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‘What? Marriage? And kids?’ he scoffed, barely suppressing the shudder. ‘No way.’
‘Not that, not yet, but...’ Josie searched his face, the pitying look starting to annoy him now. ‘Couldn’t you at least try dating the same woman for longer than a week?’ Her eyes shadowed with concern. ‘Haven’t you ever thought there might be more to women than just hot and sweaty sex?’
‘Damn it, give me a break.’ He slapped his hands over his ears. ‘Don’t talk to me about that stuff—my ears are bleeding.’ He’d never kept his dating habits a secret, but Josie butting into his sex life was just wrong. On so many levels.
She glared at him. ‘So who’s being immature now?’
He dropped his hands, having to concede that point. ‘Fine, you win that one, but conversations about sex are off limits, okay?’ The last thing he needed was some snot-nosed kid giving him dating advice.
‘Okay, truce.’ She surprised him by backing down. ‘I’ll butt out of your business. You’re a hopeless cause anyway.’ She sighed, to emphasise the point. ‘I didn’t come here to argue with you, I came to tell you Taylor and I want to set the date for August tenth. If you’re good with us using your land to do the ceremony on the cove near the Runner?’
‘Sure, of course, no problem,’ he said, feeling about two feet tall all of a sudden. He hadn’t meant to piss on her parade; the wedding announcement had just come as a shock, that was all. How the heck had Josie grown up without him noticing?
‘I also wanted to ask you to be my witness,’ she added. ‘If you think you can contain your horror long enough to sign the book?’ The shadow of uncertainty in her gaze shaved another foot off his stature. Hell, he hadn’t meant to be that much of a grouch.
‘You sure you want the Oldest Player in Town there?’ he murmured, relieved when she sent him a cheeky grin.
‘Only if he promises not to hit on the bridesmaids.’
The thought of hitting on anyone brought back thoughts of Ella. And the pang of regret sliced under his ribs. She had to be long gone by now.
He raised his hand as if taking a mock oath. ‘I do solemnly swear not to hit on the bridesmaids.’
‘Cool, we’re all set, then.’ Josie grinned, then planted a kiss on the tip of his nose. ‘I’ll keep you posted on the wedding plans. I better hit the road, though.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘You have no idea how much work goes into organising a wedding in under four months.’
And he didn’t want to know, he thought silently, but decided to keep that information to himself.
‘Oh, by the way,’ she said as she reached the door. ‘Sleeping Beauty left you a message before she ran off.’
‘Yeah?’ The bubble of hope expanded under his breastbone. ‘What message? Did she tell you where she’s staying?’ Maybe if she had, he could give her a call? Get Inez to make a fresh batch of French toast, or better yet some lunch?
Josie shook her head. ‘She just said to tell you thanks.’
‘That’s it?’ The bubble of hope deflated, making his voice sound flat and dull.
Josie nodded, her expression thoughtful as she studied him. ‘If you wanted to contact her, Henry might know where she’s staying if she was at the Runner last night. You know how talkative he is.’
‘No, that’s okay, it’s no big deal,’ he replied, and willed himself to believe it.
‘Are you sure?’
He forced out a laugh. ‘Sure, I’m sure. Not my style.’ He didn’t get hung up on women, even ones as cute and sexy as Ella. ‘Oldest Player in Town, remember?’
Josie rolled her eyes again. ‘Oh, yeah. How could I forget?’
But after Josie had left, and he had dumped the ruined breakfast spread in the trash and collapsed onto the bed, the joke nickname didn’t seem all that funny any more. Especially when he got a lungful of the light, refreshing, lemony scent and the earthy smell of sex that still lingered on the sheets.
SIX
Ella plucked the tray of Triple Indulgence Brownies out of the industrial oven and dropped it gingerly on the counter—her tummy hitching up towards her throat as the aroma of melting chocolate surrounded her. The rich decadent scent tasted like charcoal on her tongue. Clasping her hand over her mouth, she sliced the brownies into twelve chunks, perched the tray on the window sill to cool, and rushed into the café, her stomach wobbling alarmingly.
Taking deep, measured breaths, she berated herself and her stupid nervous tummy as she stacked the batch of mini-chocolate tarts she’d made earlier—which thankfully didn’t smell too strongly. Ruby would be here any minute and the last thing she needed was more searching looks and probing questions from her business partner—because she’d barfed all over the shop again.
She’d been tense and out of sorts for weeks. Ever since she’d got back from Bermuda and got the diagnosis she’d been dreading from her doctor, Myra Patel. That she was no longer ovulating at regular intervals—which explained the now five months without a period—because the onset of premature menopause was now a reality.
But she thought she’d come to terms with it. Or at least found a strategy to deal with her loss. Even though her biological clock was now ticking at triple time—and Myra had told her that her chances of conceiving naturally were probably remote, and getting remoter by the second—she had referred her to a specialist. Plus she and Ruby had discussed the feasibility of other options, when and if she found a life partner.
The good news was, after her wild night with Coop, there was every reason to be a lot more cheerful about her prospects when it came to relationships. Or at least sexual relationships.
