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What now?
It would be oh, so easy to step forward again, kiss him and lead him upstairs to her bedroom. But she knew it would be a hideous mistake and they’d both regret it in the morning. They couldn’t go back. Shouldn’t go back.
‘I...’ Her voice sounded cracked to her own ears.
‘We shouldn’t,’ he said, his own voice sounding just as hoarse.
‘We have a truce. For Ruby’s sake.’ She forced the words out. ‘And we’ll be polite and civil to each other.’
‘Agreed.’
‘I’m going to bed now,’ she said. When she realised that it sounded like an invitation, she added, ‘Alone.’ And her voice would have to squeak on that word, wouldn’t it?
‘Me, too,’ he said. Though his expression said otherwise. The heat in his eyes told her he wanted to repeat their wedding night, to carry her over the threshold of their bedroom and then make slow, sweet love to her until they were both dizzy.
But they couldn’t go back.
They couldn’t.
‘Goodnight,’ she said, and turned away. While she still had the strength to do it.
* * *
Brad couldn’t sleep. When the early-morning light poured in through the thin cotton curtains, he gave up trying, pulled on some clothes and a pair of running shoes, and went for a run to clear his head. It was early enough that the streets were mostly deserted—too early for anyone to go into the town to pick up a newspaper or a pint of milk before rushing to work. He’d forgotten how steep and narrow some of the back streets were, sloping up away from the harbour, and he’d worked up a decent sweat by the time he got back to the cottage. Which would have to be at exactly the same time that Abigail, also dressed in running gear, got back to the front door of her own cottage.
He could make this awkward.
Or he could keep it light and pretend that the kiss last night never happened.
It might be cowardly; but it might also be kinder to both of them.
‘Fancy seeing you here,’ he said.
‘Anyone would think we lived near each other,’ she said wryly. ‘Temporarily.’
‘Do you go running every morning?’ he asked, suddenly curious. She’d never really been one for sport when they’d been together, preferring to curl up with a book or listen to music. That was another area where she’d changed.
‘Yes. It clears my head and sets me up for work. Well, not that I’m at work today, but it’s a good habit.’ She looked at him. ‘You?’
‘Same.’
This was his cue to smile, say good morning, and walk inside.
But his mouth clearly wasn’t with the programme. ‘Maybe we could have lunch.’
‘Sorry. I’ve got a final dress fitting with Ruby and Izzy.’
‘Izzy?’ It wasn’t a name he knew. The dressmaker, perhaps?
‘Isabella. Colin’s niece—the other bridesmaid. She’s seven years old and very sweet.’
Ruby had probably already told him and he hadn’t been paying attention. Guilt twisted through him again.
And that was her cue to say good morning and walk away. Except her mouth clearly wasn’t with the programme, either, because she said, ‘Maybe we could grab some fish and chips tonight.’
‘And eat them on the harbour wall.’ Like tourists, or like the teenagers they’d once been. He liked that idea. ‘What time?’
‘How about seven o’clock?’
‘That’s fine. I’ll knock for you.’ He smiled. ‘Have a good day.’
‘You, too.’
* * *
At seven precisely, Brad knocked on Abigail’s front door.
‘Hi.’ She was wearing faded jeans and a T-shirt, and no make-up.
‘How was the dress fitting?’
‘Fine,’ she said. ‘How was your day?’
‘Fine. I spent most of it with Mum.’
‘But you sneaked in some work?’ she asked.
He smiled. ‘As if you didn’t.’
‘I ticked a few things off my to-do list,’ she admitted with a grin. ‘My staff are great, but I don’t want to take unfair advantage of them and dump my responsibilities on them.’
‘Same here,’ he said. ‘I never used to understand what you meant about getting to know your team and developing them, when we were in Cambridge. I do now.’
