Reunited At The Altar. Kate Hardy

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      He looked at her as if not quite believing what he’d heard. ‘What?’

      ‘You’re not OK, Brad,’ she said. ‘You’re lying about it—which is crazy, because I’m the last person you should need to keep a stiff upper lip in front of—and I’m calling you on it.’

      He lifted his chin, as if to argue. ‘I...’ Then the fight went out of him and he sighed. ‘No. You’re right. I’m not OK.’

      ‘Because you’re dreading this week?’ she asked. ‘That’s why you booked into the cottage, isn’t it? So you wouldn’t have to go home and see the ghosts.’

      He raked a hand through his hair. ‘You always could see through me, Abby. Except back then...’

      ‘Back then, I would’ve let you get away with it.’ How young and naive she’d been. In the last five years she’d grown much wiser. Stronger, more able to deal with tricky situations. She’d changed. But had Brad? ‘You’ve just had a three-hour drive from London, in rush-hour traffic. I’m guessing you didn’t have time for lunch and you were thinking about your current project while you were driving, so you didn’t bother to get any shopping on the way here either. Apart from what I left you, your fridge and cupboards are all empty. But there’s an easy solution. Come and sit in my kitchen while I make you something to eat.’

      He shook his head. ‘I can’t ask you to do that.’

      She folded her arms and looked at him. ‘You’re not asking me. I’m telling you.’

      ‘Bossy.’ But there was the hint of a smile in the tiny crinkles at the corners of his eyes. A smile she wished she hadn’t noticed, because it still had the power to make her knees weak.

      We’re divorced, she reminded herself. I’m just doing this for Ruby, to make sure Brad doesn’t get overwhelmed by the past and bail out on her before the wedding. Bradley Powell doesn’t make my knees go weak any more. He doesn’t.

      ‘Just shut up and come next door,’ she said, more to cover her own confusion than anything else.

      * * *

      ‘Is there anything I can do to help?’ Brad asked when he’d followed her into her kitchen.

      Abigail shook her head and gestured to the small bistro table in the nook that served as a dining area. ‘Sit down and make yourself comfortable.’

      ‘Thank you.’ He paused. ‘So how long have you been living here?’

      ‘Two years. Didn’t Ruby tell you?’

      ‘She doesn’t really talk to me about you.’ He looked at her. ‘Does she talk to you about me?’

      ‘No,’ she said. ‘Though obviously your mum told me you’d got your doctorate. She showed me the graduation photos.’

      He’d nearly not bothered with the graduation ceremony—until his sister had pointed out that she and their mother would quite like to be there, so it would be a bit selfish of him not to go. Brad had felt he didn’t deserve the fuss, but he’d given in for his mother’s sake.

      ‘Uh-huh.’ He didn’t want to talk to Abigail about his graduation and how much he’d missed his father. How it had been a physical ache. How he’d longed to say to Jim, ‘See, I told you I’d make something of myself doing the subject I love.’

      He grabbed at the nearest excuse to change the subject. ‘Nice house.’ It looked as if it was the same layout as the cottage he’d hired for the week: the white-painted front door opened straight into the living room, and stairs led between the living room and kitchen to the upper floor. But whereas next door was all furnished in neutral shades, as far as he’d seen, Abigail had gone for bright colour. Her living room was painted a warm primrose yellow, with deep red curtains and a matching deep red sofa opposite the cast-iron original fireplace with a huge mirror above it, a wall full of books and a massive stylised painting of a peacock on another wall, which looked very much like his sister’s handiwork. And the kitchen walls here were painted a light, bright teal; the cupboards were cream and the worktop was grey. It was stylish and homely at the same time.

      The perfect size for two.

      He didn’t let himself think about who might have sat at this table opposite her. It was none of his business who she dated. She wasn’t his wife any more.

      ‘Are there any dietary things I need to know about?’ she asked.

      ‘Such as?’

      She shrugged. ‘I know you don’t have any food allergies, but you might have given up eating meat or fish since we last ate together.’

      Had she? He really had no idea. As for himself, he barely noticed what he ate, since she’d left. Since he’d pushed her into leaving, he amended mentally. ‘No. Nothing’s changed. But I don’t want to put you to any trouble. I can walk up the road and get some fish and chips—assuming the chip shop’s still there on the harbour, that is?’

      ‘You’re not putting me to any trouble,’ she said. ‘I haven’t eaten yet this evening. It’s as quick to cook for two as it is for one.’

      ‘Then, if you’re sure you don’t mind, whatever you want to cook is absolutely fine with me,’ he said. ‘Thank you.’

      ‘You told Ruby we could be civil. So did I. We might as well start here and now.’

      ‘A truce. OK.’ He could do that. And maybe, if he could get things on an even keel with her, it would take some of the weight of guilt from him.

      ‘Coffee?’

      ‘Thanks. I’d love one.’ He paused. ‘That muffin you left next door—did you make that yourself?’

      ‘Yes. This morning.’

      ‘I appreciated it. And it was very good.’

      ‘Thank you.’

      She’d gone slightly pink. Was she remembering when she’d made muffins in his student days and they’d eaten them in bed together? Not that he could ask her. That was way, way too intimate.

      She made coffee just the way he liked it, strong and sugarless with a just dash of milk. He remembered how she took her coffee, too. And the fact that she never drank tea. Funny how all the memories flooded back, as if their years apart had never happened.

      Wishful thinking. It was way too late to do anything about it now.

      She chopped onions, chilli and garlic, then heated oil in a pan and started to sauté them. The kitchen smelled amazing. She added diced chicken, and he realised just how hungry he was. Abigail always had been good in the kitchen; rather than going away to study for a degree, she’d planned to join her family’s café business when she left school. She was going to work her way up while he studied, and they were going to get married after he graduated.

      Until Brad, after a huge row with his dad, had rebelled; he’d asked Abby to elope with him before they got their exam results. All wide-eyed and trusting, young and full of hope, she’d agreed. And she’d put her plans aside, moving with him when he left for university, getting a job СКАЧАТЬ