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Chapter Twenty
“Which do you prefer,the marzipan or the icing sugar version?”
Aaron sauntered over to Andrea’s kitchen work surface and tried to put on the deeply serious expression of aMasterChefjudge. “The marzipan one looks a bit 1970s-ish.”
“That’s the whole point,” Andrea explained eagerly. “Marzipan decorations were all the rage when Gran was in her prime. You could buy all these wonderful little marzipan apples and oranges in patisseries. They made little marzipan eggs on Simnel cakes.”
Aaron had no idea what a Simnel cake was.
“Okay, you’re going for the retro look. I see.” He rubbed his jaw. He wasn’t in the mood for edible flower judging. Nor was he in the mood for a family lunch. Truthfully, since his dismal attempt at imparting his feelings to Alice on Tuesday, he wasn’t in the mood for anything except hibernation.
He’d gone to work on automatic pilot, weathered an atmosphere you could cut with a knife, carried the can for Archie’s frequent absences; shielded call after call from angry clients. The pinnacle had been an awkward meeting with Fink yesterday to work out how to manage Archie’s cases while Archie managed his failing marriage.
It was so bad he’d started to toy with the idea of searching for another job.
Andrea darted a look at him out of candid hazel eyes. “Are you okay?”
“Sure.”
“You seem a bit flat.”
Aaron spluttered out a hollow-sounding laugh. “Tired, that’s all.”
“Pity Alice couldn’t make it,” Andrea added like it was an afterthought as she fussed over her edible flowers.
She didn’t fool him for a second. Aaron blanked his features. “She’s gone away for a few days.”
“Yes, I know, she messaged to say she was going over east at short notice. Do you know why?”
He shrugged. “Maybe a book fair.” He had to field the overwhelming urge to blab the real reason, but it wasn’t his news to tell and it seemed suddenly the most important thing in the world to do nothing that would make Alice despise him more than she did already.
His stomach bottomed out. Yes, the unequivocal evidence was that she now despised him. Shehadloved him, a fact he’d been dumb enough to miss for five years. After his stupendously awful attempt to express his feelings, he knew he deserved her contempt. And he couldn’t work out, however much he tried—biting pen tops and crushing numerous takeaway coffee cups at his overflowing desk—how to make it up to her. The more he thought about it, the messier it got, in direct correlation to the pile of crap on his desk.
“Whatever one you think will make Gran happiest,” he said finally. “That’s the most important thing.”
Andrea looked relieved. “The marzipan version then.”
Aaron forced a smile. “Yep. Definitely the marzipan.”
He couldn’t meet Andrea’s gaze any longer, so he stared out the window at the garden. Dad was coming up the path from the shed, the wisp of hair that usually covered his bald patch whisking around in the wind. He was carrying a box.
As the door opened, he literally blew into the kitchen. “My god, it’s howling out there.”
He looked up, saw Aaron, and his smile spread into a genuine grin. “Hi, son. I’ve been going through some old photos for Gran’s party and thought you might like to see some. You and Oliver both. Come and join me; there’s a fire in the lounge.”
Aaron hesitated. Old photos.Gah.Delving into the past. The last thing he needed.
Andrea motioned with her head as David strode off towards his study. “Your dad would love you to help him go through them,” she said pointedly.
Reluctantly, Aaron followed.
In the lounge, Oliver was clearly on a phone call to Leonie, going by the syrupy tone of his voice and the “love you”, followed by “love you more”, which made Aaron want to hurl.
But when Oliver put the phone down and jumped up to give him a friendly thump on the back, his gut curled. It wasn’t Oliver’s fault that Leonie was the love of his life. Or that his advice to Aaron had gone pear-shaped. That washisproblem. He was the love rat. The abject failure in the commitment stakes. The one who’d blown his chance of happiness with the only woman he’d ever—
Oh, for fuck’s sake. He had to stop being such a sook.
Eight weeks ago—less—seven, he’d been blissfully ignorant of this other loved-up world that so many people seemed overjoyed to inhabit. Now that he’d fallen into it, however briefly, he didn’t seem able to forget how wonderful it felt.
