C.E. Murphy - Truthseeker

David Kirwen waited in the lobby, expression animated over whatever news his cell phone shared. Lara stopped in the archway leading from the private fitting rooms and offices, surprise slamming her heartbeat high. She curled one hand around the door frame for support, and wished, for a moment, that she could retreat and try her entrance again, this time knowing who awaited her. Cynthia slowed, peering at her, and Lara gave her a halfhearted smile of reassurance.

Kirwen looked up from his phone and offered a disarming grin. “Miss Jansen. I’m glad I caught you. I only realized after the fact that we hadn’t set a time or place for dinner.”

“I’d noticed that, too.” Lara swallowed against a dry throat and gave Cynthia another smile, this one tinged with embarrassment. Cynthia’s gaze brightened and she turned to give Lara a discreet thumbs-up before scurrying into the back offices and leaving Lara alone with David Kirwen.

He was considerably more handsome dry and smiling than he’d been dripping and cold on the street. That was her first thought: not what is he doing here or how did he find me , but Kelly is right. He really is awfully good-looking . More than good-looking: he bordered on pretty, features sharper and more chiseled than men’s usually were. Men in general suddenly seemed rather blunt and thick when compared to David Kirwen, as if much of humanity were discarded rough drafts to his final sculpture.

A sculpture that could be far better dressed. Lara’s palms itched with the desire to step forward and adjust his lapels, or better yet, to simply strip his clothes away and learn the canvas she had to work with. His stance suggested he would be beautiful in clothes cut to his form; as if he were meant to be dressed by someone like her, who could take the ordinary and trick the eye into believing it was extraordinary. Given the extraordinary to begin with, she could create such a vision that people would stop on the street, an emperor in new clothes.

She actually stepped forward to do that, to touch him and see if the gift she’d been given was real, before she remembered he wasn’t a client. Curiosity lit his eyes, then turned his smile warm and amused. Lara, cheeks afire, stopped where she stood, and Kirwen’s smile grew broader still. “Am I that bad, then?”

“No. No, I just forgot you weren’t here for a fitting, Mr. Kirwen. I’m not used to men dropping by for any other reason.” While true, the statement had a ring of pathos about it, and stung her into a straighter spine and lifted chin. “Really, I’m very sorry about Kelly’s behavior this afternoon. She doesn’t know when to quit.”

“Occasionally we all need someone like that in our lives. I have Dickon finagling us a table at Troquet, so I hope that despite the unorthodox approach you might have dinner with me tonight anyway?”

“I—” Puzzlement took hold. “How did you find me?”

Kirwen laughed. “If I answer, will you say yes to dinner? No.” He passed off the bargain with a wave of his hand. “Your friend mentioned you were a bespoke tailor. There are only a handful of shops in Boston that do that kind of work. I set my assistant on Google while I recorded the evening’s weather report.” He nodded toward a window, where rain still spattered against the pane. “Fortunately, it didn’t require much guesswork as to how it would turn out.”

An inkling of humor worked its way through Lara, though she kept her expression cool. “So you’re a stalker, Mr. Kirwen?”

Dismay shattered across his face. “No, no, not at all. I just wan—Oh. You’re teas—No,” he said again, this time with more dignity. “But my assistant takes stalking assignments as routine when necessary.”

“I’m sure she does.” Lara ducked her head, partially to hide amusement at Kirwen’s story, but more to take refuge in the meaningless phrase. I’m sure she does: people usually meant it sarcastically, or as a way to pass off a topic they were uninterested in. It was one of a handful of things she could say, though, without triggering her own discomfort. Particularly when someone like Kirwen was making light of something but still spoke essential truth. Lara was certain his assistant took stalking, or at least Internet searching, in stride. She looked up, smiling. “I’m not sure, Mr. Kirwen. Your assistant was the one who did all the work. Maybe I should have dinner with her.”

Genuine surprise filtered through his expression by degrees, and though they didn’t stand close together, Kirwen fell back half a step. “I imagine that could be arranged, although I don’t think Nat—my assistant—is, um, I don’t think she typically dates wom …” He trailed off, peering at Lara in much the same way Cynthia had moments before. “This is impertinent, Miss Jansen, but would your friend have been trying to set us up on a date quite so enthusiastically if you preferred dating women?”

Laughter bubbled up and broke. “No, but it seemed like your assistant ought to get some benefit from doing your dirty work. She finds me, you get a date, and she gets …?”

Kirwen, hopefully, said, “I could bring her the leftovers from Troquet? Okay,” he admitted as Lara arched an eyebrow at him, “I wouldn’t be impressed with leftovers, either. What, then? Roses? A paid holiday in Bermuda?”

“I was thinking more in terms of a box of chocolates, although if you’re inclined to offer paid holidays to Bermuda, I think Kelly might want to talk to you about a job.”

“Kelly? Not you?” Kirwen smiled. “I thought that kind of job perk would make anyone stand up to be counted.”

Lara shrugged one shoulder, then glanced back toward her office. “I like my job, Mr. Kirwen, that’s all. I’ve never been inclined to say I’d want something that I don’t. Even jobs whose side benefits include trips to Bermuda.”

“How extraordinary,” Kirwen murmured. Lara looked back at him and he shook himself, a hopeful smile reappearing. “Does that mean you’ve said yes?”

“I suppose it does,” she said, surprising herself. Kirwen’s eyes lit up, and Lara, truthfully and teasingly, explained, “Kelly would never let me live it down if I refused.”

His face fell comically. Lara laughed, then gestured toward her office. “Let me get my coat and call her, and we can go.”

Kirwen hailed a taxi outside Lord Matthew’s, and the driver’s gaze locked on him as they climbed in. Almost before the door closed, the cabbie launched into a diatribe about the weather in general and David’s inability to correctly predict it specifically, and ended with a plea for a sunny weekend, because his daughter’s thirteenth birthday party was Saturday and he would go crazy if locked in the house with a dozen teenage girls all day. Lara exited the taxi wide-eyed and bemused to see Kirwen give the man a handsome tip. “Does that happen to you a lot?”

“Only on days I leave the house.” The delivery was wry but honest. “I get blamed for the weather but rarely praised for it.”

“And occasionally asked to intercede, like he just did?” Lara scurried for the door, throwing a rueful glance toward the sky. “I had no idea being a weatherman was so much responsibility.”

“Neither did I, when I started. But it sends me interesting places at times. I covered the hurricanes last year.” Kirwen reached over her head to push the door open, its weight coloring his fingertips white. Lara slipped under his arm and pushed the hood of her coat back, trying to shake off the rain.

“I remember. I remember thinking a job that sent you to Florida would be wonderful, except I’d want to go when the weather was good.”

Kirwen grinned. “So would I, but the station doesn’t seem to think sunshine and Disney World make for exciting weather stories. All right, if we’re lucky Dickon’s here before us …” He trotted up the stairs ahead of Lara, coat flapping dramatically, then waved and turned back to Lara with a bright expression. “And we’ve got the best seats in the house. Now, aren’t you glad you agreed to come out with us?”