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"The business that took you there?"
"No," I lower my chin to my chest, "not yet."
"So, are you going back then?"
A hot sensation coils in my chest. I glance away, then back at her, "Not sure yet."
"Pity, for the place, clearly, inspires you." She digs into her purse, then hands me her credit card.
"I haven’t even told you how much it costs."
"It doesn’t matter." She smiles. "I’ll pay whatever price you ask."
"Wow," I blink, "really?"
"You bet," she massages the fabric of the dress like it’s already hers, "this is perfect for a wedding I am going to attend."
"A wedding?"
"Not mine," she laughs, "but a friend’s. This will suit the occasion very well. It’s unique, but it won’t take attention away from the bride. It’s perfect, really."
I charge her credit card, then hand over the machine for her to key in her pin. She taps in her pin without protest. One-thousand pounds. Hell, I charged her one-thousand pounds and she was happy to pay that for a Karma original. Wow!
I wrap the dress up for her, place it carefully in a cloth bag that has my brand proudly displayed on it. She thanks me with a big smile, then slings it over her shoulder and leaves. That is the single, biggest sale that I have ever made. It’s a new record. It means I am good. That people will pay what I ask for my creations. That I can finally charge what I am really worth. I make ten more sales, all in the three-figure range, and by the time I close for the day, it’s a record day of sales for me.
I pack up the remaining dresses, then haul the merchandise into the van that I have rented for the day. I drive home, lug the clothes back into my flat, then walk back down and return the van. I take the tube back home, and by eight pm, I am parked in front of the TV with a glass of wine.
I finish my dinner, have an early night, and I'm up by five am. By six, I have drunk my coffee and paced the floor of the living room end to end, at least twenty times. I really need to get started on creating more outfits, but don’t feel like it.
I change into my yoga pants, a tank top, and throw a sweatshirt on top. I lace up my running shoes. Then, picking up my phone, my keys and my earphones, I set out to run. I keep my pace leisurely, just a little above a fast walk. I run through my neighborhood, across the road that leads to the next block. The one where I used to share a flat with Summer when I lived with her.
I am almost not surprised when I run up the road that takes me to Waterlow Park. Maybe I’ve known I was heading here. Maybe I’ve been biding my time since I walked out of the hospital. Maybe I am still finding myself… Maybe I am done searching for what makes sense. Ten minutes of half-walking, half-jogging up the incline, and I reach the park. I slow to a walk, continue up the familiar path. I pick up speed again, as I jog around the perimeter of the space, then up the hillside. I reach the top, and turn to face the vista that stretches out in front of me. The rays from the rising sun bathe the trees and the city in dappled gold. The breeze lifts the hair from my forehead and a bird calls out nearby. Another returns its call. Its mate probably. Does nature really want us to be in pairs? Is this why we are so hung up on finding our soul mates? Had I found my mate and decided to leave him behind?
To Michael’s credit, he hasn’t called me, or touched base with me, or tried to reach me in any way since I left. It’s nerve-wracking, really, because I don’t entirely trust the man. No way, could he have stayed away all this time. And yet, since I left, I’ve never had the sensation of being watched. Or of being in any danger.
Likely, his alliance with JJ and Nikolai means neither of those clans are out to harm me in any way. I sink down on the grass, draw up my knees to my chest.
Has he taken over as Don? How is he finding it? He’s gotten what he wanted, so he must be happy, I suppose. Does he miss me, though? My scent, my touch…Stop.I lean my chin on my knees and stare forward.
Something brushes against my leg and I find myself staring down at a cat… A Savannah with gleaming spots, pointed ears, a delicate face, and golden eyes that glare at me.
"Andy?" I cry. "Oh, my god, Andy. Where did you come from?"
I gather the cat close and he meows, rubs up against me again. I lower my knees and place him in my lap. I rub his head and he blinks, soaking up every second of the attention.
"I missed you boy, you know that?" I tickle him under his jaw and he yawns. He wriggles in my grasp and I allow him to jump down. He prowls away, to the side, to where a man is standing.
A tall man, with wide shoulders that shut out the scenery behind him. A man with cold, blue eyes fringed by the most beautiful eyelashes I have ever seen. His features are harsh, his nose hooked; his square jaw might as well be hewn from the rocks that are set into the side of the lawn I am seated on.
His chest is so wide that his suit jacket stretches across the front; a lean waist, trim hips that lead down to powerful thighs, clad in pants that are, surely, tailor-made for him. On his feet, he wears Italian loafers that have been polished to within an inch of their life.
The cat brushes up against him and he bends and picks up the animal. He cuddles it against his gorgeously cut jacket as he approaches me. Closer, closer. When he reaches me, he sinks down to sit next to me. He’s careful enough to not touch me, keeping enough space for the breeze to fan the gap between us.
He places the cat down, and Andy pads over to lay down on the grass in front of us.
We sit there, quietly watching the sun come up over the city. Andy yawns and stretches. I reach out to pat him at the same time as the man next to me. Our fingers brush and goosebumps pop on my skin. The hair on the nape of my neck rises. I keep my hand where it is, and so does he. Neither of us moves. Then he curls his little finger around my thumb. The width of his digit is wider than mine. A shiver runs up my spine.
He waits, as if expecting me to move away. As if giving me time to retreat, but I don’t. I stare at the contrast between the tan color of his skin and my much paler one.
