That First French Summer - Mandy Baggot Page 0,56

then she had me up that dirt track to the side of the recreation ground.’

‘Perhaps they had a dog and used to go for walks,’ Emma offered.

‘She had a right twinkle in her eye,’ Chris said, grinning.

Just like he had at that very moment. She swallowed. How did you start a conversation like this? She wasn’t sure she could even open her mouth to begin.

‘Listen, Em, I’ve been thinking…’ he started.

He was going to propose. He thought the sirloin steak and the wine was a sign for him to try again. Why hadn’t she thought of that? He would have no idea the real reason behind buying his favourite food. She couldn’t let it happen.

‘I’ve got some pudding. I got treacle sponge. I’ll get it,’ she said, rising from her seat.

‘What? But I haven’t finished and you… you haven’t started,’ Chris said. He indicated her plate, hardly a mouthful missing.

‘I’m not very hungry. I had one of those huge macaroni cheese things at the school canteen,’ she lied.

‘Sit down, Em,’ Chris urged.

She didn’t want to sit down. She wanted to stand up and do something, anything to make this feeling leave her. Now she wasn’t only worried about what she had to say, she was also concerned about what Chris wanted to talk about.

‘Please,’ he urged.

She had no choice. She sunk back down into the chair, setting her eyes on the meal rather than him.

‘I know why you’ve been down lately.’

No. He couldn’t know. He just couldn’t. His statement was enough to make her raise her head and look at him.

‘You’ve been a bit out of sorts since the beginning of August. Since the anniversary of your mum dying,’ Chris spoke.

Her throat tightened and she felt that familiar lurch inside. Thoughts and memories still triggered that surge of loss so easily.

‘I just want you to know… I understand. You can talk to me about it. You know I was ten when I lost my dad. I’ve been there and I still miss him. There’s times – birthdays, Christmas, anniversaries – when it still feels fresh,’ he continued.

Why was he doing this? Why was he doing this now? She almost wished he’d propose. This was worse. He was feeling sorry for her, showing empathy, bearing his soul, talking about his dad. She didn’t deserve his compassion. She didn’t deserve anything.

‘I…’

‘You don’t have to say anything, Em. I just want you to know I’m here. I’m here and there’s no pressure,’ he said. He reached across the table and took one of her hands in his.

She was despicable. He was a wonderful, wonderful man and she was so lucky to have him. What was she doing pretending she could go back to being a teenager with Guy? It was impulsive, impossible, irresponsible love. There was no place for that in her life. Her life was with Chris. It should be with Chris. He was stable. Dominic needed stability.

‘No pressure?’ she queried, wiping a lone tear from her cheek.

‘Yeah, I mean the proposing thing. I knew the other day, when I said it; you weren’t going to say yes. But that’s OK. I want you to know that’s OK,’ he carried on. He was rubbing her fingers, just like Guy had, but the feeling couldn’t have been more different. It was comforting. She felt content. But that was all she felt. Nothing stirred within her. There was no passion, no rise in body temperature or blood pressure, just the sensation that he cared for her. Was that enough? Could that be enough? It should be, shouldn’t it?

‘It isn’t OK though, is it?’ she mumbled, half to him, half to herself.

‘Hey, I know I’m punching above my weight with you. I mean look at you! Beautiful and clever and me, well… I’m nothing special,’ he said. He shrugged.

‘You are special,’ Emma jumped in.

‘What I am is lucky. Lucky to have you and Dom and I’ll take that. Marriage or no marriage, I’ll take it,’ he told her, squeezing her hand.

She couldn’t speak. She didn’t know what to say. He was a special person. He was funny, hard-working, honest, caring and fantastic with Dominic. The list went on and on. But what the list didn’t cover was heat, passion, that intense connection on every level. She had never had that with Chris. Chris was the favourite little black dress you could always rely on. Guy was the bright red expensive frock you could only just fasten up but when you did, it made you feel

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