Leo arrives at Bliss Designs on time and dressed in worn-in jeans, a black T-shirt, and his cross-body canvas satchel. He’s also wearing a navy baseball cap, stitched with NY – I’m not hating it, even though I don’t typically like baseball caps.
Actually, I’m not hating anything about how Leo looks, except the unwelcome tummy flutters he’s giving me. Tummy flutters are a massive no-no when a bloke is your ex, engaged, and owes you both an apology and an explanation, and now you’re supposed to work with him on a flipping collection.
‘Wow, this place…’ Leo says, his eyes scanning the converted loft. Like our flat, our fashion house was once a fabric factory, which means it has enormous windows, is flooded with light, and there is enough space to work in and have the occasional impromptu dance party.
‘The workroom above the Soho store is… well, cramped – or it will be once it’s finished. It’s in a great location, of course, but it’s nothing like this.’
I never anticipated that Leo – sorry, Lorenzo – would envy my workroom.
‘And the light!’ he exclaims, wandering over to the windows.
‘I know. I absolutely love it, especially this time of year, coming up on spring. Cassie teases me that I must be solar-powered, as I always seem to cheer up when the sun comes out.’ Wonderful, now I’m rambling like a right muppet.
‘I remember that about you,’ he says, turning back to me. ‘You were always slightly glum on grey days.’
Oh, bollocks. I’m definitely not up for a stroll down memory lane. There are enough competing emotions buzzing about inside me without adding nostalgia to the mix.
‘Would you like to meet the team?’ I ask, changing the subject. They’re down the other end of the workroom, clumped together and pretending to work.
‘Sure.’ He grins at me and I’m reminded of the firm talk I had with myself this morning.
You are a professional. This is a professional arrangement. You are not the same people you were ten years ago. And he is not yours to lust after or swoon over – he’s engaged. SO, ACT LIKE A NORMAL PERSON AND BE A PROFESSIONAL!
I said all this out loud while I was in the shower and Cassie came in to ask if I was talking to her. I know she caught at least the end of my pseudo affirmation, but she didn’t mention it over breakfast, which I appreciated. I also appreciate that she’s hiding away in the office right now, letting me handle Leo’s orientation to Bliss Designs on my own.
I lead him over to the team and introduce him. Zara gushes about his shoe designs and Prue asks about America, particularly New York, as it’s top of her bucket list. Gaz seems too dumbstruck to say much of anything. I know how they feel.
We leave the team clustered near the sewing machines, pass the workbenches, and head to where we store our fabrics.
‘These are what we’ll be working with for next season,’ I say, indicating a section we’ve cordoned off. I run my hand along a bolt of ecru raw silk.
‘Incredible textures,’ he says, edging closer. ‘You have a really beautiful eye, Elle.’
It’s a compliment, of course, but it also highlights the main issue with us working together – well, not that issue – the other one: the clash of design aesthetics. It’s an enormous leap between Leo’s modern take on Western wear and my sleeker, more classic designs.
‘I’ve just realised these may not work for our— Leo, what are we going to do together?’
He meets my eye. ‘That’s what I’m here to find out.’
‘Right, but you… me… From a design perspective, we’re worlds apart.’
‘I don’t necessarily agree with that. We both design in natural materials. You said yours are ethically sourced like mine are…’
‘Well, yes, but you’re all denim and cowboy boots and I’m—’
‘Old-world Hollywood.’
‘Exactly.’
‘How about spaghetti Westerns?’ he asks with a cheeky smile. ‘The confluence of both our styles.’
‘Er, how about no, thank you?’
Leo’s smile falls away and he regards me intently. I stand taller, meeting his unwavering eye unwaveringly.
‘You know that was a joke, right?’ he says, the corners of his mouth twitching. Ah, there it is – a smidge of the arrogance from that night at the restaurant.
‘Of course,’ I reply, one eyebrow lifted. When we were together, he was jealous I could do that.
Our eyes are still locked the moment an idea comes to him. It’s like watching lightning strike: his jaw drops, his eyes widen, and his whole face lights up.
‘What about—’ He cuts himself off, making his way to the workbench that’s set aside for design work. He takes a sketchpad from his satchel, then scrounges inside it for something to sketch with. I open a drawer under the bench to reveal a large selection of pencils – any kind a designer might need, even though I mostly sketch on my tablet.
‘Perfect,’ he says, grabbing a graphite pencil and flipping open the sketchbook.
‘Are you going to tell me what—’
‘I’m going to show you,’ he says, his brow creased in concentration.
I watch over his shoulder, mesmerised by the deft movements of his hand. I’d forgotten what beautiful hands he has – or perhaps I didn’t let myself remember. Minutes pass without us exchanging a word, but even from a set of rudimentary sketches, his vision starts to become clear.
‘And then…’ he says. He tears the page from the sketch pad and, on a fresh page, sketches several more designs. Eventually, he steps back to regard his work.
I draw even nearer.
‘Do you see it, how we can come together?’ he asks in a whisper.
I do. He’s devised a way for our combined aesthetics to work within one collection.
In my periphery, he looks at me and I nod, my eyes still riveted to the pages. Of course, these are just rough sketches and I will need to put my stamp on the designs, but the concept is there – the vision is there.
‘Leo,’ I say, ‘it’s incredible.’
‘It’s us, Ellie.’
I tear my eyes from the sketches and peer up at Leo. His eyes are alight with excitement and possibility, his lips stretching into a broad smile. It’s impossible not to be swept up by his obvious passion, by everything dancing behind his eyes. I beam back.
It’s us, Ellie. The words echo in my mind as I direct my attention back to the sketches.
