Page 77

“I was just wondering if you need any help with anything and if Owen would like to wear a buttonhole.”

“He’d love one,” I confirm. Owen won’t want to miss out on a buttonhole, I’m positive of this.

“And I’m also going to send you booking details for the venue’s hotel, just in case you guys want to stay overnight.”

“Thanks.” I pray she moves on because that’s one scenario I don’t want to have to get into. I may have to come up with an excuse about us both working the next day, or some other reason why we aren’t staying for the night.

“Okay, I’ll see you next Saturday, and I’m really looking forward to meeting Owen.”

“See you when you become Mrs Donovan!” I sing.

She lets out a high-pitched scream, and I end the call.

In three weeks, Owen and I have done pretty well in getting to know each other, enough that I believe we could pass as a couple, but I know what we’re missing. The connection, the intimacy, those little looks that pass between two people who are in love.

When I think back to the day I met Drew and was reunited with Sydney, I can still see the aura that surrounded them, like they were enveloped in invisible bubble wrap that no one could see but them.

Drew had looked at her as if she were the ocean and he was getting ready to jump. He’d held her hand in both of his over the table as she was sitting too far away. And don’t even get me started on the way Sydney was looking at him. It was similar to the way I look at a caramel macchiato.

Owen barely looks at anyone, although I’ve noticed his glances at me are getting longer and more frequent. But I’ve never held his hand, never touched him. And I’m telling myself not all couples are touchy-feely. But even so, will Sydney notice our detachment? To others, will we just come across as friends? Because, after all, it’s what we are.

I felt light and cheery this morning, and now I feel as though Owen’s little grey cloud has gathered over my head. Why? Because something has dawned on me this week.

Sure, we have nothing in common and are complete opposites in many respects, but what started as getting to know him for Operation Wedding has turned into wanting to spend time with him, wanting to get to know him because I genuinely am interested in him, and wanting to help him through a very difficult time. If I don’t, then my heart might break, and I know this means something.

It means I don’t really want things to be pretend anymore.

I want to arrive at Sydney’s wedding with my man by my side. Not some fake actor.

How much has been for the sake of getting to know each other and for Operation Wedding, and how much has been purely because I care about Owen Shea, far more than just as a friend?

Deep down, I think he feels the same, but something is holding him back, and not a terminal illness like I initially thought—thank goodness.

So, what is it? Owen isn’t the kind of guy who takes a leap of faith, but I’d like to think he’s pragmatic enough to listen to his feelings. This begs the question of whether he’s ignoring those feelings or whether they simply aren’t loud enough for him to hear them.

46

Owen

I’d been awake for hours when Alice texted.

My nights have been restless. I can’t get used to sleeping alone, to not having a little furry being at the end of the bed who would inevitably end up next to me with his head on the pillow like a tiny human. I never slept well with Paul in the bed, his snoring, his fidgeting, and the fact that he’s like a little hot water bottle, but I didn’t sleep well without him either.

And now I’m back to being alone at night, and I hate it.

The doorbell goes. Alice has arrived. What on earth has she got planned for today? I’d like to think she knows me well enough by now not to drag me to a spa day or bowling or something equally horrible, but when I open the door, she’s standing there in a wide-brimmed hat, sandals, and a light sundress with a large beach bag on her shoulder.

“Hey,” she says with a little wave. “I thought we could head over to the coast today. The weather looks good, not too hot, a little wind chill off the sea, but it’ll do us good to blow the cobwebs away. I’m sure there’s a saying about the sea air and something to do with being a sceptic, but I’m not entirely sure that’s relevant here. Anyway, I thought we could go in my car.”

“No.” It comes out sharper than I intended, and Alice almost flinches, as if I’ve popped a balloon right in her face. I quickly add, “We’ll go in my car.”

I open the door wider for her to step inside, which she does, looking slightly relieved.

I’m actually okay with going out for the day. This was the kind of spontaneous thing I could never really do when I had Paul, or I’d have had to bring him with me, which was fine until I discovered some of the beaches weren’t dog friendly, or I had to take him into the public toilets with me, or I wanted something to eat and nowhere allowed dogs, or—and this was very rare—the weather got too hot and I convinced myself he was about to get heatstroke.

So, as awful as I feel, a trip to the coast sounds better than what I’d originally planned for today, which was cleaning out the guttering above the garage.

“What’s wrong with my car?” Alice asks, following me into the kitchen.