A Surprise Christmas Wedding - Phillipa Ashley Page 0,72

even though she’d have relished any opportunity to keep him shirtless for as long as possible.

‘Thanks.’ He pulled the poncho over his head, instantly covering his gorgeous torso with the garish wool.

‘I’ll sleep down here in the chair in case she’s sick.’

‘Do you want me to stay?’

She’d have loved his company but didn’t want him to hear any more of Steph’s ramblings. ‘No, thank you. You’ve done more than enough. Don’t you want to get back to the party?’

‘Oh, I think I’ve had enough of it now.’

Steph’s lips moved. ‘You are a lovely guy, Jay.’

Lottie rolled her eyes. ‘I’m sure she’ll regret all this tomorrow.’

Steph rambled on. ‘A lovely lovely guy and you need someone luverly like our Lottie.’

Lottie cringed and judging by Jay’s cool expression, he wasn’t impressed either.

‘Steph. Shut up.’ She opened the door to usher Jay into the hall. ‘Best leave her now. You’ve done more than enough.’

‘Dong Dong Merrily on higheeeee!’ Steph caterwauled from the sitting room.

‘I’ll see you tomorrow probably,’ Lottie said. ‘It’s been a hell of an evening.’

‘Yeah …’ Jay said, turning to the door. ‘It sure has.’

With that he walked across the garden into his own cottage.

Lottie shut her door and leaned against it, with a sigh of relief before settling down in the chair and pulling the duvet over herself. The evening hadn’t ended how she’d dreamed it might but it could have been far worse: she’d stopped Steph from blabbing about Connor.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Lottie kept watch in a chair until she’d made sure Steph was OK, and finally dragged herself up to bed in the small hours. After a restless night, she got up and made herself some strong coffee and two doorstep slices of toast. The last thing she felt like doing the morning after the party was joining the clear-up group in the ballroom.

Eventually, Steph appeared in the kitchen doorway, wearing Lottie’s dressing gown and a face whiter than the cottage loaf.

She leaned against the frame. ‘Urghh.’

‘Morning,’ Lottie said, torn between sympathy and – not.

‘Morning.’ Steph fumbled her way onto the kitchen stool.

Lottie pushed a large mug of coffee towards her, together with a packet of paracetamol.

‘Thanks. I’ve had two already.’ She lifted the mug, sipped and pulled a face. ‘That’s strong enough to strip paint.’

‘I thought it might help. Toast?’ Lottie nibbled a slice slathered in butter and home-made apricot jam. It was her failsafe cure for a heavy night, not that she’d had many in the past year.

‘Not right now.’ Steph grimaced. ‘Er, do you mind not crunching that toast quite so loudly?’

Lottie popped the crust in her mouth and munched louder than ever.

Steph looked at her in disgust. ‘Do I detect a slight edge to the way you’re devouring that innocent crust?’

‘Why on earth would I be on edge?’

‘I dunno, but you seem a little tetchy.’

‘Really?’ Lottie picked up her knife and it accidentally-on-purpose slipped onto her plate with a clatter that echoed around the kitchen.

Steph squeezed her eyes shut. ‘Oh God. I’m sorry.’ After another sip of coffee, during which Lottie remained silent, she said, ‘I seem to recall Jay helping you get me home last night. I’m sorry if I was a pain. I’m no party animal these days and I probably shouldn’t have had as much fizz as I did.’

‘You were ready to celebrate. I can understand that …’

‘You have that look: the bottled-up one. The one where you’re keeping something back from me, while bursting to say it. I call it your pressure cooker look.’

‘Pressure cooker?’ Lottie buttered the crust of her toast. ‘Don’t be daft. You’re imagining things.’

‘I’m not. You’ve always done it. You’re hiding something … I know you were when I was ill too. You were really gutted about Connor and yet I was too ill to support you properly.’

Lottie chewed her toast, and raised her eyebrows.

‘What exactly did I do then?’ Steph asked. ‘Last night, I mean. I must have been a bit lairy judging by your face and the way my head is pulsating like something from Alien this morning. In fact, it might explode at any moment and a slimy creature of doom will burst out.’

‘Can’t you remember?’ Lottie said, refusing to be diverted by Steph’s attempt at humour.

‘Not much. I expect I might have been a bit loud … I might have fallen over.’

‘Yes, you were loud and you fell over.’

Steph put her head in her heads and groaned. ‘Anything else?’

Lottie picked her plate up. ‘Oh, nothing too disastrous.’

‘Nothing too disastrous?’ She lifted her head. ‘Oh