She mentally added eat more chocolate to her pandemic pleasure list. She had a pretty good list going so far, starting with the nudity theme.
Walk around naked more.
Garden naked if you want to.
Dance naked in the moonlight.
Go skinny-dipping.
Never, ever wear a bra again.
Only wear panties when you want to.
The items on her list weren’t all about nudity, though, and she was just as pleased with the rest of it.
Do a yoga pose every day, even if you’re sad.
Drink something festive whenever the hell you want.
Speak up for what’s right.
Be patient and kind to everyone, yourself included.
Dance, sing, carry on.
Show off your chorus girl legs more.
Have more “personal” time.
The man in front of her could inspire some “personal” time, she realized. Heat radiated through her as they spoke. His accent seemed to brush her skin like a feather.
“We look forward to welcoming you when we open.” He gave a regal bow, and she almost sighed. “I expect I will become a regular customer of your shop as well. I’ve heard the highest praise, but seeing your inventory in person is another matter altogether. I didn’t know Florentino sold his apparel in the States.”
She came around the counter, keeping the required social distance between them, but feeling the pull to be as close as she could be. “We have exclusive rights in the U.S.”
“A testament to your acumen surely. I wonder…” His gaze rested in a direct manner on her face. “I know these are incredible times, but I would like to ask you to dinner. With the appropriate safeguards, of course. Would you accept my invitation?”
Her heart rate gave a jump. “Are we speaking of a date?”
“Yes.” His answer was crisp.
The burst of excitement shooting up in her was as potent as eating cotton candy at a fairground when she was a young girl. A date? How long had it been since she’d had an offer like this? Of course, men asked her out when they came to the store, most of them lonely, divorced, or widowed. But Clifton here looked at her like he wanted her with the singularness of a young man. That wasn’t something she’d experienced in a long, long time. It spoke to old yearnings in her heart, ones she’d snuffed out. She’d buried two husbands. She couldn’t go through that pain again.
But a romance? With a fine British gentleman? Gladys Green could get on board with that. “I would be delighted, Clifton.”
Those captivating eyes crinkled anew, and she wished she could see the smile that had made it so. “The honor is mine. May I call you Gladys then?”
“If you called me Aunt Gladys like everyone else in town, it would make things rather awkward, don’t you think?”
“Quite.” There was humor in his voice. “If I may ask another indulgence before I leave you?”
Her body shivered from the question. “Of course.”
“Do you have a favorite chocolate treat?” he asked. “I would like to present you with something special on our first date.”
She was so surprised she wished she were closer to her glass cabinet so she could rest against it. Her knees were growing weaker by the moment. “Champagne truffles.”
“I will endeavor to come up with a spectacular version then, Gladys. Do you have a card? I would like to have your number so I can call you to make arrangements. What evening would suit you, given your schedule with the shop?”
Oh, she could listen to him talk all day. Suit her? Yes, please. “How about Sunday? I close at six. The weekends aren’t as busy as they once were. Not that many people are wearing suits these days, or buying them for that matter. I’m afraid the pandemic might very well kill comportment and the culture of dressing, but I won’t let it happen on my watch. I’m hoping to convey the concept of sprezzatura here in my shop.”
He repeated the word in an exquisite Italian accent. “Embracing the semi-formal nonchalance in Italian fashion is a wonderful idea. You have inspired me. If I may…”
He stripped off his jacket and set it on a nearby chair and then lifted his hands to his tie, slowly and methodically undoing the knot. Her mouth went dry as she watched him unthread it and place it on top of the pile. Those simple acts seemed incredibly erotic in the silence of the shop.
His eyes met hers again, and in them, she saw a vulnerability. “Alice has been telling me to find a new way of dressing. A new voice, so to speak. But old butler habits die hard. That was my profession before I retired this summer.”
A butler? That explained everything. “I imagine you were one of the best butlers in the business.”
“Thank you. I was with my employer since 1958, so yes, she was pleased with my service.” He undid his cufflinks and slid them into his pants pocket. “I once helped a country singer discover a new look when we were in Provence. His transformation was quite inspiring.”
She would have to ask him to tell her that story—and so much more—on their first date. But she couldn’t stop from watching the transformation before her eyes. His strong musculature was obvious under the shirt. He clearly kept to a regular exercise regimen.
“What would you suggest for a semi-casual look?” he asked.
Her hands itched to transform him, but she saw his vulnerability and knew such changes would need to be made incrementally. “You’re a forty long, correct?”
“You have an excellent eye,” he responded.
“Damn right I do,” she answered without compunction.
She selected a cream jacket and then crossed to the shelf displaying pocket squares, selecting a fine silk in Payne’s gray. She arranged the square to her satisfaction and then set both items on the credenza on the shop’s right wall, where one of the full-length mirrors hung. No longer were the days where she could help men into their jackets or fix their ties or pocket squares. Her heart hurt at the loss of such artful connections.
No use crying over spilled milk. She stepped back to give him space.
He approached the garments she’d set out and drew on the jacket with exquisite care. His own hand arranged the pocket square to his satisfaction. She came up behind him to his right, six feet away, and they stared into the mirror. Except his eyes were on hers, not on his reflection.
She felt her chest tighten with the emotion she saw there. The depths of him were endless, she knew instinctively, and he wished to share them with her. It surprised her how much she wanted that, and how much she wanted to share herself with him too. It was scary and crazy and yet somehow so right.
“It looks wonderful,” he said finally. “You have an uncanny sense of sprezzatura.”
“Not every man can embody it, but you do, Clifton.”
“Thank you. If you’ll supply me with a bag for my other things, I think I’ll wear it out of the shop.”
She did just that, giving him a moment to collect his belongings, then rang him up at the front. She handed him her card along with his receipt, stopping only to scrawl her cellphone number on the back in purple ink. He took it from her, his eyes crinkling again. “Purple ink. It suits you, as does your outfit. Gladys, you have more than made my day. I look forward to our dinner.”