“Have you ever seen a Bollywood film?” I retorted. “This is positively repressed.”
Dad rushed out to the porch, waving his phone in the air. “Don’t worry, beta. I’ll call Riswan.”
“We’ll never get her married now,” my mother wailed.
Garcia opened the door to the police cruiser and put a gentle hand on my head. “In you go.”
Just before the door slammed, I heard Annika Auntie say, “It’s okay. Nothing to worry about. She was an accessory to the burglary, not the actual burglar. Everyone knows accessories don’t count.”
Seven
Where have you been all my life, sunshine?” Cristian blew me a kiss from the other side of the tie display when I walked into Dad’s store Monday morning. I’d only spent an hour at the police station the night before. Riswan got me out of there after Garcia admitted he still had no evidence to tie me to the crime. After a sleepless night, turning over all the possibilities of my worsening situation and fantasizing about being cuffed by Garcia but this time in bed, Cristian was the last person I wanted to see.
“Hiding.” I made my way to the workroom, keeping my distance from his octopus hands.
I love my dad’s store. It’s everything you could imagine a traditional tailor shop would be, with its dark wood paneling, gold accents, and deep red upholstery. He expanded a few years ago when the sandwich shop beside us went out of business, increasing the size of his workshop out back and adding a spacious and discreet fitting area behind a wall of frosted glass. Suits of all types are displayed on racks in the center of the bright and airy space, with shirts and accessories neatly folded on warm wooden shelves lining the walls. The scents of fresh linen, wool, and leather are so much a part of my childhood, the store feels like a second home.
“Don’t be like that, Sim.” He followed behind me, his Sperry boat shoes thudding softly on the plush carpet. He was wearing a pink and white striped shirt with a blue polka-dot tie and a pair of slim navy dress pants that broke perfectly at the tops of his shoes. On anyone else, it would have been too much. On Cristian, it was style perfection, and he knew it.
“I’m not like other guys,” he continued. “You’re special to me.”
“Like your three special baby girls from the other night?”
“Five,” he said, totally unashamed. “I broke up with my girlfriend and I needed some love.”
“And now you’re trying for six?” I pushed aside the curtain separating the workroom from the sales floor. “I’m not in the mood.”
“Want to play the question game?” He leaned against the sewing table while I took off my coat.
“No.”
“Handcuffs or roses?” He followed me back into the shop and across the floor to the tie table.
“Cristian . . .”
“I want to be ready when you realize you’re desperately in love with me. Should I show up at your place with a bouquet of roses or a shiny pair of handcuffs?” He studied me, considering. “I think it’ll have to be roses. I can’t imagine you’d let anyone put you in cuffs.”
I was tempted to tell him about me and Detective Garcia last night but then he’d never leave me alone.
“Save your money. It’s never going to happen.”
“I can’t say I’ve ever heard those words from a woman.” He held up a tie and tilted his head to the side. “What do you think about me in yellow?”
“Not your best color,” a deep voice said, as smooth and deep as the top-shelf whiskey my brother Nikhil had bought to celebrate my college graduation. I’ve never been a whiskey drinker, but I did appreciate how good it made me feel.
It took me a few long moments to process the fact that Oliver Twist was standing in front of me. If I’d thought he was gorgeous in the dark and rain, he was breathtaking in the light of day, taller, broader, his jaw more defined. He’d even had a shave. His eyes, now that I could see them clearly, were a kaleidoscope of buttered chocolate and golden caramel, the color shifting to green when he smiled.
“What are you doing here?” I drew him away from Cristian and over to the cashmere socks.
“I came to return the money I borrowed.” He held out a twenty-dollar bill. “As promised.”
I tucked the money in my blazer pocket, still struggling to process the fact that he was in my dad’s store. “How did you find me?”
“The name of the shop was on the suit bag you were using to carry the tools of your trade.” His lips curved in a smile. “I’m very observant.”
“You really shouldn’t be here.” I kept my voice low. “I told the police you were there. They’re looking for you.”
Far from being angry, he just shrugged. “I wouldn’t be good at my job if I was so easily identified. They won’t be able to link me to the scene of the crime.”
“Unless I called them . . .”
“But you won’t,” he said. “Because that’s not who you are.”
“You don’t know anything about me,” I snapped. “Maybe I’m not the good girl everyone thinks I am. Maybe I like cuffs and not roses. Maybe I’m a criminal mastermind disguised as a suit salesperson. Or I could be a terrible person who is self-centered, entitled, and rude, and everywhere I go, I ask to speak to the manager.”
“We both know that’s not true,” he said. “Not after what you did for your friend. And if your idea of a bad person is someone who’s rude, you’ll have a long way to go to change my opinion of you.”
“Did you just come here to return my money or is there something else you want?” Why did he have to be so irritating? I had a bad side. I’d turned down at least six arranged marriage proposals in the last year alone.
“A suit.” He shrugged off his worn leather jacket to reveal arms so perfectly muscled, they would have put Nani to shame. “Where do we start? I’ve never had a custom suit before.”
Cristian had disappeared. My dad was on the phone in his office. Except for a man trying on hats, we weren’t busy, so I showed Oliver to the fitting area behind the glass.
“I’ll take your details and measurements, then you’ll need to sit down with one of the tailors to discuss fabric, style, and cut.”
“I am delighted to be in your very capable hands.”
I grabbed a tablet and joined him in front of a three-way mirror. “I’ll need your details for the form. Name.” I raised my eyebrows. “And don’t tell me Oliver Twist because I don’t believe you.”
“Jack.”
“Last name?”
“Let’s just leave it at Jack,” he said.
“Unfortunately, the online form insists on a last name before it will allow me to move to the next page.” I held up the tablet to show him the screen. “How about Jack Spratt? Jack Frost? Jack Sparrow? Jack Horner? Do you have a beanstalk? Do you kill giants? Have you built a house? Are you nimble?”
“How about something not fantasy-based?” With a soft chuckle, he moved closer to study the screen.
“Jack Dawson? Jack Skellington?” I tried to ignore the heat of his body, the warm breath across my cheek. “Jack-Jack Parr? Jack Torrance? Jack Pearson? Jack Reacher? Jack Ryan?”