“Come over when?”
Evie rolled her eyes and gave an unladylike grunt. “Ah, who the hell knows,”
The redhead turned back to her phone, flipping through more of the photos until she stopped on one of Connie. He looked suave in his frames, oozing a professional air that any businessman would kill to wield. His highlander-roguishness still lingered, but the glasses dampened it to a manageable level to keep women from swooning and men from cursing.
As she pet his face with the pad of her finger, Ian’s voice cut in, “At least you’re prettier than this here mug.”
This caused her eyes to roll at the man a second time, ending in a leer that made them both burst into laughter. “Well, I should hope so.” She joked back.
“A man can be pretty!” Ian argued, hardly able to keep the curl from his mouth as he defended his position, listing on his fingers, “Pretty handsome, pretty smart, pretty…”
“Foolish,” Evie interjected, and they both laughed.
The girl had become fond of finding Ian in the back, working away on the piles of work orders. It was nice to have a compatriot with whom she could joke and complain and think with. Ian was a great optician, and she had come to depend on his partnership. It was nice to have someone around to share a latte with, that wasn’t her boss.
“I think the pictures are great. Yours, I mean. Mine are pish.”
They shared a laugh again, and then both simultaneously drank from their latte’s. Ian made them nearly as well now as Connie did—and Evie wondered when Ian was going to find his own place. She was beginning to suspect that Ian wasn’t prepared to be accommodating. He seemed perfectly at home on the couch, despite complaining about it profusely.
Wanting to grease the gears a little, Evie jibed at the man, “So…no luck finding your own place yet?”
The redhead could see Ian tense, even though he kept his eyes firmly rooted on the movement of his hands as he quickly feathered a lens and then mounted it. “I’d need a job first, now wouldn’t I?” he snidely remarked.
“Connie’s not paying you?”
Ian shrugged, eyes still on his work, as he deftly bypassed answering that query. “I’m just doing what I’m told right now. I want Thistle to succeed as much as anyone else.”
It was a neat sidestep that didn’t answer any of her lingering questions. Evie tried to think of a way around it but was interrupted by the chime of the front door.
“That’ll be you then,” Ian said, shooing her.
Evie speared him with a glare before walking up to the front to greet her customer.
This was how the last month had gone. Ian came to edge, at whatever time of the day he felt like it. He always brought the gift of a latte, covering the edging while she handled the storefront and helped with exams. After a week of the routine, Evie had found herself drifting to the back for the conversation between patients. She found Ian to be witty, unapologetic in his opinions, and generally very kind.
Connie had been MIA for most of this time. The promo shots been back in time for the scheduled meetings and looked fantastic. These meetings were often during the day, leaving Evie and Mara unavailable to attend. Becca had also been busy with her other events lately, so Ian was designated as the designer’s wingman. Evie tried not to be jealous but was pretty terrible at it.
It was hard. Being separated from the man, whether for the good of Thistle or not, made her cantankerous and moody. She tried not to let it show, but Serena and Becca could see right through this thin shroud.
Evie filled her evenings with new books and watching her favourite sci-fi. Together, the flatmates had ensnared Becca with the show, and together, they were working their way through the seasons. Evie talked now more than ever with Andy. There wasn’t a night went by when her mobile wasn’t buzzing on her nightstand, well after Serena’s bedtime. Evie had taken to sleeping with the thing, so if Andy had a comical one-liner to send her, it wasn’t keeping her flatmate up.
Today was no different. Ian left an hour later, depositing the finished trays of work orders at the front for her to call for pick up. He was off to meet Connie at another investor meeting, telling her to cross her fingers as he left. She would cross everything if it made a lick of difference.
That was another concern altogether. The luck of it. Connie had not come across any yet, not even a shred, and it was gnawing at everyone on the team. Evie guessed that was probably another reason why Connie had grown scarce, and she was not entirely sure what to do about it.
