Page 68 of Parker
“Well, dear,” she says, “this is a bespoke fashion design shop. And I need an outfit for an event I’m attending later this year. I was hoping you would create something sensational for me.”
Chapter thirty-one
Nicky's Design's, Buchanan Street
Nicky
Christmas songs blast from the speakers in the shop. I’m finishing a hem on a very specific dress a customer requested for an affair on Christmas Eve. The fifties-styled skirt portion has dancing Santas around the hem and joins with a fitted bodice—all in pillar box red. The woman who will wear it is a larger woman, eccentric and wild. She sells handmade signs and decorations for your tree. The one she made me, with the shop name and two girls who look like Sophie and me, hangs in the window.
The bell signals a new customer has arrived, and I look up to see Michael, another shopkeeper from a few doors down, walk in. He sells a range of kitchenware and table accessories, the kind of things you look at and think are nice until you see the price tag.
“Morning, Nicky,” he says. “Still as busy as ever? The Christmas rush seems to be never-ending this year.”
I nod and mumble in agreement through a mouthful of pins. He’s younger than me, nearer thirty, with jet black hair and blue eyes. Good looking in a boy-next-door kind of way, he’s wearing jeans with a flashing snowman sweater.
“I love Christmas!” he gushes. “Don’t you?” I mumble incoherently again. His eyes scan the shop. “Is Soph here?” he asks, and I shake my head. “Good, because I wanted to ask you something.”
I stop what I’m doing and remove the pins from my mouth. “Is everything all right?” I ask.
“Yes, I was wondering if you wanted to go out for dinner with me sometime? I’ve been wanting to ask you for ages, but kept chickening out.” He blushes and wrings his hands together nervously. I look over at the sweet man asking me on a date. I’ve not been with anyone since Joel, and it’s about time I got back out there.
“Sure,” I say. “Friday okay for you?”
His eyes widen in surprise. “Yes,” he says, and his face breaks into a beaming smile. “Friday’s perfect. I’ll pick you up here, say, at seven o’clock. I’ll book a table somewhere. Is there any food you don’t eat?”
“No, anything suits me,” I tell him. “And Michael, thanks for asking me. I’m looking forward to it.”
***
Friday night arrives, and I’m in the back room of the shop applying the finishing touches to my make-up. I’m wearing a soft knit sweater with jeans and wedge boots. I pile my winter jacket on top, then pull my pink bobble hat onto my head. Michael’s waiting patiently out front since he arrived early, ten minutes ago. I see him through a crack in the door, bouncing nervouslyfrom foot to foot. He looks quite handsome in his smart blue shirt and slacks.
“You ready?” I say, stepping out to meet him.
He smiles at me, his grin running from ear to ear. “Wow. You look incredible,” he enthuses. “I will walk a few steps behind you so as not to upset your beauty.”
I blush and giggle nervously. He holds his hand out, and I take it. We step out into the bustling streets of the city.
Shops stay open late at this time of year. People wander the streets, their arms filled with bags of Christmas presents for their loved ones. Lights decorate every shop window. Huge red baubles hang from the lampposts. It’s zero degrees, but crisp and clear. All the surfaces are turning white, adding to the festive feel. We walk hand in hand, not speaking, only soaking up the atmosphere.
“I thought we could have a drink here first,” he suggests, stopping outside a glitzy cocktail bar. Everyone inside is dressed to the nines. I glance at myself in the window. “You look beautiful,” he says as he leads me inside.
We sit at a table for two in the window. I scan the copious options on the menu. Finally, I select a non-alcoholic mojito and order when the server arrives. Conversation flows, but there’s no sexual chemistry from my side. He’s polite and charming, asking plenty of questions about me and the shop. After an hour, he excuses himself to go to the bathroom before we leave to head to the restaurant.
Glancing outside, I look into the furious green eyes of my ex-husband standing on the opposite side of the street, watching me. Joel is dressed in his sharp suit with two of his security on either side of him. He walks toward the bar and strides in almost knocking a poor server out of the way as he enters. His men stay outside on the pavement, scanning the area for threats.
“What do you think you’re doing?” he hisses.
“I’m having a drink with a friend,” I say, and his expression darkens.
“You don’t skip around the fucking streets of Glasgow holding the hand of a friend.” He’s been watching, or one of his team has.
“It’s none of your business,” I tell him.
“You’re always my damn business. You’re mine, Nicky. You always will be,” he snarls.
Michael returns to the table, and his eyes widen at the scene in front of him. “Mr. Parker?” he asks confused. Joel glares at my date. “Michael Evans. I worked at one of your establishments for a while,” he explains, offering his hand. My ex-husband ignores it.
“I don’t remember you,” Joel spits. “Now fuck off.”
