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“No. My brothers and I are all London-born. We’re the Balfour outliers, really. Everyone else is full-on Orcadian. But we’d still go up during holidays, see family. There’s brilliant wreck diving there, too, so I take advantage whenever I can. Good rock climbing and surfing as well.”
“Wreck diving? Like real shipwrecks?”
“Yeah, there’s a scuttled German fleet from World War I. Blockships, too, near the Churchill Barriers. It’s cool.”
“Sounds like an amazing place. No wonder you love it so much.”
“Yeah.” He nodded, brushing imaginary crumbs off his lap. “So, what’s your idea of fun? What are you into?”
“Lots of things. I love to read, skate…take kickboxing classes—”
“Kickboxing? That’s kickass!” And smokin’ hot.
“Yeah…if I were good at it! But I’m not. I pack a mean punch, but my kicks could be better. My balance sucks sometimes.” Leia snickered. “I also like art galleries, fashion documentaries and magazines—I know, that’s hardly surprising!”
“Fave designer?”
“J’adore Dior!” She lit up with a swoony smile. “His vintage stuff is so feminine and beautiful. Works of art. I also love Victoria Beckham’s ready-to-wear, and Stella McCartney, too—not just for her clothes, but her respect for animals and nature as well. What else?” She swirled the ice cubes in her glass. “Oh, I volunteer for the Heart Association, and I swim. Not competitively, just for fun. It’s almost therapeutic, meditative. Sewing started out like that, too. I kinda lose track of time when I’m doing it.”
This is more like it. Let’s keep talking, keep sharing. His shoulders relaxed. “I love that. There’s nothing more freeing than surrendering to your passions. Did you always want to design?”
“No, I wanted to be a kindergarten teacher…or a tree hugger. I heard that phrase when I was a kid and actually thought that was a real job.”
Tarquin laughed. “Classic! So, how did you get into making clothes? Did your mom teach you?”
“Yeah. Mom sewed a lot of our clothes growing up.”
“Was she a designer, too?”
Leia shook her head. “She was a librarian, but she sewed in her spare time. One summer I made the mistake of saying I was bored, and she roped me in.”
“And look at you now! She must be super proud of you.”
“I guess…somewhere, somehow.” Leia’s voice became softer, less animated. “She died nine years ago—when I was eighteen. A heart attack.” Shoulders bowed, she took a long sip again, her eyes fixating on their bill standing to attention between the salt and pepper shakers.
Jesus, that’s awful. A tightness gripped Tarquin’s throat. “Oh, Leia. I’m so sorry—” His phone lit up again with a text.
Lucy: Tell her about volunteering in Nepal building hospitals. YOU’RE WELCOME! x
He flipped it over, out of sight. I’m not going to prattle on about myself, especially now. She looks so sad. But do I ask about her mom—or not? I don’t want to avoid the subject and be an insensitive dick, but I don’t want to make her cry, either. Tarquin bit his lip. Well, say something. “Do you, uh, want to talk abou—”
“No.” Her stare lifted, but she skirted his gaze. “Thanks for asking, though.”
Okay. Good. He let out a soft breath. “So…will you sew at Simon’s?”
With a faint nod, Leia rejoined the conversation. “I’d like to. I can only do so much by hand with a needle and thread.” She sighed, returning her drink to the table. “I have a lot to catch up on”—her forehead wrinkled—“so I should probably get going.” Reaching across the table, she snapped up the bill.
Going? Her words sucker-punched Tarquin’s gut. Already?
“I have a job interview on Friday. I need time to prep.” She dove into her purse.
A job interview? Here? “Oh, well done!” he blurted. “That’s amazing.”
“Yeah, it’s for a full-time position at the Costume Institute,” she replied, all trace of her flirty repartee gone as she pulled out her credit card. “Over Skype.” She craned her neck and locked eyes with their server.
Bloody New York? Just my rotten luck. Tarquin’s heart sank. Bollocks.
“I’ve been waiting months for this chance to come around again.” Leia’s finger flicked the edge of her card as the server rushed over with the portable payment machine. “I can’t mess up.”