The Scot was not a texter. She had tried to send him encouraging words, lascivious innuendo, and concerned inquiries as to his thoughts after investor meetings and was disappointed by his recurring neglect to respond. If he did send a text, it was to make sure that Ian was making her coffee. As appreciative as she was for the lattes, Ian couldn’t fill Connie’s shoes. Not even close. Still, Evie grew ever more impatient with the Scot’s absence and silence.
Investors 12, Connie 0.
It was a score that Evie did not like to keep, yet seemed incapable of losing track of. She hoped today may be different. Connie needed at least a hint of interest to keep his chin up. She would find out soon enough. Surely if there was interest, Connie would proclaim it loud and clear, and if there wasn’t, she would prod it out of Ian.
Evie tried to remind herself to be patient. If not for herself, for Connie. When he needed her, she would be firm and steadfast with her faith in him. He would be a success. Soon.
The Scottish summer had waned to autumn, and the rain had not let up. She walked home after closing, her feet sore from a long shift on the run. The Hello Kitty umbrella protected her head from the drizzle, but her flats were no match. She was soaked clean through from her toes to her shins, her denim leggings slick and tight around her ankles. She might have to invest in rubber boots. Walking home with prune-wrinkled feet was the worst, and she wasn’t sure her flats would survive it much longer.
As she turned a corner, that familiar purple unicorn sign of Rockstar Roy’s came into view. There was a corresponding pang in her gut, a haunting remembrance of time passed in the warm confines of the pub with a certain someone that had been distressingly absent these past weeks. As she neared the building, she began to wonder if she might find Connie sitting at Rockstar’s bartop, sipping a rusty nail.
Sipping? Ha! Not likely, she thought.
He’d turn those bright eyes on her, sparkling with their mischievous way, as he beckoned her to join him. The incorrigible rogue would give her bottom a pinch as he caught her in his embrace. Those large paws would grab her arse firmly and heft her effortlessly up onto the bar top, to the raucous whoops of the regulars. Their mouths would compete for dominance, each as hungry for the other as they fought to ravage one another.
A cold splash of rainwater brought Evie out of the steamy fantasy. Her foot was soaked. She had navigated through a puddle while lost in the absurd desire to be taken on a bartop before a cheering crowd of onlookers. Evie shook out her shoe and kept going. In her ear, Evie could hear Connie’s gruff voice still, earnest in his demands as he argued with her.
Wait…that’s not in my head.
Evie came to an abrupt stop, standing and listening. The redhead could have sworn she had heard Connie, his voice taut as he rebuked another. She backed up a few paces, peeking down the stairs at The One Horned Mare.
Ian’s face was red as his temper flared, his stormy eyes intent on whomever he had cornered at the bottom.
Evie didn’t have to guess. She backed up a half-a-step more to see her raven-headed Gaelic god. He was anything but now. His hair and shoulders were soaked from the rain, his nose and ears pinked with drink, as his mate ripped him a new one.
Evie’s heart squeezed unpleasantly behind her ribs. She drew out of sight to listen to their quarrel, knowing that if she made herself apparent, it would cease.
Ian was testy, his patience gone, as he remonstrated Connie’s drinking.
“Look, you can do what ya
like, I ken ya always do, but if you want this ta succeed, you have ta stop drinking yourself oot yer tree every time things dinna go yer way. No one said this was gonna be easy!”
Connie was silent. Evie knew the Scot really must be oblivion-drunk if he wasn’t even going to defend himself.
Ian did not go on. His words already said were heavy with grief and concern that ran so deep, it made Evie sympathize with him and not the sot she loved. But she had gotten her answer; Investors 13, Connie 0.
Forming that score in her mind felt like a right-hook to the kidney. Things were not going as planned. There was no happily ever after insight. She wanted to run to Connie, wrap him in a death-grip embrace, and demand that he keep going. However, the sound of Ian’s sneakers slapping up the wet steps propelled her in the other direction.
Evie made her way home, hurting. She ached for Connie and his overwhelmingly apparent disappointment. A small part of that pain was for herself. It was knowing that no matter how much she wanted to, it would have solved nothing to run and pity him.
