Say Hello, Kiss Goodbye - Jacquelyn Middleton Page 0,7

a lucky guy. He motioned toward her dress with an open palm. “Well, it’s gorgeous, and if you don’t mind me saying, you look beautiful in it. I never would’ve guessed!”

A grin pinched her cheeks. “Thanks.” She lifted her bundled scarf off her lap and smoothed the skirt of the knee-length dress. “People are often surprised an upcycled dress can look like something in a fashion magazine, but my ideal customer is in on that secret. She’s bold, resourceful, a trailblazer, a risk-taker—and not just with clothes.”

That’s a great pitch. I bet that’s how people describe her, too. “What’s your label called?”

“Frill-Seekers.”

“Ha! That’s brilliant.”

Leia beamed. “I thought so. My label is all about pretty, comfortable clothes with form and function. They’re aspirational but also practical for people on the go. There’s no point in creating a dress that pinches when you reach for a subway pole or bend over to shoot pool.”

Tarquin raised an eyebrow. “You? Play pool?”

“One of my hidden talents—not that I have much time for it these days.” Her smile dimmed as she wound her scarf around her hands. “I’ve been sketching, making samples, doing special orders through word of mouth for ten years, but launching a brand and attracting customers is tough. Competition is fierce. My instructors at fashion school tried to dissuade me. They said creating limited-edition dresses wasn’t financially viable, but I like to prove people wrong.”

You’re not the only one, sweetheart. “Do you have industry contacts?”

“A few. I interned at a major fashion house for two years, learning the ropes, and I’m hoping to work with a friend who’s an actress—but nothing’s definite yet. For now, it’s status quo: making clothing for me, my sister, and any clients that come my way while I build my collection, piece by piece.”

I could help her. For real. He grinned. Plus, it’s a reason to stay in touch. “You know, you should meet a friend of mine, before you head off to Italy. He’s a designer, French-Canadian. He’s got a small shop in East London that’s going gangbusters.”

“Oh yeah?” Her sidelong glance snagged on a burst of activity at the checkout. She freed her hands from her scarf and slipped her arms back into her parka. “But he’s probably way too busy.”

“Simon? No, he’s always happy to talk fashion. You could visit his shop, share stories about Canada.” He picked up his phone, barely pausing for breath. Get her number. “Maybe Si would even stock your designs. He’s a smashing fella, you’ll love him.”

“Wow, that’s really kind of you but…” Her slight grimace flew under Tarquin’s radar as he typed in her name. “I can’t.”

Can’t? Tarquin looked up, meeting Leia’s determined gaze. Her fingers were picking at the dark purple polish on her nails. Oh, you wanker, Tarq. She’s known you all of twenty minutes. We’re strangers in a shop—nothing more. His shoulders deflated as he pasted on a smile, parking his phone. Don’t make this more awkward. “Oh, forgive me. I forgot—you’ve got family obligations, of course.” Busying himself with his paper cup, he swirled the cold, milky dregs around the bottom. “Holiday time is sacred. Loved ones should always come before work. I’m sorry.”

Leia twisted her lips. “But you left your family in Scotland for a meeting down here.”

Bollocks. I did. She listens, which is nice, but… “Uh, yeah, but with my family, sometimes you can have too much of a good thing.” He downed the last of his drink and winced, staring at a sticky coffee ring on the table left behind by a previous customer.

“You should be an honorary Canadian.”

“Why?” asked Tarquin.

She smiled quizzically at him. “You apologize too much.”

“Hello! Excuse me?” The store manager, ruddy-cheeked and perspiring, lingered at the edge of the bistro. “The card system is back up. Please join the queues and we’ll get your transactions processed as quickly as possible. Thank you for your patience.” He jogged back to the checkout, a cluster of relieved customers, including the twins and their father, close behind.

“Well, New Year’s Eve is back on track.” Leia nudged aside her unfinished drink.

Tarquin nodded. For you, Leia—definitely. The Shard with your boyfriend, champagne, fireworks, London at your feet. For me? Nope. A second date with a friend of a friend, dinner, a club. Probably an awkward morning after…

Leia’s phone lit up with a text beneath Tarquin’s business card. “My sister.” She grasped her parka, closing it over her dress. “I should get going.”

Tarquin pulled the knot tighter on his scarf. “Yeah, me too.”