Seeing Colour

by Amber Faucher

  “It’s been busy. Good busy, but tiring. I pretty much handle the store by myself.” She explained with a sigh, “As you already know, I guess.”

  “You can complain to me anytime, Evie. I don’t care.”

  The Aussie raked a hand back through his blond waves, and she could see that he was walking on the beach. The sun was glaring down on his face and tanned shoulders, and he glistened with a thin layer of sweat that was stuck here and there with patches of fine white sand. He must have been surfing again.

  “What’s got you not sleeping?” he inquired, concern replacing his carefree manner, as he put on sunglasses and settled down in a beach chair.

  “Everything,” she sighed, giving in to a long yawn, “but I’ve finally got Connie on board with distributing his frames.”

  “That sounds exciting,” Andy remarked. Then he quirked his blond brows, adding, “and like a bloody lot of work. You doin’ all of that for him too, then?”

  “No,” Evie said, shaking her head, “I’m not doing much actually. I have to hold down the fort at the store. He’s taking charge, and Becca’s going to help us put together a business portfolio for investors.”

  “Investors? Sounds serious.”

  “That’s what we’re going for,” Evie replied, explaining what they had accomplished at the meeting. Once she started, she found it hard to stop. She let out all the thoughts that were racing through her mind, not permitting her to rest, detail by little detail, and Andy listened raptly.

  “I’m sorry, Andy, I must be boring the hell out of you with all this business-talk.” She rushed to apologize, realizing how much of their time she had dominated.

  “That’s fine. I like to hear what you’re up to.” He dismissed her concern. Then chuckled and shrugged his shoulders, “Reminds me of why I chose to surf instead of work like all you normal people!”

  Evie shook her head. Of course, she thought, slacker to the bone!

  “Did it help to go over it all again with me?”

  “It did, yes. Thank you.”

  “See,” he replied, with a triumphant chuckle, “I make an excellent vent. You complain. I vent it.”

  “You’re very good at it too. You didn’t yawn, roll your eyes, or make bad jokes.”

  “It’s because I’m a fantastic human being, and I care about you so much,” he chirped, licking his lips again, far too exuberantly to be taken seriously.

  “If you keep that up, you’re just going to get a mouth full of sand,”

  “Probably just chapped lips,” he agreed, bringing a hand up to wipe his mouth.

  Andy sputtered and spit, proving her point, making Evie cackle. Watching him try to blow the sand out of his mouth, she heard voices mocking her surfer from somewhere in the background. He yelled curses and barbs back at them, as the picture on the phone was drawn back from a close-up on his tanned face. Two other heads came into view, one male and the other female, both waving. They asked how she was and when she was going to visit.

  Evie didn’t know them, but Andy probably had friends all over the continent with how much he loved to travel. With his charm, he probably befriended people on the spot. Either way, they seemed jovial all the same. She giggled and warned them that they were looking at a girl who had barely seen the ocean, let alone spent any time in it.

  Even here in Edinburgh, the redhead had not spent much time by the water. She might need to fix that. She wasn’t living in the Prairies anymore, miles away from the open sea.

  Soon, she promised herself, when things settle a bit more.

  Seeing that his friends were calling him back to hit the waves, Evie signed off went back to bed. As she closed her eyes, she thought of Connie. Already asleep, he was no doubt star-fished in the double bed, sparing no room for company. Bidding her body to not react to the image conjured in her mind, she yawned and wished for sleep.

  ◆◆◆

  “I think that Thistle should be given priority on the frame boards,” Mara stated, her voice firm despite the hint of speculation present in its undercurrent.

  The ordinarily austere woman glanced up at her ex-husband expectantly, the two of them exchanging a knowing look. She left his side and approached the boards at the front of the store, closest to the windows. Connie followed, one hand still speculatively scrubbing his clean-shaven face, as though there were bristles there that he could rub.

