Chapter 6 #2
“Isn’t fashion about making a statement?” He wrinkles his nose. “White and black are kind of . . .”
“Bland? Boring? Dull?” I finish.
He nods. “Yeah.”
Those are all comments I’ve heard before made by people who don’t really know anything about fashion. Black and white are wardrobe staples. They’re classics that will never go out of style and have been proven to stand the test of time.
“Some people will tell you that fashion is about being bold and putting yourself out there. But that’s not at all how I see it.
To me, fashion is about putting together an outfit that makes you feel like a million bucks when you wear it.
A person should be able to walk out the door feeling like they can conquer the world. ”
“And that’s what black and white does for you?”
Sam seems to be trying hard to follow what I’m saying, but his wide eyes tell me he has no idea where I’m going with this.
“Not always. Purples and blues are my power colors.”
“And you wouldn’t wear those colors because . . .”
“Because for tonight, I’d want the focus of my outfit to be my accessories—my lucky necklace and earrings. They’re both bold, oversized pieces, so less is more when I’m wearing them.”
“I think I understand now.” Something flickers in Sam’s eyes. “You want something that you know you can be comfortable and yourself in.”
A wide smile crosses my lips. “Uh-huh. You’ve got it.”
We’ve reached a pub. Through the windows, I can see groups of people lingering near the counter chatting, with amber-colored drinks in their hands.
“Are you all right if we take our drinks here?”
I know I should tell him point blank I’m not a fan of pubs, but that would mean giving up some of our precious time together. I don’t know the Knightsbridge area well and I can’t say how long it would take to find another place. I’ll just have to put on my big-girl tutu and deal with it.
“It’s great.”
Sam walks toward the glass door and pulls it open. “After you, milady.”
“Thanks.”
The pub’s interior is Victorian and quintessentially British.
Union Jack bunting hangs above the bar. Two TVs display highlights from last weekend’s Chelsea and West Hamm football match.
Along the maroon walls, there are dartboards and a few framed vintage magazine covers featuring British rock icons.
“What’s the name of this place? The Red Lion?” I joke, knowing that happens to be the most common pub name in the UK.
“Actually, this place is called The Bunch of Grapes.”
We share a laugh.
“That’s unique.”
Sam leads us to one of the quiet back rooms. I slide into the maroon booth by the fireplace. He remains standing. “Drinks are on me. What can I get you?”
“Um . . . a Shirley Temple?” Quickly, I add, “It’s a mocktail with lemon-lime soda, grenadine, and a cherry on top. If it’s too much trouble, I’ll just take a pint. I don’t normally drink if I’m taking the Tube, but in this case, I’ll make an exception.”
“I know what a Shirley Temple is. You’ve just managed to surprise me, again.”
“Oh.” My body warms. “I’m a lightweight—a little alcohol is all it takes to make me tipsy and . . .”
“You don’t have to explain.” His eyes are soft. “Have whatever you’d like. I just want you to know that I don’t plan to let you take the Tube alone tonight.”
That stops me in my tracks. “You don’t?”
“No.” He shakes his head. “I have two younger sisters and I’d never let them take public transit home at night, especially on a weekend. I’d planned to drive you myself.”
“You keep a car in London?”
“I don’t, but I called in a favors and I have a car on standby.” He crosses his arms. “So, what will it be? A Shirley Temple?”
“Yes please.”
“Brilliant. I’ll be right back.”
As Sam turns to leave, I’m struck by his thoughtfulness and his sincerity. He must’ve planned out tonight if has a car on standby. Not having to take the Tube home late is a weight off my mind. I’m a twenty-six-year-old adult woman and I shouldn’t be nervous, but I am.
I haven’t had anything bad happen to me here, but in LA, I had a guy follow me home from the Metro one night when I was coming from LABT, and it put me off public transit for a long time.
When I moved here, as a broke student, I knew I didn’t have much choice when it came to getting around the city.
I’ve had to face my fears, and for the most part, and I’ve gotten over them. But at night, I can’t stop myself from being on high alert, just in case.
Sam returns with the cherry-red drink for me, a plain Coke for himself, and an order of fish and chips to split.
“I should’ve asked what you wanted before I got up to the bar.” He sets the basket and glasses down on the table and settles into the seat across from me. “This is what we usually get when I come here with the guys. I figured it’s a classic. You can’t go too wrong with it.”
The scent of the fries and fresh fish are intoxicating. I lick my lips. “This is great. I’m starving.”
“Phew.” He pretends to mop his brow.
