Second Chance Lane (Brockenridge #2) - Nicola Marsh Page 0,53
redecorating was done, she wouldn’t have minded exploring exactly what that was.
Maybe it was for the best. She craved a stable, secure relationship and a guy likely to return to France once his project was complete wasn’t a good bet.
Tell that to her stupid, impressionable heart.
‘When will you know?’
‘Mum was meeting with the agent as I left so I’m expecting a call when she’s done.’
‘Shouldn’t you have been at that meeting?’
‘And miss out on having a beautiful woman cook for me? Not bloody likely.’
She laughed. ‘So what’s the real reason?’
His lopsided grin made her heart leap. ‘I’m an outsider so it wouldn’t bode well for me to blow into town and try to negotiate. Mum’s much better equipped to handle the locals than I am.’
Jane didn’t point out that he seemed pretty darn adept at handling the locals himself—at least, one of them, and he was looking straight at her.
As she plated up the lamb and veggies, Jane couldn’t ignore a niggle of worry. How far would Gladys go to prove how little she thought of her?
‘Here you go,’ she said, injecting gaiety into her voice as she placed a plate in front of Mason. ‘There’s gravy and mint jelly coming up.’
‘Thanks.’
When she placed the condiments on the table between them and sat, he raised his wine glass. ‘To our design collaboration.’
She clinked her glass against his and forced a smile, but that nasty thought about her mother’s vindictiveness had wheedled its way into her brain and she couldn’t dislodge it. She’d confronted Gladys once, a few months after her dad had died, hoping her mother would reveal the truth. Rather than being honest her mother had completely withdrawn, before steadily undermining her every chance she got. That’s when she’d stopped caring what her mum thought of her. She’d retreated behind a brittle shell of faux cheerfulness and overt brashness, not giving two craps about anybody, yet hoping her mother would make some kind of overture to broach the gap between them. Instead, the gap had widened and Jane lamented the loss of both parents.
As Mason forked the first mouthful of lamb past his lips, she toyed with hers and watched for his reaction. She’d always loved cooking but didn’t do it often enough, as whipping up meals for one wasn’t much fun. But this meal was one of her favourites and by the blissful expression on Mason’s face, he liked it too.
‘This is incredible,’ he said. ‘The lamb is tender and juicy, and the veggies cooked to perfection.’
‘Thanks,’ she said, forcing a forkful past her lips when she noticed him staring at her untouched food.
‘A woman of many talents.’ He raised his wine glass again and she smiled, hoping it didn’t come across as a grimace.
Mason demolished his food in record time and she’d managed to clear a quarter of her plate when his mobile rang. He slid it out of his pocket and glanced at the screen. ‘It’s Mum. Do you mind if I take this?’
‘Go ahead,’ she said, clenching her hands under the table, bracing for the worst as he answered.
His responses were short, and when his eyes narrowed and locked on hers, she knew. Damn it, she knew.
‘Don’t worry, Mum, we’ll get this sorted. Bye.’ He hung up, stood and slipped his mobile into the back pocket of his jeans. ‘I have to go.’
‘But we haven’t discussed the plans—’
‘Why are you doing this?’ He stalked a few steps away before spinning back to glare at her. ‘Is this some kind of sick joke? Making me pay for being a dickhead in the past? Demanding top dollar on a shop that has been empty for years?’
Hating that he thought so little of her, she shook her head. ‘I have nothing to do with this. I’m assuming my mother owns that shop and—’
‘You’re assuming?’ He snorted. ‘Like you wouldn’t know.’
‘We’re not close, haven’t been for years.’
‘This is bullshit. I thought you’d changed but it looks like you’re still the game player you were in high school.’
Of all the things he could’ve said, that hurt the most, because she had changed. She’d spent a decade trying to distance herself from the airs and graces she’d assumed in school to emulate her mother. If he’d known her better back then he would’ve given her the benefit of the doubt now rather than accusing her