Wedding Bell Wishes. Lynne Marshall

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       CHAPTER EIGHT

      SEAN SENT CLAIRE a text later that evening.

      Sweet dreams.

      Yes, she thought, because they’d be of him. She typed back, You, too x.

      He’d turned out to be unexpectedly sweet, so different from how he’d always been in the past. He was still a little regimented, but there was huge potential for him to be...

      She stopped herself. No. This time she wasn’t going to make the same old mistake. She wasn’t going into this relationship thinking that Sean might be The One, that there would definitely be a happy-ever-after. OK, so he wasn’t like the men she usually dated; but that didn’t guarantee a different outcome for this relationship, either.

      And this was early days. Sean had a reputation for not dating women for very long; the chances were, this would all be over in another month. Claire knew that she needed to minimise the potential damage to her heart and make sure that her best friend didn’t get caught in any crossfire. Which meant keeping just a little bit of distance between them.

      Even though Claire tried to tell herself to be sensible, she still found herself anticipating Wednesday. Wondering if he’d kiss her again. Wondering if they’d end up at his place or hers. Wondering if this whole thing blew his mind as much as it did hers.

      Wednesday turned out to be madly busy, and Claire spent a long time on the phone with one of her suppliers, sorting out a mistake they’d made in delivering the wrong fabric—and it was going to cost her time she didn’t have. A last-minute panic from one of her brides took up another hour; and, before she realised it, the time was half past six.

      Oh, no. She still needed to shower, wash her hair, change and do her make-up before Sean arrived. She called him, hoping to beg an extra half an hour, but his line was busy. Swiftly, she tapped in a text as she went up the stairs to her flat.

      Sorry, running a bit late. See you at half-seven?

      She pressed ‘send’ and dropped the phone on her bed before rummaging through her wardrobe to find her navy linen dress.

      She’d just stepped out of the shower and wrapped a towel round her hair when her doorbell rang.

      No. It couldn’t be Sean. It couldn’t be seven-thirty already.

      Well, whoever it was would just have to call back another time.

      The bell rang again.

      Arrgh. Clearly whoever it was had no intention of being put off. If it was a cold-caller, she’d explain firmly and politely that she didn’t buy on the doorstep.

      She blinked in surprise when she opened the door to Sean. ‘You’re early!’ And Sean was never early and never late; he was always precisely on time.

      ‘No. We said seven.’

      She frowned. ‘But I texted you to say I was running late and asked if we could make it half past.’

      ‘I didn’t get any text from you,’ he said.

      ‘Oh, no. I’m so sorry.’ She blew out a breath. ‘Um, come up. I’ll be twenty minutes, tops—make yourself a coffee or something.’

      ‘Do you want me to make you a drink?’

      She shook her head. ‘I’m so sorry.’

      He stole a kiss. ‘Stop apologising.’

      ‘I’ll be as quick as I can,’ she said, feeling horribly guilty. Why hadn’t she kept a better eye on the time? Or called him rather than relying on a text getting through?

      She had to dry her hair roughly and tie it back rather than spending time on a sophisticated updo, but she was ready by twenty-five past seven.

      ‘You look lovely,’ he said.

      ‘Thank you.’ Though she noticed that he’d glanced at his watch again. If only he’d lighten up a bit. It would drive her crazy if he ran this evening to schedule, as if it were a business meeting. ‘Where are we going?’ she asked brightly.

      ‘South Bank.’

      ‘Great. We can play in the fountains,’ she said with a smile. ‘It’s been so hot today that it’d be nice to have a chance to cool down.’

      He simply glanced at his suit.

      And she supposed he had a point. Getting soaked wouldn’t do the fabric any favours. Or her dress, for that matter. But the art installations on the South Bank were fun.

      ‘I called the restaurant to say we’d be late,’ he said.

      Sean and his schedules. Though if they didn’t turn up when they were expected, the restaurant would be perfectly justified in giving their table to someone else, so she guessed it was reasonable of him. ‘Sorry,’ she said again.

      This was the side of Sean she found harder to handle. Mr Organised. It was fine for business; but, in his personal life, surely he could be more relaxed?

      They caught the tube to the South Bank—to her relief, the line was running without any delays—and the restaurant turned out to be fabulous. Their table had a great view of the river, and the food was as excellent as the view. Claire loved the fresh tuna with mango chilli salsa. ‘And the pudding menu’s to die for,’ she said gleefully. ‘It’s going to take me ages to choose.’

      ‘Actually, we don’t have time,’ Sean said, looking at his watch,

      ‘No СКАЧАТЬ