Chapter Twelve

CHAPTER TWELVE

Kieran

The San Francisco fog had started to burn off, but it was trying to stay behind in the clothes of the people walking through North Beach. We were all dressed in blacks and grays against the chill. So much for May being spring.

But Ellie hadn't gotten the dark-colors memo. She leaned against a brick wall in a long wool coat the color of the jacaranda tree that bloomed outside my parents' house every year: bright, vivid, electric purple.

"I didn't know I had to dress up to visit a suit store," I said as I walked up to her. "T.J.Maxx only makes me wear a shirt and shoes."

She chuckled. "Sure, but you would have bought a suit that you hated every second it was on your body, then shoved into the back of your closet. Here you can get a suit that you'll want to wear as much as possible. Mr. Murphy's a genius."

She walked a few doors down an alley and then down a short staircase. Was this basement a store? More like a cave. The morning sunlight sparked the dust in the air. A few old mannequins were dressed in Mad Men –style suits, and black-and-white cardboard posters covered the walls. On the largest one, a skinny freckled guy straddled a Vespa, and a curvy woman with a blond beehive rode behind him.

"Is the tailor invisible?" I whispered. "Or are there a bunch of mice cutting fabric in the back?"

"Mr. Murphy?" she called. "It's Ellie Wasserman? We had an appointment?"

"Yes, with you in a mo," a distracted British voice replied from behind the counter. A tall, lanky man unfolded himself with a grunt. He had a cap of white hair with longish sideburns, and a few stray red hairs popped from his matching eyebrows.

A gentle smile grew on his face. "Max's Ellie, so good to meet you. I was so sorry to hear about his passing. I really enjoyed kitting him out for your wedding—never seen a man more excited to tie the knot."

I felt Ellie take a heavy breath next to me, and my hand moved a few inches toward her lower back before I shoved it in my pocket. I couldn't comfort her like that.

Mr. Murphy leaned across the counter. "So what brings you here today? Your father-in-law is my first and favorite customer, but I don't think one of my ladies' suits would do you justice."

I could see Ellie pushing the sadness down. "You're right—I'm a dress girl for sure," she said with a brave smile. She stepped aside. "This is my friend, Kieran O'Neill."

The tailor grinned, revealing teeth that had seen too many cups of tea and not enough visits to the dentist. "Congratulations on your victory, Mr. O'Neill. I particularly enjoyed what you did with that crab in the semifinal. My wife had a go the very next day, and it was delicious."

I blinked in surprise. My fan base was mostly millennials who took pictures of their food, but I guess you never knew. "Thank you, I appreciate that very much."

He ambled around the counter. "Now, I suppose a fancy celebrity like you's been fitted for a suit before?"

"Nope, this is new."

"This is truly an honor, then," he said, sounding grand and a little jokey. But his eyes were serious as they zoomed down to my feet, then moved slowly up. My back automatically straightened, and I took my hands out of my pockets.

"Five foot… six," he said.

"Seven."

"Six and a half, then. And very lean. What's your sport?"

"Running. Some weight training."

He rubbed his hands together. "Excellent. What sort of suit were you thinking, Mr. O'Neill?"

"Please call me Kieran. I think I'm in trouble when someone uses my last name. And just something basic. Black, I guess?"

He looked over my shoulder. "Are you two going to a funeral?"

"He's going to a party," Ellie said. "And he wants to knock their socks off."

"Indeed? Then we can do better than basic black. It doesn't really suit us gingers, anyway. Too stark." He looked me up and down. "I think a gray blue for you. Definitely slim fit."

"I'll let you work your magic," Ellie said. "I'll be over in that excellent armchair with my book."

"Don't get too caught up," he said, still sizing me up with his eyes. "I'll need you to pick out ties. Do you know what you'll wear for this party?"

"Oh, I'm not going" and "She's not coming" we blurted, our words collapsing in a heap.

Mr. Murphy's eyebrows shot up. "Is she not? All right. Do you trust her, though?"

"Absolutely." The certainty in my chest was solid gold, but a small desperate part of me hoped that Ellie wouldn't be a smartass right now.

She didn't give me any rolling eyes or raised brows. Just a soft smile that made me feel a foot taller.

Mr. Murphy clapped his hands, and I came back down to earth. "Good," he said. "Greens, blues, purples, please, Ellie. Not too much pattern." He swept his arm toward the back of the store. "This way please, Kieran."

He stretched measuring tape down my arms and across my shoulder blades, humming and making notes, then walked around me again.

When he got up close and personal to measure my inseam, I blurted, "Why are you writing so much?"

He looked up, brow furrowed. "I suppose the first time you wore a suit was for your Confirmation, with a polyester tie that felt like it was strangling you?"

I stared at him in surprise, and he chuckled. "Tell me something. When Ellie wears that lovely royal-purple coat, how do you think she feels?"

"Lovely? And royal?"

"Exactly. So, how do you want to feel when you go to this party?"

What I wanted hadn't even been part of the equation for seeing my parents. Getting out of there without shredding my brain into panic confetti would have been a good result. But maybe I could have more than that. I could be the hero of this story. "I want to feel good."

He circled his hand in the air.

I looked at myself in the mirror and wished. "I want to feel strong. Confident. Like they can't touch me."

"That, I can work with." He grunted as he stood up from the floor and ducked behind the curtain. Five minutes later, he returned with sets of pants and jackets on hangers. "I think the subtle plaid will do nicely. You're actually very lucky, being the height you are."

I had thought that zero times in my entire life.

