7
NIALL SHIFTED FROM one foot to another, waiting. Fianna’s small boutique was stylish and welcoming. The scent of verbena and the sound of a jazz saxophone filled the air. Mirrors lined one wall, and zebra-striped chairs sat on ebony wood floors. An Art Nouveau, curved burl wood bar stood to one side. Several bar stools sat in front of it, and men’s magazines were displayed to one side. He thought of how he used to wait for Laila to try on clothes, and an ache of longing filled him. He turned away.
Niall ran his fingers over a long silk dress the color of butterscotch, appreciating the way the skirt flared. “Beautiful,” he said to himself, recognizing and appreciating the creativity and artistry in the garment. He’d been drawn to Fianna’s designs when he’d first seen them, and then when