◆◆◆
The redhead had been on pins and needles the entire weekend. Her focus wondered from even the simplest of tasks and the most engaging company back to the argument she had overheard. She wanted inside Connie’s head.
As much as Evie wanted to help Connie, a small part of her knew that this would be best accomplished by her absence. She had given him the platform to relaunch this venture, and it was up to the Scot now to see it through. A wounded pride could not continually be nursed. If Connie was to make this work, he needed to understand that.
Now she was at the store again, the beginning of a new week, and it was oddly quiet. Mara had been in and out already, the two of them had finally found their rhythm. The sales that morning had been stellar. The patients were eager to purchase Connie’s frames, having heard all the hype from a friend or social media. One patient bought six pairs, all uniquely tweaked for them. Without the need to convince people of the product, Evie found her job almost too easy.
With the optometrist gone now and the orders squared away, she sat at the front reception desk, ordering lenses. As soon as the pulse of the morning had ended, she was distracted. Evie wondered if Connie was in his flat, sleeping off another bender. She kept waiting to hear the back door open, hoping the man might grace her with his presence—in a comely dress shirt instead of the frayed bathrobe.
The door did finally open, but it was Ian, with his usual offering. The redhead smiled anyway, glad for the company. He did not smile back.
Ian was withdrawn, only managing a smirk that made his face appear unflatteringly lopsided. He deposited the mug on the bar top of the desk, and she noticed that the drink was sans-topping.
It was not as though the whipped cream mattered. Yet, there was something about it missing that made the ache beneath her sternum deepen.
Not wanting to appear ungrateful, Evie grabbed the cup and thanked him.
It was later than usual for Ian, and as she took her first sip, she wondered why. It was midafternoon, and he was rumpled from head to toe. He looked a little like he had just rolled off the couch and put on clothes that had not quite made the toss into the hamper. His sandy-blond hair, soft and feathery as it was, stuck up in several places, resisting the hands that had tried to tame it.
“How’s Connie?” she broke the silence.
His body sagged, his fingers clutching the mug in his hands tightly, one thumb drumming nervously. Rockstar may call her a pussycat, but the redhead was done pussy-footing around Connie’s drinking problem. With the decision made, she informed Ian of what she had overheard. Ian’s surprise and guilt were almost cute.
“So, how’s Connie?”
“He’s sore,” Ian finally intoned, with a wan smirk, “but he’s back in the saddle. For now.”
“I suppose that is better than wallowing at the bottom of a glass,” Evie replied, taking another sip of her drink. The latte really was good. She wondered if Ian had made it or if Connie had just sent it down with him.
There was a moment of dreary silence between them again. Ian lingered, not touching his drink, even though he still clutched it, thumb ticking away. With the fact confirmed, Connie would rise back to the challenge of facing another investor, Ian should have felt lighter. She certainly did. But the teeth still chewed the inside of his cheek.
The redhead felt obliged to say something to lighten the mood and push past the awkwardness of the finished conversation, but Ian suddenly beat her to it. His eyes snapped to face her, the storm in them conflicted, as he punchily demanded, “You never came by. Why not?”
“Would that have fixed anything?”
“He wanted you to.”
Evie was struck with the full impact of that statement, and it did little to sway her opinion. Connie may well have, but it did not change anything. What would it have accomplished? She found Ian’s harsh words rise in her mind, and she repeated them now, feeling they were even more poignant, “No one said this was going to be easy.”
The man’s blue eyes, intricately marbled and veined with chestnut, went wide with recognition. The moment of surprise was short-lived. His teeth snapped together as he rearranged his features.
“I don’t disagree with what you argued. In fact, I think it was exactly what Connie needed to hear. If he is going to make this work, he has to find the resolve to do it himself.”
“Mm-hmm,”
Evie drank with him, as a loud bang from the back of the store made them both jump. Connie burst into the room, lopping up to them, eyes brilliant. He cackled loudly at the sight of them, arms outstretched. His ecstatic manner was contagious, and Evie smiled warmly in greeting.
