, “Keep ‘em.”

  The shorter man’s brows knit with cross indignation. He removed the cigarette from his mouth, blew out the smoke, and chuckled incredulously, “Bloody right, I will. They were mine in the first place.”

  “I found them on the kitchen counter,” Connie snapped back, raising his brows in a challenge, “that’s fair game.”

  “There’s nothin’ fair about taking a whole pack fer yerself, ya bloody balloon,” Ian complained, his softer accent roughening as he scolded his friend.

  “Then call it recompense,”

  “And what ill harm have I caused?” Ian joked, the smoke of another draw on the fag leaving his nostrils in a great plume, “Surely I’m do compensation, sleeping on that bloody uncomfortable couch of yers.”

  “That couch is perfectly fine,” Connie volleyed back, his tone losing its humour.

  Evie stepped in, claiming a witty win for herself. “If anyone is going to be claiming compensation, it’s going to be me.” She interjected, gesturing at Ian with an open palm, “I think I am owed some time to myself with Connie at the flat.”

  Those stormy eyes landed on her with a look of pure contempt, before Ian broke into a chiding guffaw of laughter. “You can’t blame me for something I haven't taken.” He joked, pointing out, “The couch isn’t in the bedroom. You don’t have to be shy on my account.”

  “Och, dinna talk pish!” Connie roared, cuffing the shorter man’s shoulder, “And you’d be call’n me a balloon, aye? Shut yer gob before she think’s yer right mad!”

  “She’s right daft already,” Ian returned the barb, and the cuff, “if she’s with the likes of you.”

  Evie laughed, watching the two of them bicker. Best mates, after all.

  “I thought I had better come and fetch you,” Ian changed the subject, gesturing back inside, “The girls were getting carried away. That Becca lass is drawing up all kinds of plans. If you’re not careful, mate, she’s going to run away with this frame venture of yer’s.”

  Back inside, they ordered food and drinks and began drafting a plan. Evie found her spirits lift as the brainstorming led to the groundwork for a solid investor proposal. Evie took his hand under the table as he filled in all the details he already had in place, giving him a reassuring squeeze that his fingers reciprocated.

  Becca suggested that the designer seek legal counsel since Mara and Connie had started the business and the frame line together. Connie was hesitant to remove her and Evie feared that his leniency now may leave him permanently under the woman’s thumb. But it was not her place to contradict him. They would move forward with their investor search, regardless.

  Becca would draw up the proposal, but other duties were split up amongst those willing to help. Evie was the only one left out. Due to her responsibilities at the store, she would simply gather information and pass it along to Serena to prepare for the proposal. Ian would help Connie with composing the expected costs of production, advertising, and beginning distribution, as well as building supporting evidence for potential profits.

  Connie had already branded the frames, under the name Thistle, which was a part of The MC Eyecare Group started by Mara and himself. He was able to pull a logo up on his smartphone, which had been designed for the product but would never appear on it. His frames would not become walking billboards. The name and the frame information would be printed on the inside of the laminate arms, once high-volume production started. The layout and design for this were already established.

  Connie had the 192 prototypes, but also had an initial stock order, which was part of what Evie had discovered in the store. Between his flat above and the storage room of the store, there were another 9,600 frames, packed tightly in boxes that they could continue to sell.

  They finished by establishing a consideration set, a list of investors they could approach, and businesses they could network with to build their potential. They each left with their assigned homework, agreeing to meet again in two weeks to discuss their progress.

  12

  By the time Evie made it to bed, she was so excited her brain refused to shut off. She rolled over again and again, hoping each time that her mind would cooperate and slow down. All she accomplished was twisting her blankets about herself until she could hardly move. She freed herself and slipped out of the room, thankful that Serena slept like the dead.

  Evie started the kettle. Perhaps a tea would help to settle her thoughts. She typed a quick text to Andy, hoping he wasn’t out riding the waves. As she settled into a deck chair with a fuzzy blanket and her cup of tea, she was rewarded with the soft buzz of a return message.

  A.W. – You know I’m always free for you.

  Evie was happy to hear back from him. She really needed someone to talk to that wasn’t involved in everything. Before she could get another text out, a message bubble showed up on her screen.

  A.W. – It’s late there! Can’t sleep?

  Just as quickly, there was one more.

  A.W. – Whatcha wearing?

  Evie laughed and answered both questions for her friend.

  E.M. – Tried. Not successful. Daniel Jackson shirt haha the only man who’s ever stuck by me.

  A.W. – And what am I? Chopped Liver?

  E.M. – You too:P

  A.W. – I see how it is. I will always play second fiddle to that guy. It’s because I don’t wear glasses isn’t it?

  E.M. – I do have a soft spot for glasses. Mr. TDH doesn’t wear glasses.

  A.W. – Isn’t that ironic. A frame designer who doesn’t need glasses. How are things with the store? Better? Gotten caught yet?

  Evie had explained to Andy that Connie and Mara were not married, as she had previously feared, but he still teased her relentlessly. She tried to mislead him anyway.

  E.M. – I take my job seriously.

  A.W. – Pfft! Yeah right! You probably think about doing it in the back with Edgar and Tracy! That’s what I would do! XD

  Evie laughed outright at that, as she remembered just how great it had felt to have Connie’s strong hands heft her up onto that counter like she weighed nothing. Not a care for the time and the place. Playing coy, she texted back.

  E.M. – Edgar and Tracy promised not to tell.
/>   A.W. – Gross.

  A.M. – Video chat? I miss your face:(

  The redhead’s mouth curved into a warm smile. She missed his face too. Evie launched the video call, and he answered in two rings.

  The girl’s call was received with a loud groan of protest.

  “I can’t see anything! Where are you?”

  Evie laughed, enjoying the sound of his whining. “I’m out on the deck.”

  “What time is it there, threeish?” he guessed.

  “3:30,”

  “Well, can’t ya turn a light on for me?” he pleaded, comically pouting, “I won’t get any satisfaction talking to a black screen.”

  “Fine.” She gave in.

  Evie made her way, with her phone and blanket in tow to flip the outdoor switch. She was washed in an orange glow as she flopped back down. “There. Happy?”

  “Much improved.” He gave her a thumb’s up, commenting, “That light makes you look like you’ve got a wicked tan.”

  “I wish,” she scoffed.

  In the picture on her phone, she looked like an orange blob with messy hair and glasses.

  “Is that another pair of glasses?! How many do you have now?” Andy asked, his face closing in on the screen as his eyes scanned intently.

  “Three. I sent you a picture of the white ones, but I have a yellow pair and a blue plastic as well.”

  “You make them look good,” he purred into the phone, bobbing his head and licking his lips. “If I ever need glasses, I know where to come.”

  “You better come to me!” Evie scolded him, “At least video chat with me while you’re trying them on so we can annoy the hell out of the optician!”

  “That would be fun regardless of if I need them.” He joked, suggesting that they should make an ‘annoy a dispensing optician’ video-chat date soon. Then he asked her about work again.