Wedding Bell Wishes. Lynne Marshall

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      ‘Good call,’ he said. And his eyes actually twinkled.

      Sean Farrell, teasing her. She would never have believed that he had a sense of humour. ‘So what’s the real answer?’ she asked.

      ‘Something very regimented,’ he said. ‘Sudoku.’

      ‘There’s nothing wrong with doing puzzles,’ she said. Though trust Sean to pick something logical.

      ‘What about you? What do you do for fun?’ he asked.

      Given how he’d teased her, he really deserved this. She schooled her face into a serious expression. ‘Shopping. Preferably for shoes.’ Given what she did for a living, that would be totally plausible. ‘Actually, I have three special shoe wardrobes. Walk-in ones.’

      ‘Seriously?’ He looked totally horrified.

      ‘About as much as you go abseiling.’ She laughed. ‘I like shoes, but I’m not that extreme. No, for me it’s cooking for friends and watching a good film and talking about it afterwards.’

      ‘OK. We’re even now,’ he said with a smile. ‘So what do you cook? Anything in particular?’

      ‘Whatever catches my eye. I love magazines that have recipes in them, and it’s probably one of my worst vices because I can never resist a news stand,’ she said. ‘What about you?’

      ‘I can cook if I have to,’ he said. ‘Though I admit I’m more likely to take someone out to dinner than to cook for them.’

      She shrugged. ‘That’s not a big deal. It means you’ll be doing the washing up, though.’

      ‘Was that an offer?’ he asked.

      ‘Do you want it to be?’ she fenced.

      He held her gaze. ‘Yes. Tell me when, and I’ll bring the wine.’

      There was a little flare of excitement in her stomach. They were actually doing this. Arranging a date. Seeing each other. She could maybe play a little hard to get and make him wait until Friday; but her mouth clearly had other ideas, because she found herself suggesting, ‘Tonight?’

      ‘I’d like that. I’ve got meetings until half past five, and some paperwork that needs doing after that—but I can be with you for seven, if that’s OK?’ he asked.

      ‘It’s a date,’ she said softly.

      He took her hand and brought it up to his mouth. Keeping eye contact all the way, he kissed the back of her hand, just briefly, before releasing it again; it made Claire feel warm and squidgy inside. Who would’ve thought that Sean Farrell was Prince Charming in disguise? Not that she was a weak little princess who needed rescuing—she could look after herself perfectly well, thank you very much—but she liked the charm. A lot.

      ‘Next question,’ he said.

      ‘OK. What are you most proud of?’ she asked.

      ‘That’s an easy one—my sister and Farrell’s,’ he said.

      His family, and his family business, she thought. So it looked as if Sean Farrell had a seriously soft centre, just like the caramel chocolates his factory made along with the toffee.

      ‘How about you?’ he asked.

      ‘The letters I get from brides telling me how much they loved their dress and how it really helped make their special day feel extra-special,’ she said.

      ‘So you’re actually as much of a workaholic as you think I am?’

      ‘Don’t sound so surprised,’ she said dryly. ‘I know you see extreme things on a fashion catwalk and the pages of magazines, but it doesn’t mean that designers are all totally flaky. I want my brides to feel really special and that they look like a million dollars, in a dress I’ve made just for them. And that means listening to what their dream is, and coming up with something that makes them feel their dream’s come true.’

      ‘Having seen the dress you made for Ashleigh, I can understand exactly why they commission you,’ he said. ‘Next question?’

      ‘What are you scared of?’

      ‘Easy one. Anything happening to Ashleigh or the business.’

      But he didn’t meet her eye. There was clearly something else. Something he didn’t want to discuss.

      ‘You?’ he asked.

      ‘Heights. I’m OK in a plane, but chairlifts like that one in Capri make my palms go sweaty. Put it this way, I’m never, ever going skiing. Or abseiling.’

      ‘Fair enough. Next?’

      She glanced down at her phone to check. ‘Your most treasured possession.’

      ‘I can show you that.’ He took his wallet out of his pocket, removed two photographs and handed them to her. One was of himself with Ashleigh, and the other was himself on graduation day with his parents on either side of him. Claire had a lump in her throat and couldn’t say a word when she handed them back.

      ‘You?’ he asked.

      ‘The same,’ she whispered, and took her own wallet from her bag. She showed him a photograph of herself and her parents on her seventeenth birthday, and one of her with Ashleigh and Sammy and the Coliseum in the background.

      He took her hand in silence and squeezed it briefly. Not that he needed any words; she knew he shared her feelings.

      She put the photographs away. ‘Next question—is the glass half full or half empty?’

      ‘Half full. You?’

      ‘Same,’ she said, and glanced at her watch. ‘We might have to cut this a bit short. Last one for now. Your perfect holiday?’

      ‘Not a beach holiday,’ he said feelingly. ‘That just bores me silly.’

      ‘You mean, you get a fit of the guilts at lying on a beach doing nothing, and you end up working.’

      ‘Actually, I’m just not very good at just sitting still and doing nothing,’ he admitted.

      ‘So you’d rather have an active holiday?’

      ‘Exploring somewhere, you mean?’ He nodded. ‘That’d work for me.’

      ‘Culture or geography?’

      ‘Either,’ he said. ‘I guess my perfect holiday would be Iceland. I’d love to walk up a volcano, and to see the hot springs and learn about the place. You?’

      ‘I like city breaks. I have a bit of an art gallery habit, thanks to Sammy,’ she explained. ‘Plus I love museums where they have a big costume section. I should warn you that I really, really love Regency dresses. And I can spend hours in the costume section, looking at all the fine details.’

      ‘So you see yourself as Lizzie Bennett?’

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