“We have it!” he proclaimed, fisting the air.
He grabbed Ian about the shoulders, shaking him vigorously enough to spill his latte. “We have an investor meeting!”
Evie felt her brows knit in confusion as she saw Ian’s do the same across from her. Despite being perplexed, she congratulated the man, “That’s great.”
Ian did not seem to be as pleased. With his brows still lowered, he condescendingly objected, “That’s nothing new. We’ve had lots of them. What’s so different about this one?”
Connie laughed again, the sound coming up from his belly full and hearty, as he triumphantly announced, “Because, this investor approached us!”
“That’s great!” Evie repeated with more gusto.
“You were approached?” Ian still sounded skeptical.
“Aye, just now!” Connie cried jubilantly, explaining in a rush of bubbling words, “I just got off the phone. The investor has a partner meeting in Edinburgh this week and wants to see a proposal on Friday! He wants the whole team there, and we will be afforded the opportunity for a full-length presentation, spare nothin’!”
“Sounds like they are very interested,” Evie pointed out.
“Aye, they do!” Connie exclaimed, his bright eyes landing on her in all their glory, vividly intense. Full of hope and pride and anticipation.
◆◆◆
“That’s great news, Evie. And you get to be at the meeting too?”
“Yes,” she confirmed with a warm smile directed down at the screen of her phone, as she nuzzled the fuzzy blanket closer. It was still raining, and she could feel the wetness on her face despite the deck being covered. She took a sip of the tea Serena brought out to her.
Her flatmate draped herself over Evie’s shoulder, giving Andy a wide toothy grin. Andy reciprocated in kind, waving both his hands exuberantly in front of his laptop screen, making them blur over the internet connection, as he sported the same squinty-eyed grin. They both looked like a couple of children, and Evie laughed.
“I canna go though,” Serena explained to the man on her flatmate’s phone. She pouted a big fat bottom lip and ran a finger down her cheek, mimicking a teardrop. “I have guests arriving at that time and have to stay to let them in.”
“Ain’t much of a shame really,” Andy joked
on the other end with an exaggerated shrug, “to miss a boring investor meeting you wouldn’t be getting paid to attend.”
Though muffled through the glass of the patio door, both girls heard the unmistakable ring of the bell.
“Speak of the devil,” Serena commented, with a flick of her brows, as she jumped up and ran back inside. Andy called out a good-bye, and Serena waved even though the man couldn’t see the gesture.
“Are you excited to attend the meeting?”
“Mmm, yes and no,” Evie admitted.
Truth be told, she wasn’t sure how she felt about it. A part of her needed to be there, and another feared to see Connie receive another ‘no.’ It was one thing to deal with the repercussions after the fact, and quite another to witness the devastating blow first hand.
“You’ve been complaining that you weren’t involved,” her surf slacker said, looking perplexed, “I thought you’d be tickled pink to be able to go with Mr. TDH.”
“Well, yes, I initially wanted to. It’s just that Connie has presented to a dozen investors all to the same end. A big fat no. I want to help him, but now that I’ve been given a chance, I’m not sure what the hell good I am going to be to him there. It’s not like I can stand up there, holding his hand. And sitting on pins and needles during such an important meeting is going to be hell.”
Evie bit her lip. It felt good to get this out in the open, to air out her contrary emotions, but she felt only half-finished. The remaining bit seemed to be a half-formed lump that had become lodged in her throat, fighting to not be spoken. It was silly to hold back. She had never held anything back from Andy—well, she had tried and failed—pretty much the same thing. It would all eventually come out, and she wondered why this bit was so desperate to remain inside of her, misshapen and unrealized as it was.
“What are you talking about?” Andy laughed on the other end.
The surfer was not on the beach today. He was sitting in what looked like a hotel lobby, wearing more clothes than usual—dressier than normal too. She wondered if he was going for a job interview. She had not kept track of his work life with all her own drama taking center stage lately. She was about to get up the nerve to change the subject when Andy charged on.
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