  Mara looked back at him and suggested, “This area gets the most natural light, and it’s the first thing you see as you come through the door. We should put Thistle here and pull off some of the older stock that isn’t selling.”

  “Aye,” For one of the first times, Evie heard Connie acknowledge Mara without any contempt of malice, “and how many do ya think we should put out?”

  It was so odd to watch the two of them, exchanging civil words. Evie had grown accustomed to the shiv-like glares and the pleasantly coated slights, so to see them working together without either was like watching the sun and moon reverse directions.

  The optician drew her attention away from their planning and back to her work. She had a lot of lenses to order. She clicked through the options on the screen, adding to her cart the lens blanks that were needed for each individual patient. Evie was already dreading this delivery, knowing that she was the only one who could cut and fit all the lenses.

  It was hard to concentrate on her task, when the two of them stood just out of earshot, doing all the fun stuff. She wanted desperately to be a part of it, to be the one by Connie’s side that he turned to and asked, “Here? Are you sure?”

  The redhead gave a deprecating shake of her head and pinched the bridge of her nose.

  Jealous…seriously, Evie? You’re pathetic, she chided herself.

  Pinching helped to focus her attention and block out their voices, but only for a moment. The minute she let go and went back to her work, Evie’s jealously flared again. It took what remained of her attention hostage.

  Evie mutinously began to wonder when it was that the two ex’s had started to see eye to eye. One week they were slashing at each other with jagged words of condescension and abusive disrespect, and now they were mindful of the others' insight and perspective.

  Evie wished that she had been present when Connie had confronted his ex-wife about his decision to move forward with the Thistle line. The mere mention of selling the frames prior had unglued the woman. Connie had sacrificed himself to keep her from exploding like an atom bomb in the middle of the store, spewing a billowing mushroom cloud of acrid blame. How was it she could go from roiling to tepid when the issue had caused such hostility in the first place?

  Evie glanced up, catching a glimpse of the optometrist’s head from over the top of the bar height reception desk. She looked no different than before. Mara always looked the same, like she was made of wax, only allowing her steely features to melt when Connie enflamed her. Her face was ever poised, brows perfect over pitch eyes, mouth always a line that masked any form of expression other than resting bitch face.

  Evangeline Marie!

  The girl could hear her mother’s scolding tone, sharp and quick, rebuking her sentiment from somewhere inside her mind.

  It’s the truth, she wanted to retort, defiantly defending her uncouth descriptors. The green-heat of jealousy scorched her throat like bile, making her sick with remorse. Surely, she was better than this. Evie was allowing her emotions to run away with her sanity—nothing new—but she needed to reign it in, so she could remember why she was doing all of this.

  Her eyes moved from the optometrist to the man at her side. Mara was far taller than Evie, and the girl’s eyes moved little to happen upon the high cheekbones that defined the Scot’s becoming features. His eyes seemed brighter somehow, illuminated by excitement, as he animatedly talked about the frame display.

  It was for him, for those eyes, and for that smile. It was to see Connie like this. Excited and proud. That was why she had to push on, reign in her discord and complete the chore list.
>
  They finally parted. As Mara went to her office, Connie turned towards the reception desk and caught Evie staring. His mouth knowingly curved into a smug smirk as she looked abashed. He approached, wagging a finger at her.

  “You look in need of a coffee.”

  Her mouth rounded upwards, as he leaned down over the bar height top of the reception desk, daringly flirtatious and close. Connie was prudent enough to give a cursory glance back at Mara’s closed office door before their mouths met. The peck left her lips hot and lonely with his departure. There was a sparkle amongst the varying shades of aqua and teal that mingled in his eyes as he whispered darkly, “Would ya like that?”

  “I would,” she hummed in reply.

  “Aye, right then,”

  As he swaggered towards the back exit, Connie informed Mara that he was leaving to retrieve decent coffee from his flat. From the office, Evie heard Mara snort an amused chuckle, before she amusedly accused, “Are you offering?”

  “Aye,” he called back, his voice ringing through the entire store, “Good coffee. Not yer devil water.”

