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Soon she won’t need you any more, a nasty voice niggled at him.
‘Nick?’
He shook himself. ‘Sorry, what did you say?’
She huffed. ‘Forget it. It’s not important.’
‘It was clearly important enough for you to ask in the first place.’
‘Yet not important enough for you to listen.’
‘It’s five thirty in the morning here. I’ve not had my first coffee yet, give me a break.’
He heard a gentle sigh. ‘I’m over in London in February for London Fashion Week.’
‘That’s great.’
‘And I wondered if you wanted to come.’
He froze, wishing to God he’d had that coffee.
‘Okay, I get the message,’ she said into the gaping silence he’d left. ‘I didn’t think you’d be interested.’
‘I didn’t say I wasn’t interested.’ He ached to see her, to take her out for a meal. To bring her back to the barn and just . . . be with her, if that was all he could have. But watch a fashion show? ‘Obviously it’s not my type of thing, but I’m sure Charlotte would love to go.’
‘Never mind. Forget I asked.’ She sounded cooler now, more detached. ‘I don’t want your sister to feel as if she has to go.’
‘Are you kidding? Charlotte would bust a gut to get to a fashion show.’ He realised belatedly that he’d hurt her. If she’d asked him to go, it must have been important to her, yet because he knew he’d feel uncomfortable, he’d snubbed her invitation ‘If you’d like me to be there too, then I’d like to go.’
He thought he could hear the smile in her voice. ‘Liar.’
‘Not a lie. Why wouldn’t I want the chance to see a lot of gorgeous leggy women not wearing very much?’
His heart lifted as he heard her laughter. He hadn’t realised how little she’d laughed since Robert had died. Since before that, if he was honest, at least compared to how often she’d laughed before her family’s accident. ‘Okay, if that’s the only reason you want to come, I’ll take it.’
‘It’s not the only reason. I’m quite looking forward to seeing you not wearing very much.’ His remark was met with a silence that shrivelled his balls and punctured his heart. She’s your bloody friend, you dimwit. Mortified at his slip from friend to lover, he cleared his throat. ‘So, what are the dates, so I can block out my diary?’
‘I’ll email them to you.’ Her voice was quieter now. Subdued? Horrified?
‘Great.’ His voice was too loud, as if he was trying too hard. ‘I’ll look forward to seeing you then.’
* * *
Lizzie put down the phone thoughtfully. Had Nick just flirted with her? In which case, was it too soon, too dangerous to hope that maybe, just maybe, there was still a chance for them?
Then again, he hadn’t sounded keen to see the show. If the boot had been on the other foot, if he’d phoned to invite her to something that was important to him, she’d have jumped up and down with joy.
Of course it was early in the morning for him.
Before she could overthink it all, Catherine phoned.
‘Hey there. How’s things?’
Nick hadn’t been the only one to keep an eye on her in the months since Robert’s death. Catherine had taken to checking on her regularly too, insisting she join her for Christmas, making sure they had lunch every other week. ‘Good, thank you. I’ve just been on the phone to Nick. I invited him to London Fashion Week.’
She didn’t think it was possible to splutter elegantly, but that’s what Catherine did. ‘I bet he loved that.’
‘You’re right. He’s agreed to go but I got the impression he’d rather go to a karaoke bar. Sober. And stand up to sing.’
