Say Hello, Kiss Goodbye - Jacquelyn Middleton Page 0,17
in the blackout?” Harry’s question earned a terse nod from Tarquin in return.
“Bloody typical!” Lucy laughed, shoveling tomatoes and mushrooms on their plates. “Normal people go to IKEA for bookshelves and come out with tea-lights and wine glasses. Only Tarquin could stop in for a unicorn but cart away a girl named fucking Leia!”
Tarquin smiled and inched past her. He lifted the baked beans off the cooktop, setting the warm pot on a cork trivet. “Glad to see you’re sticking to your New Year’s resolution, Lu.” Lucy hated when people shortened her name.
She scowled. “But how’s yours going, eh? Finding a girlfriend, wasn’t it?”
Tilting his head, he exhaled heavily and grabbed a large spoon. “She’s not my girlfriend…she’s not my anything.”
“Tarquin, I only take the piss because I care. I know you’re lonely and I want to help.” She rubbed her eyebrow with the back of her hand. “Do you want my honest opinion?”
“Do you ever give anything but?” Tarquin snickered. Lucy rarely censored herself.
“I got goose bumps when she told me her name.” She waved a spatula excitedly. “It’s a freakin’ sign, Balfour!”
Funny. That’s what I thought… at first.
“Superstitious Lucy strikes again.” Harry chuckled, rescuing the spatula from her grip.
“Shut up, Haribo. I’m being serious!” Lucy bumped Tarquin with her hip. “No one loves Star Wars more than you, right? It’s like she was meant to find you, yeah? So, be there for her, help her out, and then pray she dumps the boyfriend.” Lucy’s bright eyes leapt to Harry, sliding eggs onto their plates. “And fuck the odds!” She beamed. “Sometimes a cute random can turn into the love of your bloody life.”
Five
LEIA
Should I text him again? Walking briskly, hugging a pot of bright red, orange, and yellow primroses against her parka, Leia exited the map on her phone and checked the time—5:47 P.M. “Shoot!” Mid-shiver, a puff of warm breath escaped her lips as a jumble of jitters wrestled with the adrenaline flooding her chest. Of all days to get lost—and be late!
She hurried along Wilton Way, a quaint street of Victorian terrace houses and three-story buildings tucked into a sleepy corner of Hackney. The road was quiet apart from a few locals, bundled up in coats and wooly scarves, dashing into a small family-run corner shop. The evening’s icy damp chilled Leia to the bone. Twenty minutes figuring out what dress to wear and I still pick the wrong one. I wish I put on the wool A-line instead of leaving it in my suitcase. Venturing a peek beyond her fake fur-trimmed hood, her eyes hopped along the numbers of the shops—67, 65, 61—a trendy wine merchant, a hip hair salon, and a secondhand clothing store. The street’s exactly as it appears online. Desjardins must be close.
Two doors down, a window display depicting an eccentric Parisian garden party told her she was in the right place. Desjardins—right! French for ‘of the gardens’. Small boxwood trees trimmed to symmetrical perfection shared the spotlight with stone pots of deep purple dahlias, their blooms complementing the lavender rosette shift dresses worn by two chic mannequins playing croquet.
This is it, then! Exhaling a deep breath, Leia slipped off her hood and pulled on the door handle. Cute! It’s shaped like scissors. The jingling of a silver bell hung high on the door announced her arrival, but no friendly faces or inviting music greeted her. The boutique stood eerily quiet.
Where is everybody? Her stomach tensed. She gingerly looked past two racks of colorful dresses, spotting the sales desk, tidy and deserted. No Tarquin, no Simon—no one. “Hello? Anyone here?”
The only response came from outside, a e-bike buzzing down the street.
Tarquin’s doing me a favor and I pay him back by being late. Leia set the flowers on a display table and checked her phone. No texs. Shoot. Sweat threatening her brow, she yanked down her parka’s zipper and untied her scarf. Maybe he sent an email? She opened her inbox and found a message from Violetta, her boss at the Costume Institute.
Full-Time Position—Collections Management
The words mocked her, raising a sour taste in her throat. That subject line had invaded her inbox twice before, and both times Leia had learned the job she desperately wanted and felt she deserved had gone to someone else—first to a younger coworker, and then to a guy with enviable contacts but questionable experience. Staring at the message, she swallowed again. Same shit, different day? Just… find out. She tapped the screen.