That’s exactly what thrills and terrifies me.
‘Elle, Leo, we’re just going to get some lunch,’ says Cassie. ‘Did you want to come?’
Somehow, several hours have passed since Leo arrived. We’ve been bouncing ideas off each other with a dozen or so rounds of ‘What about this?’ and ‘Yes, and how about this?’ The workbench is now littered with sheets of paper, and each of those are covered with sketches and notes.
‘Oh, er…’ I look to Leo. ‘Are you hungry?’
He flicks his wrist and checks the time. ‘Starving,’ he says, ‘but I kinda wanna…’
‘Me too.’ I turn to Cassie. ‘We’re staying. We’ll order in.’
‘Suit yourselves,’ she says, then shepherds the team out the door.
‘I really am starving,’ says Leo.
‘I know,’ I reply, picking up my phone. ‘I really am ordering lunch.’ I open the delivery app and start scrolling. ‘So, Thai, Indian, Persian, Ethiopian… We’re in the best part of London. Spoilt for choice.’
When I look up, he’s watching me. ‘What? None of those take your fancy?’
‘It’s not that.’ His eyes bore into mine and the mood between us shifts.
‘Oh. Then what?’ I ask in a hushed tone.
‘It’s just… Never mind.’
I inch forward, as if I’m being lured by a giant magnet. ‘Tell me.’
‘Just…’ He breaks eye contact, his gaze dropping to my mouth, and I swallow – hard. ‘It used to be like this, remember?’ he says, meeting my eye with slight smile. ‘We’d be working on our assignments, in the design studio till all hours, sparking off each and—’
Something inside me clicks and I emerge from the nostalgic fugue.
‘Until you left.’
‘What?’
The rage bubbles up so quickly and completely, it consumes me. I glare at him, my hands in fists.
‘Not so much sparking after you gave me a day’s notice, then left the country, never to be heard from again.’
‘Wow, okay, so… I guess deserve that.’
‘You guess?’ I spit, my nails digging into my palms. ‘You completely ignored every attempt I made to contact you. How could you do that?’
His eyes fall away and his jaw clenches.
‘How did we ever think this would work, collaborating on a collection?’ I start to pace. ‘I mean, what were we thinking? What were you thinking? Were you ever going to explain why you broke off all contact after you left London? Were you ever going to apologise? Or did you think we’d just work side by side, merrily going along and ignoring the GIANT FUCKING ELEPHANT in the room?’
I stop pacing and glare at him. ‘Well?’
He takes a deep breath then looks up to meet my eye. ‘You’re right – about all of it. I do owe you an explanation – and an apology – but I’ve been too…’
He pauses, as if searching for the right word.
‘…cowardly,’ he says eventually. ‘I was worried that if I said anything, it would dredge up all these awful feelings and you wouldn’t want to work with me – or even see me. I completely fucked that up – I get that now.’
His contrition activates an emotional pressure valve. Even without an apology, without an explanation, the tight coil of fury inside me starts to unwind.
‘And I was right,’ he jokes feebly. When I don’t respond, he inches forward, his expression softening. ‘I am sorry, Elle – about all of it. You have no idea how many times I wanted to contact you over the years.’
‘Then why didn’t you?’ I ask, hating how small and sad my voice sounds.
‘Because I worried that I’d left it too late, that you wouldn’t want to talk—’
A blaring ringtone cuts him off. ‘Sorry, just a sec.’ He retrieves his phone from his jeans pocket and, without thinking, my eyes flick to the screen. Franzia. Oh my god. A wave of nausea overcomes me and I suck in air to stave it off.
‘Fuck,’ he says to himself. He looks up. ‘Sorry, it’s Franzia. I completely forgot we were supposed to talk this afternoon. Time must have gotten away from me.’
‘Are you going to answer?’ I ask, still woozy.
‘Uh, I’ll call her back.’ He starts gathering sketches and shoving them into his satchel.
‘Leo—’
‘Sorry, Elle – I promise we’ll circle back to… well, all this, but I need to go.’ He shoots me a hollow smile. ‘But a great start, hey?’
He shoves the last of the designs into his satchel – some of which are mine, I realise – and starts towards the door.
‘Wait.’ He does, rounding on me so quickly, I step back, startled. ‘I just… When are working together next?’
The question pops out before I recognise what it means: I’m prepared to continue this collaboration – despite having just spewed a decade’s worth of anger and hurt at him, or that he’s left so much unexplained…
And despite that Leo is now rushing off to speak to his fiancée.
‘Oh, right.’ He blinks at me as if he’s as shocked by my question as I am. ‘Uh, how’s tomorrow?’
‘Really? But it’s Satur—’
‘Keep the momentum going, don’t you think?’
‘Okay, yes, all right.’
He starts towards the door again.
‘So, here?’ I ask.
‘Sure, yeah – probably best, ’cause my workroom’s still, you know…’
‘Right, still under construction. And what time?’
I hate that I’m keeping him – his desire to leave is plainly evident – but I don’t want to spend all day tomorrow waiting for him to arrive. Because waiting for Leo Jones would be a very Eloise Bliss thing to do, as demonstrated by the past ten years.
‘Eleven work for you?’ he asks. I nod, unsure of what else to say. ‘Cool.’
He’s about to leave, but spins around as if he’s suddenly remembered something. He walks back to me, leans down, and kisses my cheek – a cold, dry peck and a far cry from THE CHEEK KISS. ‘See ya tomorrow.’
And then he’s gone, and I’m left staring after him, my insides in knots and my knickers very much in a twist.
