Off Kilter. Donna Kauffman
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seeing the result of it … fulfills me. So I’ve stayed, thinking I’ll leave when it feels right.”
“Do you think you will? Leave? Go back to London? Or start over in a new city?”
She shrugged. “I dinnae know. I’m no’ sure it matters so much now, what comes next. Right at the moment, being here is good, enriching, life giving. I’m good. Better than I’ve been, and better than I thought I’d ever be again. So, I’m here. Right now.”
Tessa listened to the words, and heard the soul of the truth in her best friend’s voice. She supposed there would always be a place inside Kira that mourned what was, what might have been—should have been, if you asked Tessa … but Kira very specifically hadn’t. Tessa would still like to look Thomas up. And kick his sorry ass. For starters. But Kira hadn’t expressed that desire either.
In fact, she’d said little to nothing about what had taken place, other than she’d been blissfully happy, planning a bigger home, thinking about starting a family … when Thomas announced their seven-year marriage and almost decade-long relationship was over for him. He’d already leased another flat before making his announcement and had moved out immediately, leaving her nothing to fight for.
Broken-hearted, broken-spirited, and, from what Tessa could tell, even a full year and a half later, still not certain of the why of it, Kira had had no choice but to move on with her life.
And she had. Brilliantly so, if there was truth in what Tessa had overheard the locals saying about Kira’s unique and untraditional new artisan basketry.
She looked into Kira’s eyes and saw the hint of lingering shadows … but mostly she saw hope and light. Maybe that was the best a person could wish for, coming out on the other side of a tragic set of events … hope, and a little light.
Tessa had no doubt that light would grow stronger for Kira. Her friend wasn’t destined for a life lived in shadows. In contrast, it made her wish there was a glimmer of light in her own life, or that she could trust it would be there, at some point. The darkness she was in felt pretty complete at the moment. And she didn’t know if that would ever change.
“Only me?” Roan grabbed up the thick envelope of rejected photos and pushed his chair back from his desk. “Well, that’s a load of rubbish, that is. Let me take a look through these. Surely there are others that are better.”
Eliza merely folded her arms over her short, stout figure, and sighed the sigh of the long put upon. “You’re quite well aware of yer appearance, lad. Dinnae pretend to be all aghast. We’ve got a shot at it, or so Miss Vandergriff believes. I trust her opinion.”
“She’s not a fashion or a model photographer.” About as far from the pretty and the shiny as she could get, actually. Despite efforts to the contrary, Roan hadn’t been successful in eliminating Kira’s houseguest from his thoughts. At all. So he’d finally given in and done his research, telling himself it was merely the wise thing to do, given the level of responsibility they’d placed in her hands—which was a lie he hadn’t been able to sustain for the time it took to Google her name.
When the long list of responses to his search had scrolled onto the screen he’d stopped telling himself anything. He’d been too busy reading. And reading some more. To say he’d been impressed—and, aye, intimidated—by everything she’d achieved at barely a few years past the age of thirty, would be as vast an understatement as saying that he was only a wee bit stunned at what she’d witnessed by that same young age.
“I’m fairly certain her list of awards qualifies her to be a judge of just about any subject that can be caught on film,” Eliza rejoined. “So if she thinks yer pleasant-enough features are the ones we should be pinning our hopes on, then that’s what we’ll do.”
“Pleasant-enough is it now? Wasn’t it just last week when you referred to my assets, as it were, as God-given?”
“Well, they all are from his hand,” she said, then glanced over Roan with studied disregard. “No matter the abundance. Or lack thereof.”
Roan had to laugh at that, and caught Eliza’s satisfied smile as well. Theirs was a well-honed routine and though neither would have admitted it, they enjoyed the challenge and the comfort to be found in their spirited exchanges.
“Well, then might I just say I’m surprised that my lack of abundance, as you put it, will be put on display for the judges’ panel. Surely there are other candidates—”
“Well, there would have been Shay, had he returned from Edinburgh in time. I’m certain he’d have taken your place. Easily.”
Roan didn’t rise to the bait. “And I’d have gladly let him. But what about—” He flipped through the discard stack, but the mere sight of his clansmen, ridiculous and goofy grins on each and every face, simply didn’t bear perusing. He definitely wasn’t ready to see the same expression on his own face.
He put the discard stack down, and didn’t touch the envelope with the finalists’ photos—all of which featured him. He glanced up to find Eliza still standing there, staring him down.
“I’ll … handle it,” he told her. “Thank you for bringing them in.” He should be thankful he only had Eliza to deal with. When he’d gotten word she’d be dropping them off earlier that day, he’d expected a showdown with Tessa—which did nothing to explain his disappointment when he’d learned she’d merely left the photos with his secretary.
“The deadline is—”
“Friday. I know.” He blew out a short huff of annoyance, then made himself smile. It was his only hope of getting his privacy back. “I willnae be missing it, rest assured.”
“I’m sure. We’re all countin’ on ye, lad.” Eliza pointed to the discard pile. “Dinnae be thinkin’ of making any substitutions, is all I’m sayin’. We’re trusting Tessa’s experience. We’re fortunate she was here and willing.”
“Aye, I know it.”
Her gaze narrowed, but when she couldn’t shake his ready smile, she finally nodded. “Good. I’ll post the package when you have it ready. Ferry schedule is changing tomorrow. Coming at half past now, instead of on the hour.”
“Got it,” Roan said, his smile tightening. “Were you able to get hold of the Malaysian distributor? Set up a call?”
Eliza bristled, as he’d known she would. “Of course I did. Set it up for tomorrow at seven.”
“In the morning?”
“I should hope so. You wouldn’t want to be trying to set up a distributorship at three in the morning Kuala Lumpur time, would ye?”
“Right. Seven. In the morning. Brilliant.” He swiveled his chair so he faced his laptop screen. “I’d better go over my notes, make sure they’re coherent enough for me to interpret at the crack of dawn.”
“If ye didnae stay up so late working, it wouldnae seem so early to ye. The rest of the world rises every day as the sun comes up.”
“Which is why I thank the world every day I have a job that leaves rising at such an ungodly hour to those who appreciate it.” When she continued to give him the chiding eye, he turned and smiled more sincerely at her. “Thank you for setting it all up, Eliza. I appreciate all that ye do, and well ye must know it.”
She harrumphed … but finally retreated from the field of battle. “Wouldn’t be able to keep this place afloat for ten minutes if I weren’t around to—” Her grumbling was mercifully cut off as she closed the door behind her, though he could have recited the rest from memory.
Lips curving as they typically did after a hearty round, he brought up the notes he’d taken for the new distributor. After a few minutes of staring at them and