  Evie heard the optometrist vehemently chide back, “Peppermint tea is not devil water!”

  “It ‘tis!” he cackled.

  “Then bring me a cappuccino,” she changed her order, with a sigh that was half contentment and half exasperation.

  ◆◆◆

  The afternoon of patients came and went better than the previous week, given that the dispensing optician’s wingman had returned. Connie was his best when showcasing a patient their own reflection in the mirror with one of his creations perfectly fit on them. Evie loved the way he approached them, the way he convinced them not to fall in love with the frame but with themselves in the frame.

  Mara lingered after finishing exams, coming to the front to discuss their sales-to-exam ratio, and to thank them for the auspicious day. It was hard to act graciously when Evie was stupefied. When she did leave, Connie stayed to rearrange the frame boards.

  He began by pulling out older styles, then worked to rearranging what remained. Evie worked at organizing the work orders, straightening the front desk, and then began to shut the store down. By the time she was in her coat and ready to shut the lights off, Connie had the front board cleared and was prepared to put Thistle on display.

  The girl found him, standing in front of the bare frame board. The transparent bars glinting with the backlighting, which cast the man with odd shadows. He stood still, a considering hand stroking his chin, his fingers now rasping against the darkness of a five-o’clock shadow. Evie wished with all her being that she could burn that image of him into her mind, to keep forever. With his dark curls handsomely kempt and his features so intent on scrutinizing his next move, his allure was irresistible.

  Evie could no longer keep herself from him. Mara was long gone now, and so she went to him. He was so intent, he never stirred at her approach until her hands were about his sides, sliding over the hard firmness of his midsection. His arms lifted, allowing her to snake her own around his waist, as she drew her body in close behind him. Her cheek pressed against the space between his shoulder blades and the muscles relaxed as he softened against her.

  A pleased sigh escaped him. The dress shirt had obviously been tailored to fit him. Although he looked suave in its blue and white pin-stripes, Evie missed the softness of the worn navy jumper, and the feeling of the cable knit under her fingers.

  Connie lifted his arm and tucked her neatly under it, allowing her hands to remain around him. Evie felt his chin against the top of her crown and then the gentle press of lips. She savoured the closeness. It felt so good to be in his embrace. She felt the rumble of his words before she heard them, as quietly he bade her, “Go on home, lass. Yer feet must be killin’ ya.”

  Evie did not want to lift her cheek from his chest. She shook her head against his shirt, answering, “You still have a lot to do. I can stay and help.”

  “You’re too good to me.” He said it with a light-hearted chuckle, adding, “I canna ask ya ta stay any. You should head home and rest.”

  The redhead was reluctant to agree with his sentiments, no matter how endearing or thoughtful. At that moment, all she wanted was to be with him. Couldn’t he see that?

  “Sleep is for the weak.” She returned, her hands loosening around his waist so that her fingers could trace lazy circles up and down his side.

  That comment made his chest rumble again, this time with a chuckle. The sound overlapped the constant resonance of his heartbeat, and she was loath to pull her ear away, even as he directed her out from under his arm. Connie gripped her arms on either side, his tri-coloured eyes mapping her features. Couldn’t he see that she wanted to stay? That she needed to be near him?

  Oblivious to her thoughts, the Scot implored her to go home again. Evie remained unconvinced even when he kissed her—a press of lips that was intended to sway her, yet left her wantonly desirous of more.

  Evie drifted home, a shell of herself, and flopped bonelessly onto the couch. She was glad that Serena was out so that her flatmate didn’t have to see her eating peanut butter and chocolate chips by the spoonful. She was too weary and uncaring to make herself an actual meal.

  When she couldn’t find sleep, she texted Andy. They spent much of the night watching Stargate SG-1 and texting witty commentary back and forth, to distract Evie from all the draining emotions that kept her from sleeping.

  ◆◆◆

  “This all looks really great,” Becca said appraisingly, as she looked over the gathered information that the team brought together two weeks later.

