Then he rang off and Belle heard his last two words over and over in her head until Carol called her name.
She focussed on her colleague who was watching her closely.
“He’s fit, way fit, but girl, you’re a mess,” Carol remarked.
Belle walked over and sat down next to Carol at her sewing machine. “I know. I’m such an idiot.”
Carol grinned at her. “He doesn’t think so and that’s all that matters.”
This was simple but it was absolutely true.
“He’s coming to the cottage for dinner tonight,” Belle shared and Carol’s brows drew together in confusion.
“I thought you were living with him.”
“I am and so is his mother, my mother, my grandmother and, a lot of the time, his ex-girlfriend now adopted daughter slash sister,” Belle revealed.
“One word for that and that word is ‘eek’,” Carol noted with a smile on her lips. “I’m guessing you want some alone time.”
“I want to show him my grandmother’s landscapes,” Belle replied honestly and Carol burst out laughing.
When she quit laughing, she teased, “That’s what they all say, dear.”
Belle saw the humour and grinned before she asked, “So what do you reckon I should make for a fabulously wealthy man who orders breakfast from his housekeeper every morning, has his bed made for him every day and flies to work in a plane?”
“Meat and potatoes,” Carol answered instantly. “Unless they’re poofs or celebrity chefs, which are just other words meaning poof, men like meat and potatoes. All men. Even fabulously wealthy ones.” Then she got up and walked to her purse. “Leave it to me. I’ll go to the store. I’ll stock you up. He probably eats so much fancy food, a little home cooking, he won’t know what hit him.” She moved back to Belle and held out her hand. “Keys to the cottage.”
Belle walked to her purse, dug in and gave Carol her keys and some money.
Then a little wiggle of fear spiralled in her belly, she looked at Carol and opened her mouth.
Before she could utter a word, Carol said gently, “I’ve had dinner at your house, Belle, three times. You’re a great cook. Americans usually are. I’m not kidding, love, he won’t know what hit him.”
Belle nodded, watched Carol leave and, wiggle of fear gone, she went back to work.
* * * * *
Mid-afternoon, Belinda’s head popped up at the landing to the stairs and Carol and Belle looked at her.
Her eyes were bright and her face was flushed.
“You have got to see this,” she breathed in apparent rapture then her head disappeared.
Belle and Carol looked at each other, got up and headed down the stairs.
In her shop, as well as three customers, was a peach-haired woman wearing, bizarrely, a full on, boxy tweed suit with a light wool turtleneck under it and thick tights even though it was twenty-nine degrees Celsius outside.
There was also a light-skinned, black man with a close-cropped Afro, dark-brown eyes, a strong, square jaw and the body of a defensive lineman including broad shoulders and massive height that Belle guessed was at least two inches taller than Jack and Jack was tall. He was wearing an impeccably cut suit and he could easily be scouted as a leading man in a variety of Hollywood movies including romantic comedies but especially action films.
In other words, he was gorgeous.
Not James Bennett gorgeous but as close as Belle ever got.
Eyes to the black man, Belle walked to the peach-haired lady.
“Belle Abbot.” She heard and she tore her eyes from the man and looked at Olive who was speaking.
“You’re Olive,” Belle said idiotically.