“When you’re a poor student, you learn early on that you can’t be too picky when it comes to food. Believe me when I say this is definitely a step up from Tesco’s meal deal.” As if to prove a point, I savor the flavor of the fry, let it melt in my mouth, and moan. Delicious.
“The same’s true of the food we get at the barracks. It may be free, but it’s bland.” Sam glances around us and lowers his voice. “Don’t tell any of the army cooks I said that.”
I zip my lips closed and toss away the key, then reach for a fry. “How long have you been in the army?”
“A year and a half, give or take.”
“Do you enjoy it?”
“It’s like any job. It’s got its pros and cons.”
I nod in agreement.
“Career-wise, joining the army is one of the best moves I’ve ever made.
I’ve been able to make some brilliant, lifelong friends and discover who I am.
” He takes a sip of his Coke. As he smacks his lips together, I can’t help but notice how full they are.
“But it’s not without sacrifices. Take our families, for instance—we have to be away from them for extended periods of time. ”
“And where is home for you?”
“Bex Hill in East Sussex.”
My brain forms a mental map of the UK. I know Sussex is a county to the south of London, but Bex Hill is not a town I’m familiar with. “Er . . .”
“Have you heard of the Battle of Hastings and William the Conqueror?”
“Yes?”
“Bex Hill is a suburb of Hastings.” He helps himself to a big piece of fish. “It’s right on the sea, two towns over.”
“OK, I think I know where that is.”
“And what about you? Where in America are you from?”
“I’m Canadian.” I laugh. “Can’t you tell from my accent?”
“No, I can’t.” Sam slowly runs his hand along his jaw. A patch of pink colors his cheeks. “I’m terrible at placing accents.”
“I grew up in Nanaimo, British Columbia.” It’s Sam’s turn to look to me for geographic help. “It’s on Vancouver Island in Western Canada.”
“Vancouver, got it.”
We take turns asking one another a few questions about our hometowns. I learn that Bex Hill is one of the oldest towns in the UK and that it’s most famous for the pirates and smugglers who have called it home over the centuries.
I share that Nanaimo is a haven if you love outdoor activities like hiking, biking, and camping, but that living on an island was not exactly my idea of fun. I never enjoyed the same slow pace of life that my parents do.
“What made you settle on moving to London instead of a place like New York, Paris, or Milan?” Sam asks.
“The London School of Fashion offered me a scholarship and Parsons in New York didn’t. It was a no-brainer. How about you? Why join the cavalry?”
“As cliché as this may sound, I wanted to work with the horses.” He sighs. “My grandad was a veterinarian. I remember spending my summer breaks accompanying him on rounds to different farms in Sussex and being fascinated by how he could nurse pretty much any animal back to health.”
“That sounds amazing.”
“It was.” He grins. “I learned heaps of things about sheep, cows, and goats, but none of those animals compared to horses. They’re such complex and intelligent creatures. I swear they can read humans better than other humans can.”
Those are the exact same thoughts I’ve had about horses. “Did you ever consider becoming a vet like him?”
“As a child, yes. Unfortunately, I never had the marks for it. I was a poor student. This was the next best alternative.” Sam reaches for his drink. “I’m hoping in a couple months, I’ll be able to apply to become a riding instructor.”
“I’m sure you’ll get it.”
“We’ll see.” He takes a long swig from his cup. “I meant to ask you earlier, but how did you get on with your boss? He didn’t fire you, did he?”
“No, he didn’t.” I cross one leg over the other. “You were right, when I explained the situation to him, he was understanding.”
I bring him up to speed on Mr. G showing me his soft side.
“And where is it you work again?”
“I should’ve mentioned it sooner.” I face-palm. “At the World of Curiosities Museum’s gift shop.”
“How did you end up there?”
“A friend of a friend. She was working at the museum’s ticket desk for the summer. I needed a part-time job, and the shop was hiring. It was meant to be a temporary gig, but I’ve been there for two years.”
“It’s funny how things just seem to fall into place when you least expect them to.”
We share another laugh.
“I’m going to get a refill on my Coke.” He stands. “Can I get you one too?”
“Yes, please.”
As he picks up my glass. I reach into my wallet and pull out a ten-pound note. “This round is on me.” When I try to hand it to him, he refuses to acknowledge its existence.
“Nope. I asked you here. Drinks are my treat.”
“Then what if I pay for dessert?” I nod to the empty plate of fish and chips. “The only catch is you have to pick it out.”
“Fine.”