If The Dress Fits. Daisy James

       Chapter Seven

      ‘Hi, Callie.’

      Theo reached out and pulled her into his spice-infused chest. His familiar cologne caused her mind to zoom back to the last time they had been together. He dropped a kiss on her cheek and awaited her reaction.

      ‘Erm, hi,’ she croaked as her heart pummelled her chest and a cauldron of emotions whipped through her body, sending sparkles of electricity to her fingertips.

      The immediate environs of the shop receded as all Callie could see were those steel-grey eyes that had frequented so many of her dreams. It was as though the last three years of loneliness had melted into oblivion as Theo stood before her, matching her height and meeting her stare. Unlike her heart, her brain refused to process his presence despite the visual evidence of his choppy, tawny-coloured hair and his strong, determined jawline, sporting a suggestion of stubble, not to mention the familiar curve of his lips.

      As always, it was Theo’s eyes that drew her gaze. Now, face-to-face with the only man she had ever truly loved after three long years, Callie scrutinised his face for a sign that he was a different person to the one she had adored. For confirmation that the passage of time had justified her relinquished love; a love they had sustained throughout their teenage years and the three years of university. But the Theo she saw slouched in front of her was exactly the same, no wrinkles or errant grey hairs, and her heart confirmed with every beat that she did still love him.

      She crushed down that unwelcome confirmation, as she was becoming so adept at doing, and cast around for a topic of conversation that wouldn’t bring their past screaming back. She plastered on a smile and prayed her voice would not give her away.

      ‘It’s great to see you, Theo. I hear The Razorclaws are playing to sold-out arenas now. That’s fabulous. Even got a gig at the wedding of the year. Congratulations!’

      ‘Yeah, we’re stoked.’ Theo stuck his hands in the front pockets of his black Levi’s and flapped his elbows, a clear signal to Callie that he was nervous about what his reception might be. He followed Callie to the table, still strewn with culinary debris, and accepted a lukewarm mug of tea from the big brown teapot. ‘Couldn’t let Finn down. We’ve been friends since uni.’

      Callie struggled to drag her eyes from his soft-pewter stare, annoyed that she still experienced the deep emotional pull of their connection. They had been soulmates, but how could that bond have endured? How could this man’s mere proximity still cause her stomach to churn and her nerve endings to tingle after what he had done?

      No, she had to pull herself together, act as though he were a treasured friend, as indeed he was. He remained one of Seb’s best friends, along with Archie who played bass guitar in the band. She reminded herself that she had been only twenty-two when their relationship ended; she was now almost twenty-six and a lot had happened to both of them since then. She would deal with this situation with maturity.

      She smiled at Theo, intending to continue with enquiries about his band’s success or queries about his family’s well-being, but what she saw reflected in the depths of his eyes flashed an unexpected jolt of desire around her disloyal body. But she was determined that her head would fight this battle and she pressed on with her attempt to prove to Theo that she had moved on.

      ‘My aunt left me Gingerberry Yarns, you know.’

      ‘Oh, wow, Cal, I’m so pleased. You loved this shop. I have so many happy memories of hanging out here with Seb and Dominic, you and Nessa. I bet you have loads of plans for it. Perhaps it could do with a lick of paint.’ Theo ran his eyes over the walls where the paint blistered like sunburnt skin.

      ‘I’m not keeping it.’

      Theo’s smile died on his lips. ‘You’re what?’

      ‘I’m selling up.’

      ‘You’re joking, right?’

      ‘No.’

      ‘Hannah adored this shop. I can’t believe you would do that.’

      ‘I do have a life of my own, you know. In Pimlico. I run my own bridal boutique now. It’s successful.’ Callie didn’t know why she’d felt the need to add the last sentence.

      ‘Oh, yes, I heard. You make clothes for rich brides to wear.’

      ‘I design clothes. No, not just clothes – haute couture.’ She could hear the defensive hint that had crept into her voice, along with the surprise resurrection of her Yorkshire accent. Theo had always known what buttons to press in more ways than one.

      ‘How can you even think of selling Gingerberry Yarns? It’s part of the fabric of our lives. And it’s more than that. It’s an essential part of this whole community.’

      ‘Don’t be ridiculous, Theo. When was the last time you were here?’ she challenged.

      Theo held her eyes for what felt like an eternity. ‘Two weeks ago, actually. Three days before Hannah passed away. Unlike you, I still live here. I haven’t run out on my friends, or forgotten what home means. I loved Hannah as much as you did, Cal.’

      ‘Well, I’ve moved on. My life and my career are in London. I’m leaving tonight.’

      ‘Tonight? So you’re not even staying on to sort out the shop? What about Delia? And aren’t you even going to catch up with Nessa? The Callie I knew would never pass up the opportunity for a chinwag with her best friend!’

      ‘Not that it’s any of your business, but I saw Nessa for a weekend of Christmas shopping and partying at the beginning of December and we talk all the time on the phone. But guess what, smartass, I’m not the Callie you knew any more! Something happened to change all that, didn’t it? You betrayed me.’

      ‘I didn’t betray you, Cal. I loved you.’

      ‘No, you didn’t. I was just the first girl you kissed and who was crazy enough to stick around. So if you didn’t betray me, what were you doing with that girl? The Tonsil Tango?’

      She forced her duplicitous heart to recall the last image she had of Theo; the one that had lingered in her mind over the years like dripping acid in which he had his arms wrapped around the voluptuous curves of a flaxen-haired fan of The Razorclaws. She could still recall the girl’s cat-like eyes gleaming with triumph at her conquest of the lead singer.

      Of course, Theo’s explanation for that terrible scene had been relayed to her from numerous sources: Seb, Dominic, her best friend, Nessa. Even his bandmate Archie had sent her a text with a plea to speak to a devastated Theo, explaining that what she had blundered in on had meant nothing; that in fact it was a regular by-product of being a member of a moderately successful band; that inevitably there would be fans, groupies, young girls who went to extraordinary lengths to gain access to their heroes, and from whom there was often no polite escape. But Archie’s protestations and explanations had only served to make her discovery worse and her pain sharpen. The incident and its fallout had solidified her sneaking suspicion that, when she could not be at Theo’s side, there was a line of girls willing to walk into her shoes.

      ‘I just knew you wouldn’t be able to resist bringing that up. Nothing happened with Lydia. She threw herself at me. What