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“Yes, colors are not named after disgusting things. They are named after foods or flowers or things you would find in nature. Asparagus, Jungle, Ruby, Rose—that kind of thing. Notdiarrhea green.” She twisted her lips, which made me smirk. “Back to the topic on hand. This color, on me. Yes. . . or no?”
Giving me a questioning look, her eyebrows higher than I had ever seen them, she raised the maroon to her skin again. I sighed and smiled. “Yes, absolutely, you would look stunning in that color.”
Ophelia gave a small laugh and pulled the entire bolt off the shelf. “I hope they have more,” she said as she passed me the roll.
I looked at the bolt. All I could see was a very large rectangle of fabric wrapped around a piece of cardboard. How did this become a dress? I pinched my brow as I looked back at Ophelia. She was hunched over, trying to find another bolt of the same shade.
“How do you make a dress out of this?” I muttered.
Ophelia looked up at me, craning her neck. “What?”
“How do you make a dress from this?” I asked again.
“Clayton.” She stood and placed her hands on top of the ream in my arms. “You take measurements, and then you cut the fabric, and then you piece it together on a mannequin, and then you—”
“Okay, I get it.” I stopped her.
She pursed her lips together, a corner lifting in a sly grin, before returning to the rows of fabric. “It’s not that hard.”
“To me it is. Just like how numbers aren’t your thing.”
“Numbers are terrible,” she corrected.
“Nah, they’re easy.” I fumbled with the bolt in my hands. “This though.”
“Is just math in a different way. I deal with more numbers than you think.” She patted my shoulder and walked behind me. “I need to find someone to see if they have more of this color, and while I’m here, I should grab a few things.”
I turned to follow her. She was determined, heading to the different aisles, grabbing more pins, another pin cushion, and some more scissors. “Don’t you have a million scissors at the studio?”
“Back at your office, what’s the one thing you seemed to have a massive amount of at your desk and even though you had a million of them you always seemed to need more?” she asked, not looking at me but at the scissors.
I thought. “Pencils and calculators. I always ended up using my phone.”
“Scissors are my pens and calculators.”
“Fair enough.”
“Why are you using a calculator anyway? You never used one in college.”
I shrugged. “Bigger numbers, important numbers, and if you mess up once, it messes the entire firm up. Clients are asking why their invoice is higher, and the big man upstairs is asking why their client owes less than they were quoted. Numbers can get jumbled sometimes when you're stressed too, so calculator.”
She picked another pair of scissors and placed them on the ream.“Okay, now I need to find someone. . .” She turned her head up and down the aisles, finally spotting an attendant. “Oh, excuse me!” She waved her hand in the air and chased after them. I chuckled, picturing her in New York, waving after a taxi the same way.
New York hadn’t changed her like I thought it may have. She was still the same girl that I fell in love with back in college. She still had her quirks, and her Southern accent came out during certain words. My heart always skipped a beat when she called me Clayton. The drawl that was there, the energy. She was still everything I ever wanted.
Ophelia came up to me and grabbed the bolt from my arms, instead giving my empty hands the scissors and pin cushion. She spoke to the attendant, and the girl nodded, narrowing her eyes as she reached for her scanner.
“We don’t have any more, but our location in Gresham does,” she said smugly as she looked at the scanner.
Ophelia gasped and looked at her watch. “How many, and when do they close?”
“They close at eight, and they have. . .” She looked at her scanner again. “Four bolts.”
“Perfect.” She spun her entire body to look at me. “Can we go to Gresham?”
I shrugged and smiled. “Why not? Let’s go.”
Chapter Twenty
