beginnings of a sleeve on his laptop screen.
“Yeah.” Her fingers dipped into the holes stitched into the lace’s flower pattern. “But I have to be realistic. I’ve only ever planned on winning one customer at a time. I know there are smart shoppers out there who want limited-edition dresses that look good and help the planet. I just have to find them.”
“How’s it going finding a financial backer?”
Leia’s smile wavered. “It’s not. The words ‘limited-edition’ and ‘custom-made’ send them running for the hills. They worry I won’t earn as much as someone with a large production run, so apparently, I’m not a good ‘return on investment’. Sustainability might be buzz-worthy, but when it comes down to it, backers would rather fund designers who swerve green initiatives and flood the market with clothes. But I don’t want that for Frill-Seekers. Upcycling is about quality, not quantity. I need someone who understands that and believes in repurposing old things as much as I do.” She pressed her lips together. Shit. I literally just described Tarquin…
Leaving the lace on the table, she dug into her hoodie pocket and pulled out her phone. Still not a peep. The text-free screen felt like a kick to her gut. Did my rules scare him off? Is he one of those guys after all, the kind who insist on ‘being in charge’? Well, whatever. I’m not changing who I am just so I can get laid. Her forehead creased. If it’s not my rules, maybe he met someone. I wouldn’t be surprised—a guy like him won’t stay single for long.
She tucked her phone in the back pocket of her jeans and revisited the lace, laying a swath over each shoulder of the dress form, making flirty, albeit temporary, short pink sleeves. Her stomach grumbled again, loud enough to earn a concerned squint from Simon.
“Feel free to tell me to mind my own business, Leia, but how are you supporting yourself? A part-time job can’t put food on the table, let alone fund a fashion line.”
Simon kills me. He’s like Sarah, comes right out and says what other people only think. Letting out a sigh, she stopped fiddling with the lace. “It doesn’t. That’s why I need that full-time position.” And? She bit her cheek. Go on, tell him. You’ve got nothing to be ashamed about, remember? “But I have some help, too…from my divorce settlement.”
“Oh, really?!” Simon’s face lit up above his drawing tablet and laptop screen. “Hey, you go, girl! I hope you took him for everything.”
Leia laughed. “Well, not everything. I gave some of the cash to a friend who needed it more than I did. What’s left covers rent on my one-bedroom apartment in Brooklyn, which doubles as my workroom. It also funds some Frill-Seekers costs, but my other expenses are paid out of what I earn. I have a side hustle, too—I mend vintage clothing and do alterations.”
“With what time? When do you sleep?”
“You sound like my dad!” Leia scoffed. “He says I put him to shame, but honestly, no one works harder than he does. He runs two businesses, oversees my mom’s literacy charity, helps out with the NHL alumni association, and does commentary on Saturday night hockey broadcasts.”
“You serious?” Simon set down his stylus, leaving his jumpsuit sketch with half a sleeve. “He played in the NHL?”
“Yeah, for nine years—for Vancouver, Calgary, and Chicago.”
Simon picked up his juice, taking a quick sip. “I grew up watching Hockey Night in Canada on the CBC every Saturday…”
Simon likes hockey?
“…and your dad is on it now. How fun is that?”
Leia smiled. “So, being a Montréaler, you must be a Habs fan.”
“Ah, good guess, but nope. Isles all the way.”
What? The New York Islanders? A sour taste rose in Leia’s throat. Out of all the teams, he cheers for Tyler’s? There’s no way I can tell him my married name was McClelland. Heaven help me if he’s up on all the gossip. I couldn’t deal with his pity.
“Imagine how that went down growing up in Montré—” His phone erupted beside his drawing tablet. “Just a sec.” He casually picked up. “Hey, Spence.” Simon’s eyes pinched—then opened wide, brimming with joy. “Oh! Be right there.” Pushing back his chair, he abandoned his phone on the table. “There’s a delivery downstairs.”
Thank god. Leia nodded in relief.
Stairs groaning under Simon’s pounding size elevens, she worked her dress form, pinning lace tiers to the shoulders before fiddling with the neckline again. She whipped out her phone from her jeans