Say Hello, Kiss Goodbye - Jacquelyn Middleton Page 0,19
unbuttoning his coat with one hand. “Just be thankful it never snows.”
“Why, what happens?” Leia’s attention hopped to Simon, taking off his jacket. Fit and attractive in his black jeans and gray cashmere sweater, he looked a few years older than Tarquin, closer to forty than thirty.
“London shuts down—wimps!” Simon laughed and offered his hand, his pale blue eyes eager and welcoming. “Leia, it’s great to meet another Canadian designer.”
No aspiring, just designer—I like him already. Leia smiled wider and shook his hand. “Same here. Thanks so much for staying late. To show my appreciation, I brought you a touch of spring.” She scooped up the pot of cheery primroses.
Simon’s face lit up. “Aw, thank you!” Collecting the blossoms, he ogled their vivid red, yellow, and orange hues and gave them pride of place on his sales desk. “I was just saying I needed fresh flowers for the shop. These are perfect.”
“Gorgeous colors,” said Tarquin. “Happy flowers, primroses.”
“Yeah, I love them.” Leia dipped into her purse. “Simon, I also have a little taste from home for you.” She pulled out a small bag of Canadian potato chips.
Recognizing the flavor, Simon’s jaw dropped. “Oh, you can stay!” He squeezed the crinkly bag, his grin growing. “I haven’t had these for years! Wow, I feel like I’m a kid back in Montréal. Thanks so much!”
Tarquin craned his neck, reading the package in Simon’s hands. “Ketchup? Blimey, don’t show Lucy.”
Leia’s bright eyes scanned Simon’s shop. “I love your boutique. The exposed brick, the beautiful Parisian garden in the window—Desjardins—it’s perfect.”
“Thanks. If the last name fits, right?”
Tarquin raised his coffee toward Simon. “Leia, you surprised?”
“Uh, surprised about…?”
“Si doesn’t have a French-Canadian accent.”
She smiled kindly. “Oh, a lot of Montréalers don’t.” She glanced at Simon, still admiring his ketchup chips. “I may have Googled you…okay, I Googled both of you.”
Simon scratched his beard, shooting a knowing look at his friend. “Well, that’s only fair because Tarquin definitely Googled you—”
“Si,” Tarquin interrupted, playfully slapping him on the back, “you’re such a kidder. Didn’t you fake it, though, on your first date with Freddie?”
“Only the accent, sweetie.” Simon winked.
Leia and Tarquin burst into laughter. “I walked into that one,” said Tarquin.
Simon snickered and left the bag of chips on his sales desk. “Anyway, Leia doesn’t want to talk about my love life. She wants to talk shop!”
“Literally.” Tarquin set his coffee on a case filled with glittery accessories and shifted out of his coat, revealing a black suit, slim fit—Saville Row style—worn with a burgundy pocket square and shirt, and a black tie. He hung his coat over his forearm and unbuttoned his suit jacket.
Leia spied a hint of silk lining—a whimsical paisley pattern. That’s no off-the-rack suit. The tapered waist, detailed craftsmanship, and contrast stitching scream bespoke. He looks like he was poured into it. It’s absolute perfection. He pulled his phone from his trouser pocket and met Leia’s gape with a smile before checking the screen.
Simon laid his coat on the chair. “Leia, why don’t you have a look around while I batch out the day’s sales? It won’t take long. Then we could chat over a bite. There’s a great pub a few doors down, if that works?”
“That would be great.” She nodded, eyes skimming Tarquin lost in his texts.
Leia browsed Simon’s colorful gowns, some in rich jewel-toned velvet, others in delicate sherbet-hued chiffon, many embellished with sequins that sparkled beneath the shop’s twinkly chandeliers. These gowns would look stunning on a red carpet. Around the corner, shorter slip dresses and flirty skirts with intricate hand-embroidered designs—part of his spring line—lent a more casual vibe for Sunday brunch or an afternoon wandering one of London’s outdoor markets. Simon’s designs were fresh, playful, and somewhat Alice in Wonderland-esque, perfect for the woman striving to look beautiful and unique without taking herself too seriously.
“See anything you like?” asked Tarquin, his finger tracing the beading on a sleeveless champagne-colored dress worn by a mannequin.
“What don’t I like?” Leia gasped, lifting the hanger of a fit-and-flare cocktail dress created from elegant emerald crepe and shimmery sequined tulle. She held it against her partially unzipped parka, the dress’s hem falling an inch or two above her knee. “Simon’s made so many beautiful pieces.” She looked up and hesitated, capturing his gaze. “Do you ever bring your girlfriend here?”
Raising his eyebrows, he stepped away from the mannequin. “Well, I would—if I had one.”
He’s single?! She caught her breath. Hmm!
His eyes slid to the striking V-neck dress in her hands. “That