Wedding Bell Wishes. Lynne Marshall
frowned. ‘So what are you suggesting, Sean?’
‘I don’t know,’ he said. And it was a position he’d never actually been in before. He’d always been the one to call the shots. The one who initiated a relationship and the one who ended it. He shook his head, trying to clear it. But nothing changed. It was still that same spinning, out-of-control feeling. Like being on the highest, fastest, scariest fairground ride. ‘All I know is that I want you,’ he said.
‘There’s too much at stake. No.’
‘Unless,’ he said, ‘we have an agreement.’
Her eyes narrowed. ‘What kind of agreement?’
‘We see each other. Explore where this thing goes. And then, whatever happens between us, we’re polite to each other in front of Ashleigh. Nobody gets hurt. Especially her.’
‘Can you guarantee that?’ she asked softly.
‘I can guarantee that I’ll always be polite to you in front of Ashleigh.’ He paused. ‘The rest of it—I don’t think anyone could guarantee that. But maybe it’s worth the risk of finding out.’ Risk. Something he didn’t usually do unless it was precisely calculated. This wasn’t calculated. At all. He needed his head examined.
‘Maybe,’ she said.
He curled his fingers round hers. His skin tingled where it touched her. ‘Come and have lunch with me.’
She smiled then. Funny how it made the whole room light up. That wasn’t something he was used to, either.
‘OK,’ she said. ‘I just need to get my bag.’
‘Sure.’ He waited for her; then, when she’d locked the shop door behind them, he took her hand and walked down the street with her.
CLAIRE WAS WALKING hand in hand with Sean Farrell. Down the high street in Camden. On an ordinary Monday lunchtime.
This was surreal, she thought.
And she couldn’t quite get her head round it.
But his fingers were wrapped round hers, his skin was warm against hers, and it was definitely happening rather than being some kind of super-realistic dream—because when she surreptitiously pinched herself it hurt.
‘So what do you normally do for lunch?’ Claire asked.
‘I grab a sandwich at my desk,’ he said. ‘In the office, we put an order in to a local sandwich shop first thing in the morning, and they deliver to us. You?’
‘Pretty much the same, except obviously I eat it well away from my work area so I don’t risk getting crumbs or grease on the material and ruining it,’ she said.
‘So we both work through lunch. Well, that’s another thing we have in common.’
There was a gleam in his eye that reminded her of the first thing they had in common. That night in Capri. She went hot at the memory.
‘So how long do you have to spare?’ he asked.
‘An hour, maybe,’ she said.
‘So that’s enough time to walk down to Camden Lock, grab a sandwich, and sit by the canal while we eat,’ he said.
‘Sounds good to me.’ The lock was one of her favourite places; even though the area got incredibly busy in the summer months, she loved watching the way the narrow boats floated calmly down the canal underneath the willow trees. ‘But this is a bit strange,’ she said.
‘How?’
‘I’ve been thinking—we’ve known each other for years, and I know hardly anything about you. Well, other than that you run Farrell’s.’ His family’s confectionery business, which specialised in toffee.
‘What do you want to know?’ he asked.
‘Everything. Except I don’t know where to start,’ she admitted. ‘Maybe we should pretend we’re speed-dating.’
He blinked. ‘You’ve been speed-dating?’
‘No. Sammy has, though. I helped her do a list of questions.’
‘What, all the stuff about what you do, where you come from, that sort of thing?’ At her nod, he said, ‘But you already know all that.’
‘There’s other stuff as well. I think the list might still be on my phone,’ she said.
‘Let’s grab some lunch, sit down and go through your list, then,’ he said. ‘And if we both answer the questions, that might be a good idea—now I think about it, I don’t really know that much about you, either.’
She smiled wryly. ‘I can’t believe we’re doing this. We don’t even like each other.’
He glanced down at their joined hands. ‘Though we’re attracted to each other. And maybe we haven’t given each other a proper chance.’
From Claire’s point of view, Sean was the one who hadn’t given her a chance; but she wasn’t going to pick a fight with him over it. He was making an effort, and she’d agreed to see where this thing took them. It was exhilarating and scary, all at the same time. Exhilarating, because this was a step into the unknown; and scary, because it meant trusting her judgement again. Her track record where men were concerned was so terrible that...
No. She wasn’t going to analyse this. Not now. She was going to see where this took them. Seize the day.
They walked down to Camden Lock, bought bagels and freshly squeezed orange juice from one of the stalls, and sat down on the edge of the canal, looking out at the narrow boats and the crowd.
Claire found the list on her phone. ‘Ready?’ she asked.
‘Yup. And remember you’re doing this, too,’ he said.
‘OK. Your favourite kind of book, movie and music?’ she asked.
He thought about it. ‘In order—crime, classic film noir and anything I can run to. You?’
‘Jane Austen, rom-coms and anything I can sing to,’ she said promptly.
‘So we’re not really compatible there,’ he said.
She wrinkled her nose. ‘We’re not that far apart. I like reading crime novels, too, but I like historical ones rather than the super-gory contemporary stuff. And classic noir—well, if Jimmy Stewart’s in it, I’ll watch it. I love Rear Window.’
‘I really can’t stand Jane Austen. I had to do Mansfield Park for A level, and that was more than enough for me,’ he said with a grimace. ‘But if the rom-com’s witty and shot well, I can sit through it.’
She grinned. ‘So you’re a bit of a film snob, are you, Mr Farrell?’
He thought about it for a moment and grinned back. ‘I guess I am.’
‘OK. What do you do for fun?’
‘You mean you actually think I might have fun?’ he asked.
She smiled. ‘You can be a little bit too organised, but I think there’s more to you than meets the eye—so answer the question, Sean.’
‘Abseiling,’ he said, his face totally deadpan.
She stared at him, trying to imagine it—if he’d said squash or maybe even rugby, she might’ve believed him, but abseiling? ‘In London?’ she queried.
‘There are lots of tall buildings in London.’
She thought about it a bit more, and shook her head. ‘No, that’s not you. I think you’re teasing me.’ Especially because he knew