Reunited At The Altar. Kate Hardy

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СКАЧАТЬ her original Plan A and joined the family business. Given that her parents were in their late fifties and would be looking at retiring, he’d guess that she was taking more responsibility every year. Maybe she was even running the place now.

      ‘So how’s the café?’ he asked.

      ‘Fine. How’s the lab?’

      ‘Fine.’

      Stonewalling each other with single-word answers wasn’t going to do anything to help the situation. Brad decided to make the effort and try some polite conversation. Offer some information, which might make her offer information in return. ‘My team’s working on developing a new antibiotic.’

      ‘Sounds good—we definitely need that.’ She paused. ‘So are you happy in London?’

      He hadn’t been happy in the last five years. But he did like his job. And she was asking about his job, right? ‘Yes. How about you? You’re happy here at the café?’ If he focused on work rather than the personal stuff, then she wouldn’t tell him about her new love.

      ‘Yes, I’m happy at the café. Like you, I’m developing something, except mine’s rather more frivolous.’ She paused, then said brightly, ‘Ice cream for dogs.’

      ‘Ice cream for dogs?’ The idea was so incongruous that it made him smile.

      ‘Don’t knock it,’ she said, smiling back. ‘Think how many people bring their dogs to the beach, then come and sit with them outside the café.’

      He knew that Scott’s Café, on the edge of the beach, had tables outside as well as inside, plus water bowls for dogs; it had always been dog-friendly, even before it became trendy to welcome dogs.

      ‘Half of the customers buy an ice cream for their dogs to help cool them down, too, but obviously the sugar’s not good for the dogs’ teeth and the fat’s not brilliant for their diet, either,’ Abby said. ‘So we’ve produced something a bit more canine-friendly.’

      He raised an eyebrow. ‘So you’re telling me you’re making chicken-flavoured ice cream?’

      She laughed. ‘Not quite. It’s more like frozen yoghurt. We do a carrot and cinnamon one, and a cheese one.’

      He stared at her. ‘Cheese ice cream?’

      ‘They serve Parmesan ice cream at the posh restaurant round the bay in Little Crowmell,’ she said. ‘That’s what gave me the idea. Especially as Waffle—’ her parents’ dachshund ‘—will do anything for cheese. He loved being one of my beta testers. So did your mum’s dog.’

      He wondered who’d taken her to Little Crowmell and had to damp down an unexpected flicker of jealousy. He had no right to be jealous. She was a free agent. It was up to her who she dated, he reminded himself yet again.

      ‘Dinner smells nice,’ he said, reverting to a safer subject.

      ‘It’s not that fancy. Just chicken arrabbiata.’

      He’d always loved her cooking. ‘It’s still better than I could’ve made.’ Not that he really cooked, any more. Cooking for one didn’t seem worth the effort, when he was tired after a long day in the lab. It was so much easier to buy something from the chiller cabinet in the supermarket and shove it in the microwave for a couple of minutes. Something he didn’t have to think about or even taste.

      Abigail’s chicken arrabbiata tasted even better than it smelled.

      And how weird it was to be eating with her again, in this intimate little galley kitchen, at this tiny little table. Close enough so that, when he moved his feet, he ended up touching hers.

      ‘Sorry,’ he said, moving his feet swiftly away again and banging his ankle on the chair leg.

      She gave him a half-shrug. ‘Not a problem.’

      She might be immune to him nowadays, he thought, but he was far from immune to her. There was a time when they would’ve sat at a tiny table like this together, their bare feet entwined. When they would’ve shared glances. When dinner would’ve been left half-eaten because he would’ve scooped her up and carried her up the stairs to their bed.

      And he really wasn’t going to let himself wonder if she slept in a double bed.

      It was none of his business.

      This was supposed to be civil politeness. A truce. Getting rid of the awkwardness between them, so Ruby’s wedding would go smoothly at the weekend. So why did he feel so completely off balance?

      He forced himself to finish the pasta—she was right, he did need to eat—and then cleared the table for her while she rummaged in the freezer.

      She was close enough to touch.

      And that way danger lay. Physical contact between them would be a very, very bad idea. Because seeing her again had brought back way too many memories—along with a huge sense of loneliness and loss.

      He retreated to the bistro table, and she brought over two bowls, spoons and a plastic tub.

      ‘Are you selling tubs for people to take home, nowadays?’ he asked, suddenly curious.

      ‘Yes, but they’re half-litre paper cartons rather than like this. Ruby designed them for me—pink and white Regency stripes, with “Scott’s” written across it in black script,’ Abigail said.

      ‘So you’re expanding the business?’

      She inclined her head. ‘Certain local restaurants stock our ice cream, and we have pop-up ice cream stalls for events. Regency-style carts. Ruby’s having one at her wedding.’

      And how different his sister’s wedding would be from his own. A big affair, with the church filled with family and friends. The complete opposite from his and Abby’s: no frills, no fuss, just the two of them, and two witnesses that the wedding planner at Gretna Green had provided. Abby had worn an ordinary but pretty summer dress and carried a posy of cream roses, and he’d worn the suit his mother had bought him for his interview at Cambridge. It had got a bit creased in his rucksack, but he hadn’t cared. He’d just wanted to get married to Abby and be with her for ever and ever, and prove to his dad that he was wrong, that they weren’t too young and he wouldn’t find someone else in the first week away at university—that their marriage would last.

      The summer when they were eighteen.

      How young and foolish they’d both been.

      All that was left from that day now was a handful of photographs.

      He shook himself. They were meant to be talking about her business, not their past. ‘Sounds good,’ he said lightly. ‘So what’s this?’

      ‘A new flavour. I’m still tweaking it, so it’s not in production yet. Let me know what you think.’

      She actually wanted his opinion? Something shifted inside him.

      She put a scoop into the bowl. ‘If you hate it, don’t be polite and eat it—just tell me what you don’t like about it because that’ll be much more useful. I also have salted caramel in the freezer.’

      His СКАЧАТЬ