"You can wear suits that would make a taller man look like an absolute clown," he said. "You just need something that's fitted to you properly. No baggy trousers or enormous shoulders, or a tie hanging to your knees. Can you stand still?" His voice wasn't angry. It was like he was genuinely curious.

I stopped my fingers on my tattoo. "Sorry. I'm just not used to this," I said cautiously.

Instead of getting grumpy like my parents always had, he laughed. "Fair enough. I imagine that's an asset in your line of work. Try these on and shout when you're ready."

The jacket sleeves were down to my knuckles, and the pants slopped over my insteps. But my hair and eyes looked brighter against the silvery blue, my shoulders broader in the jacket.

"Very promising indeed," Mr. Murphy said when he came back in. "The plaid was the right choice. Plain fabric would be too staid for you."

I cleared my throat. "Speaking of not staid. These pants are tight ."

"Americans labor under the misconception that their suits should wear them, not the other way around. Paul Smith knows better." He walked behind me and tugged at the waistband. "I could actually take them in a smidge. You're more trim than I thought."

"Can I still have children someday?" I joked.

He snorted. "I won't castrate you. I promise. Let me get my pins, and then you'll have to stay still again."

I could see why Ellie had brought me here. He was so precise, like her. Jacket sleeves adjusted millimeter by millimeter, then each pin slipped in exactly the right place. I understood now how a suit like this could be a second skin. I looked elegant. Put together. "It looks amazing already. Thank you."

"Well, you won't get the full effect without a shirt," Mr. Murphy said as he rolled up the pants.

"Can I buy one from you?"

"Of course. You don't own any?"

"No. I'm not an ironing person." There was plenty of clothing that looked fine fresh out of the dryer, so why would I bother?

He tsked. "You can pay people to do it. If you're buying a suit from me, you can afford that."

After a few more pins, he asked, "How did you meet Ellie? Max was going to be a French professor, not a chef."

I shrunk a little bit. He reminded me that Ellie had run with a brainy crowd, who must have read piles of books like her and spoke other languages like it was breathing. "We work together. She's helping me write my cookbook."

"Straighten up for me?" he asked gently. "And of course, she writes about food, doesn't she? What's she like to work with?"

The laugh jumped out my mouth. "Amazing and terrible at the same time."

He looked up from the floor. "Your smile intrigues me."

I didn't realize I was smiling. "She's so smart. Stubborn as hell. And she cares. She cares so much." When had all of those things stopped making me want to break pens? My fear and frustration felt like they'd happened back in the Stone Age. Instead of running away, I wanted more of her intensity, her certainty.

"That sounds completely horrific," he said, his voice drier than James Bond's martini. "Someone who cares, Jesus Christ. What can you do with a woman like that, except give her every drop of blood and sweat?"

I froze as he stole the thought out of my brain, and then saw him grinning at me. "You're being sarcastic." I exhaled.

"Sort of." He stood up and brushed down my shoulders. "Right. Let's go show Ellie."

Ellie

If Kieran looked any better than he did now, I'd be pounding the table and howling like the horndog in the old cartoons. "Wow. I mean, wow. Mr. Murphy, you've outdone yourself."

I made a show of digging around in my purse to buy myself some time to get it together. The goofy, scruffy puppy dog had disappeared, and in his place was a lethal young fox.

"What are you looking for?" Kieran asked.

"A diamond to cut on your cheekbones." The joke came out high and tight, and I gave in. "Seriously, you look fantastic."

He ran his hands down the silvery blue fabric. "It's not me, it's the suit."

"Tell yourself that, and your family are going to jump all over you. The suit doesn't hurt, though."

"What about shoes?" Mr. Murphy asked.

"I was just going to wear my Converse," Kieran said.

"Do you mean the ones that are more holes than canvas?" I interrupted.

He snorted. "I'm guessing that means No, Kieran, don't wear the Chucks ."

"He could wear Chuck Taylors," Mr. Murphy said. "If he'd be more comfortable in them, that's what he should do."

I groaned, and Kieran pumped his fist in the air.

Mr. Murphy raised his finger and said sternly, "I wasn't finished. They must be brand-new."

"You hear that?" I said.

Kieran muttered, "Fine, fine, I'll buy new shoes. But the rest of it works?"

He looked sharp enough to make a GQ model weep with envy. "Understatement."

A blush turned his cheeks pink. "Thank you."

And now I was blushing, too. "Don't thank me. He's the genius."

"You're both very welcome," Mr. Murphy said, looking back and forth at us with a little smile on his face. "About my fee…"

Ten minutes later, Kieran was four figures poorer, with the suit, a shirt, and an extra charge for Mr. Murphy rushing the alterations. But he looked like it wasn't just his wallet that was lighter. The rest of him was fizzing with energy. Even my insisting on putting his final fitting in my calendar as well as his hadn't punctured his bounce.

"Do you want to go do something?" he asked when we were standing outside.

"You don't need me for buying a pair of Chucks."

He poked me lightly in the arm. "No, I mean, I want to hang out with you. You helped me buy a badass suit. Let's go celebrate."

He was shaken-up champagne, and I couldn't help but feel like I wanted a sip. "What did you have in mind?" I asked with a smile in my voice.

He bounced in his shoes. "How about bungee jumping? Or skydiving?"

My stomach plummeted in response, and my head started shaking without me thinking about it.

"Or we could go to Ocean Beach and run into the water? I don't know, Ellie, I was dreading the party and now I feel good ."

I couldn't help but laugh. "How about a cappuccino to start? We can negotiate about the bungee jumping."