“Uh-huh.”
His eyes rake over my outfit. It’s the same one I was wearing when we met yesterday. I’m in a hunter-green polo shirt, khaki-colored trousers, and black Converse. Not exactly something that’s fashion forward. “Don’t let my work uniform fool you. This isn’t something I’d wear given a choice.”
“Then tell me—if you’d had time to change, what would you have picked out today?”
“That’s an easy one.” I wave my hand. “It would be my white silk blouse, black trousers, and black ballet flats.”
“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 peoplewilltell 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’mnota 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.”
“Iknowwhat a Shirley Temple is. You’ve just managed to surprise me, again.”
