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Before I have time to react, Jamal arrives on my right, whistling and looking far too sprightly for eight o’clock on a Friday morning.
“Someone’s chipper this morning,” Taylor says as Jamal gives me the eye that tells me I’m not where I’m supposed to be.
“It’s the sunshine that does it,” he says.
“Not heading up the best kitchen designer team in this part of the country?” I counter.
“It would be if my staff were where they’re meant to be,” Jamal replies with a warning look my way.
I salute as Taylor adds, “Just wait until that baby arrives.” She smiles. “You’ll be dragging your tired ass in here with a caffeine drip.”
Jamal laughs, and Taylor turns back to me. “You have to find out more about Paul. Invite him shopping with you both, see what Owen says.”
“Will do,” I tell her as I scurry off to the second floor, ready for opening.
I’m stalking a couple by the Henshaw kitchen, which is one of my least favourites. The units are a lacquered finish in dark beige that’s made to look washed out. It’s paired with white marble worktops that blend into the splashbacks, the whole thing illuminated with bright under-cabinet lighting, which reminds me of a garish hotel.
I don’t make a habit of stalking customers, but the woman has a large bag, and I’m convinced word has spread and she’s going to whip out a sandwich toaster to see if it’ll fit in the drawers.
The woman she’s with is peering into one of the cupboards when I hear my name.
“Alice.”
I turn to see Owen in all his magnificent, well-tailored glory. “Owen, hi.”
We haven’t crossed paths all morning, even though I’ve visited the staffroom several times for a glass of water in the hope of catching him making his tea.
“Are you on early lunch?” he enquires as if arranging a business meeting.
“Yes, twelve o’clock, just as long as no one starts putting sandwich toasters into the cabinets.” I nod over in the direction of the couple who are now taking photos of the interior of the cupboards.
For a second, Owen looks as concerned as I am, but then he shakes his head slightly and looks back at me.
“I’ll meet you outside,” he says quickly.
“Sure.” I smile, but his face is emotionless, and there’s no offer of couscous or a rundown of today’s menu.
We all know Owen isn’t known for his charm and huge smiles, but over the last few days, underneath the scowl, I’ve detected a warmth, one I suspect most people miss. But not today. Today, he’s as cold as the marble in the Henshaw kitchen, and I’m a little nervous about meeting him for lunch. I try to tell myself I’m being overly sensitive, but then I notice the darkness under his eyes. Could he be unwell?
“Is everything okay?” I ask, not sure if I can last the one and a half hours before lunch with the feeling of Owen’s frosty stare and the thought that he might be under the weather.
“I’ll see you at twelve,” he says, which doesn’t answer my question and doesn’t help to assuage the worry that all is not right with Owen Shea.
The reality of what I’m doing creeps up on me. I’ve invited a guy I know nothing about to a wedding as my fake date. What was I thinking?
Lori tried to tell me this guy could be anyone. Even Taylor, who works with him, has urged me to find out more.
A sinking feeling drops into the pit of my stomach. He’s always so gloomy. He doesn’t like people, and he keeps himself to himself. There must be a reason for this.
Am I about to discover the darker side of Owen Shea?
16
Owen
Some people are great at expressing their feelings with words. Me? Not so much. Instead, my feelings seem to seep out of my pores and emanate through my skin.
I’m cross today. Upset. Because I’ve spent all night thinking over what Romana and Smithy said yesterday evening—that Alice could possibly be lying just to get a date with me. I should be flattered, as this shows she’s interested in me and has gone to great lengths to entrap me, but it doesn’t sit right. It’s not how things are done. It’s not a great start to a relationship, a relationship that I keep telling myself isn’t even on the cards.
