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* * *
Grace was trying hard not to breathe. The only female bartender she could find was a size smaller. She’d managed to do up the zip on the dress but there wasn’t much room. Lunch could be an issue.
Why had he asked her to lunch? Did he want to talk more decorations? And now she was late. After he’d left she’d grabbed the end of the lights to check they worked. They did.
Then she’d phoned a rush order for purple light bulbs. They would be delivered in a few hours. She’d need to find out how the lights normally got up there. This could be a disaster if she needed scaffolding. Maybe one of those funny little cherry pickers would do the trick?
Finlay was waiting for her at the front door. She tried not to notice the obviously interested looks they were getting from other members of staff.
She pulled down her woolly black sequined hat. She’d got it in the bargain bucket at the supermarket and it was the least likely match for her designer pink coat and gloves. But it was all she could afford at the time.
He smiled at her. He’d changed his white shirt for a blue one. Her stomach gave a little somersault. Yikes, it just made those blue eyes bluer.
‘Where are we going?’ he asked.
‘What do you like for lunch?’
She still hadn’t quite worked out why they were going for lunch. She assumed he wanted to talk about the decorations some more. And that was fine. But she intended on doing it somewhere she was comfortable.
‘I’m easy.’ He shrugged his shoulders. ‘What do you like?’
They started walking along the street. ‘Are you okay with the Tube?’ she asked.
‘You want to go someplace else?’
She licked her lips. ‘I don’t normally eat around here.’ It was best to be upfront. There were lots of pricey and ultra-fashionable places to eat around here. Artisan delicatessens where a sandwich generally cost three times as much as it should.
She veered off towards the steps to the underground. Finlay just kept pace with an amused expression on his face. She pulled out her card to use while he fumbled around in his pockets for some change and headed for the ticket machine. She shook her head. ‘Just scan your credit card. It will just deduct the payment.’
He frowned but followed her lead. They were lucky—a train had just pulled into the station. She held onto one of the poles and turned to face him as the train started to move. ‘I’ll give you a choice of the best breakfast around or some fantastic stuffed croissants.’
He looked at her warily. ‘What, from the same place?’
She laughed. ‘No, silly. They’re two different cafés. I’m just trying to decide which one we go to.’
‘I had breakfast at six. Let’s go for the croissants.’
She gave him a solemn nod. ‘I warn you—you might get angry.’
‘Why?’
She stood on her tiptoes and whispered in his ear. ‘Because the coffee in this place is miles better than it is in the hotel.’
She could see him bristle. ‘No way.’
‘Way.’ The train slid to a halt. ‘Come and find out for yourself.’
* * *
There was almost a skip in Grace’s step as she led him from the Tube station and across the road to a café much like every other one in London. But as soon as he opened the door he could smell the difference. The scent of coffee beans filled the air, along with whiffs of baking—apple tarts, sponge cakes and something with vanilla in it. If you weren’t hungry before you entered this café, you’d be ravenous ten seconds after crossing the threshold. He’d need to remember that.
They sat at the table and ordered. As soon as the waitress left, Grace started playing with a strand of hair. ‘I might have done something,’ she said hesitantly.
‘What?’ he asked cautiously.
‘I might have ordered some purple light bulbs. And some white ones. I figure that if we can get the lights up outside the hotel it will give people an idea of what it looks like inside.’
He gave a nod. ‘I had a call from the manager of another chain of hotels today. She was asking about you.’
Grace’s eyes widened. ‘Asking about me?’
He nodded. ‘She wanted to know the name of the designer I’d used because she’d heard how good the hotel looked.’
Grace leaned across the table towards him. ‘Already? But I’ve only just finished.’
‘I know that and you know that.’ He held up his hand. ‘But this is London, word travels fast.’
She shook her head. He could almost see her shrinking into herself. ‘But I’m not a designer. I’m just one of the Maids in Chelsea.’
