Love at the Little Wedding Shop by the Sea - Jane Linfoot Page 0,76
fire, Milla.
As I played around with the card designs, I knew I couldn’t ignore the warning bells any more. If there’s fire, you need to fight it. Pour water on it. Or in my case, bring in several engines with damn good hoses.
There’s probably nothing at all in what could have been a throwaway comment. But, thinking about it, I should have been much less friendly towards Nic all along. I should have kept a better distance. Like, a couple of counties away would have been good. Obviously, my hidden feelings are leaking out. I’m more transparent than I thought and people are perceptive. The only thing to do is to distance myself straight away.
When I look back, there’s so much to beat myself up about. So many things I should have done better. More importantly, things I should have avoided. Once I start, the list is endless. Nic ending up in my room at Cally’s wedding, those half-naked brush-pasts in the attic, letting him drive me home last Thursday. If I’d made myself all stern and frosty we might never have made the progress we have. But I’d never have got into this mess either.
The ‘should’ve’ list is very long. I should’ve been firmer, I should’ve made my boundaries more obvious, and I should never have started enjoying his company. I mean, when the hell did that happen?
When I think back over every single meeting, I’m shuddering with shame at every one. I know none of the accidents and blunders were planned, and I never had any intentions other than to be completely upfront and honest and honourable. But the only option is for me to step back from this immediately and hope that’s soon enough to stop the fall-out. And if there’s a silver lining to this, it’s that after today I won’t have to be near, so I’ll be spared the agony of another three months of rubbing shoulders – and anything else – with Nic.
Just to make sure I’m taking my own advice, I jerk my chair a couple of feet to the left and push my laptop towards him across the table so the keyboard is at arm’s length.
We should really be making the most of the lovely spring sunshine by sitting out in the shelter of the courtyard, but for this last meeting I’ve taken the precaution of staying inside. I look through the glass doors across the outdoor terrace, fix my eyes on the little triangle of blue that’s the sea, and make my voice brusque. ‘The faster you get these save-the-dates out, the more guests will be able to make it. So I’ve kept them simple, just the date and first names in handwritten fonts. A plain cream card might work and rose gold lettering would add a classy twist.’
‘Great.’ Nic grunts even though I’m not sure he’s looking at the screen.
I’m giving Nic plenty of options, so I go out on a high. ‘You could go with a funny one like ‘Shit Got Real’ or ‘Free Cake’, or else there are the straightforward ‘We’re Getting Married’, or ‘This Is The Day’ ones, or even just two names with a heart between?’ Of course, it wasn’t hard to write Pixie and Nic. It’s happening, I won’t be anywhere near. And I need to get over it.
Nic’s forehead wrinkles. ‘What’s rose gold again?’
However many times I say it, he never gets this either. ‘It’s gold with a pink tinge, like copper, but softer.’ I let that sink in. ‘It’s very current.’
He slides me a grin. ‘You always say that, every time I ask.’
I squirm as my heart clenches in response to that smile, but I keep my tone firm. ‘Are you winding me up?’
‘As if I’d do that.’ His grin widens. ‘You know me too well, Milla Vanilla.’
Shit! Milla Vanilla! I never even got to that one. I die again inside this time with a very loud moan. ‘Possibly.’
He lets out a squawk. ‘Possibly? What kind of head mistress-y reply is that? You sound like that awful Thisbe mate of yours.’
‘You mean Phoebe.’
He’s laughing. ‘Come on, loosen up, Mills. No one’s called me Captain Kirk since last Thursday and I’m starting to miss it.’
How could I have been so stupid? And I’m wondering why this has gone pear-shaped. ‘So do you have a preference?’
As he laughs his eyes light up. ‘Probably not vanilla, thanks for asking though.’
I should not be automatically thinking he means his bloody sex life, either. ‘For the cards.’