  The brunette sat back on Connie’s couch with a glass of white wine, as her eyes roamed over some of the production cost projections that the designer had provided. They were all snuggled into the itsy-bitsy living room. Serena was on the couch with her girlfriend, while Ian and Evie sat across from them at the kitchen island. Connie was on the other side, tossing the containers from their devoured take away.

  Becca laid out the information on the coffee table between them, listening as they took turns sharing what they had accomplished. Evie was impressed with their progress. Serena had prepared pie charts and graphs, visually demonstrating the frame line's profit potential, marketability, and their success during their limited introduction. Ian’s cost analysis and profit margin spreadsheets made no sense to Evie, but Becca praised their effectiveness. Connie had brought out the designs that had been drafted previously for labelling the frames and accessories, as well as for advertising. Everything seemed to be falling into place. Neatly. Without her.

  Evie rubbed her temple to ward off the negative trepidation that predated her sensibilities. She had made all this possible. I was silly to wallow in such a blatant emotional trap. To ward off the unwanted feelings, she brought the wine glass to her mouth a gulped down the sweet and tangy gewürztraminer like it was grape juice.

  The stormy eyes that peered at her askance caught the drowning, knowing it for what it was.

  Damn, she cursed to herself, callously musing, I suppose it goes both ways. If I find him easy to read, Ian must see me the same way. Double-damn.

  Evie turned her face just a touch towards him, giving him a reassuring smile that was probably amounted to nothing more than a thin-lipped line. Ian tipped his head at her, the movement was so small that the others on the couch barely registered that they were silently communicating. Evie ignored him, drowning herself in another glass of wine, not caring who made notice of it.

  Deceptively agile fingers poached the wineglass from her hand. Connie gave her a gentle smile, gesturing for her to hop off the stool. Having been caught mid-pout, Evie shyly obeyed. When he drew her back against him, there was no more pouting.

  Becca gave them a knowing glance over the top of her glasses, but her voice never hitched with distraction. She continued to lay out the plan, explaining what was to come next and what they needed to put into place.

  “The next thing we need some promo-s
hots done. High-quality photography of the frames themselves and headshots showcasing the frames on models. Connie, you will need to go through and pick the cream of the crop. We will start with 1/3 of the designs to entice an investor and from their ten main contenders, showcasing as wide a spectrum for the designs as possible. We want to make sure that the investor knows that the collection is both unisex and appeals to adults and children.”

  “That’s not goin’ ta be easy,” he mused, against the side of Evie’s head. She could feel his jaw clench and unclench as he mentally mulled through his catalogue.

  “No, it won’t be,” Becca replied, with a pitiful laugh, “It’s one of the hardest decisions, but it has to be yours. You know the frames best.”

  “Mm-hmm,”

  “Next, we get glasses done up for everyone involved. We want to present a united front and give the investor as many live models of your work that you can.”

  “She just wants a free pair of glasses,” Serena commented, throwing her own girlfriend under the bus.

  A coy grin burst out on the brunette’s face as she nodded exuberantly, “I do just want a free pair. They are gorgeous.” Then more seriously, she pointed at Connie and added, “That means you too mister.”

  “I don’t have a prescription,” Connie sighed, sounding disappointed to have perfect vision.

  “That doesn’t matter,” Becca retaliated, with a shake of her head, “You must wear your own product. There is no way we can present you to investors with that handsome mug of yours, naked.”

  Evie tilted her head back, so she could look up at him. “It’s not hard. I can just put plano lenses in for you.”

  “What’s that?” Serena asked, cocking a curious brow.

  “Lenses with no prescription ground into them.” The redhead clarified, explaining, “We can get them with all the coatings, so they will look exactly the same as prescription lenses. No one will be able to tell the difference.”

  The petite girl sat bolt upright at this, one arm shooting up into the air, making her appear even more juvenile. “Ooo! Then do me too, please! I want a pair!”