by Kate Hardy
‘Just a tad,’ she said with a smile. ‘Thanks for helping.’
‘No problem.’ He tipped his head on one side, and her heart felt as if it had done a little flip. ‘Cinema or ten-pin bowling?’
‘Toss a coin?’ she suggested.
‘Heads, cinema; tails, bowling. That OK with you?’ At her nod, he took a coin from his pocket and tossed it. ‘Ten-pin bowling it is. Where are you parked?’
‘Outside my house,’ she said. ‘I walk in when the weather’s good—which it was, this morning.’
‘That makes things easier. I’m parked right outside,’ he said.
She locked up, and they walked hand in hand to his car.
‘So I guess this is our first official date?’ she asked, once they were sitting in his car.
‘It is. Which means I have to be gentlemanly and let you win at bowling.’
She loved the way his eyes crinkled at the corners and scoffed. ‘Bring it on.’
‘So you’re telling me you don’t need the bumper bars up at the sides any more when you play?’ he teased.
‘I’ll have you know zig-zagging the ball is a perfectly valid form of bowling,’ she said.
He laughed. ‘In your dreams.’
He drove them to the out-of-town complex which housed the bowling alley, cinema and half a dozen restaurants. ‘Actually, I haven’t done this for quite a while,’ he said.
‘Getting your excuses in early for when you lose?’ she teased.
‘Just saying.’ He smiled. ‘Have you already eaten, or shall we grab something to eat first?’
‘Dinner sounds good,’ she said. ‘So I’ll buy dinner and you can pay for the bowling.’
‘Strictly speaking,’ he said, ‘the dating was my idea so it all ought to be my bill.’
‘Strictly speaking,’ she countered, ‘we made that list together, so we’re going halves. No arguments. So I’m buying dinner and you’re paying for the bowling, and I might let you buy me a beer at the bowling alley if you’re good.’
* * *
Brad really liked the woman Abby had become. Funny, smart and confident. In the old days, she would’ve simply gone along with his suggestions. Now, she had the confidence to say what she wanted. ‘OK. Halves, it is.’
They went to one of the fast-food places and ordered a sharing platter of grilled chicken, sweet potato wedges, garlic bread and avocado salad. And every time his fingers accidentally touched hers as they reached for garlic bread or sweet potato wedges at the same time, every nerve-end in his body tingled. Anyone would think he was seventeen again, not twenty-seven. Though at least nowadays he was more articulate than he’d been as a nerdy teen.
‘Thank you for dinner,’ he said when she insisted on picking up the bill.
‘My pleasure.’
And funny how her smile made his heart feel as if it had done a somersault. It was anatomically impossible; but she was the only woman who’d ever made him feel that way.
He enjoyed the bowling, too. He was so aware of Abigail and the graceful way she moved, even though she was still absolutely terrible at ten-pin bowling.
After the first game he ended up putting up the bumper bars for her. ‘At least this way we can both have some fun. There’s nothing duller than seeing your ball go in the ditch every single time,’ he said.
‘You just want to admire my zig-zag skills,’ she said, brazening it out.
He laughed and stole a kiss. ‘You bet.’
They’d had so much fun as teens. And as a young married couple, even though money was tight, with him as a student and her with a low-paid job. They’d just revelled in being together.
Tonight had reminded him very much of how much he’d appreciated her company. Why had he ever been so stupid as to let her go?
The more time he spent with her, the more he wanted to be with her. This week was his opportunity to convince her to give him a second chance. He needed to work harder at this than at anything else he’d ever done in his life.
At the end of the evening, he drove her home and parked in the nearest space he could find to her front door.
Crunch time.
Had he done enough for her to let him see her again tomorrow? There was only one way to find out. And he was shocked by how nervous he felt. This was worse than sitting his driving test, his finals, and his viva for his doctorate all rolled into one. And the outcome also felt more important.
‘Was tonight’s date OK enough for you to meet me tomorrow?’ he asked, trying to keep his tone light.
‘Ten dates. That’s what we agreed,’ she said.
Whether she’d enjoyed tonight as much as he had or not, she was at least going to be fair about it. Give him a chance to prove himself. ‘OK. So tomorrow evening’s a walk on the beach,’ he said. ‘Or, if it’s raining, this time we can maybe do the cinema.’
‘That sounds good.’ She leaned over and kissed him, and it sent a shiver of pure desire through him. ‘Thank you. I had fun, tonight.’
‘Me, too.’ And, because he didn’t want to push her too far, too fast, and ruin any progress he might have made, he didn’t ask if he could come in for coffee. He simply brushed his mouth against hers really lightly, not deepening the kiss the way he really wanted to. He knew they were still compatible in bed, but that wasn’t what this was about. It went much, much deeper than that. ‘Goodnight, Abby. See you tomorrow.’
He waited until he’d seen her close the front door behind her, then drove back to the hotel.
* * *
On Wednesday evening, it was dry, and the café was still incredibly busy when Brad got there.
He could offer to help clear up again; but that would leave her open to gossip. He was pretty sure a couple of her staff recognised him, and the last thing he wanted was for them to start asking awkward questions. He’d left his car in the town, so he couldn’t sit there and wait until she was ready. In the end, he bought a cold drink and sat at a quiet corner table until one of her staff—one who didn’t know him—said, ‘I’m ever so sorry, sir, but we’re closed now.’
‘And you need to put the tables and chairs inside. Of course.’ Brad stood up.
‘Thank you.’ The young man smiled at him. ‘Have a nice evening.’
‘Thanks.’ Brad smiled back, and went to sit on the dunes. Abby clearly wasn’t going to finish dead on seven tonight, so he texted her to make sure she didn’t feel pressured.
Sitting on dunes right now. Didn’t want to get in the way of your staff. Come and find me when you’re ready.
It was another twenty minutes before Abigail emerged. ‘Hey. Sorry I’m late.’
‘Not a problem.’ He stood up, and, as he’d hoped, she kissed him hello.
‘Had a good day?’ she asked.
‘Yes. Sunetra sent me a file to review, so that took a while. And I had lunch with Mum.’
‘Who was dying to know the latest?’
‘Yes, but I’m giving her credit—she didn’t ask.’
‘She’s waiting until you’re ready to tell her.’ Abigail smiled. ‘That’s one of the things I like about your mum. You know she’s concerned and she’s there, but she’s not pushy.’
‘No she’s not.’ He took her hand. ‘How was your day?’
‘It’s always busy when it’s sunny. Which is how I like it.’ She slipped her hand into his. ‘Where did you park?’
‘In town. I assumed you walked here this morning, as it was dry, and I thought I could walk you home from here.’
‘That’s nice.’
And it was nice, walking hand in hand on the beach. The tide was starting to come in, but not massively fast, so he knew they still had time to wander along the shoreline for a bit.
Out of sheer habit, he glanced down at the sand. As usual, there was a scattering of razor shells, cockle shells and limpets; but in between he spotted a pretty banded shell and stooped to pick it up. ‘For you,’ he said, and handed it to Abigail.
She inspected it. ‘That’s a nice
one. It’ll go well in the dish of shells on my bathroom windowsill. Thank you.’
‘Do you remember, we always used to look for stones that look like letters?’ he asked. ‘After you saw that picture of a stone alphabet on the Internet.’
‘We found an S, once and what could almost have been a Y,’ she said. ‘But we never did manage to find an A, a B and an X, did we?’
‘Though we did find a heart-shaped stone.’ He still had it, tucked away in a drawer somewhere, a memory of much happier times. ‘Do you still look for letter-shaped stones?’
She shook her head. ‘Not since you.’
‘Shall we?’
She looked at him, and there was the ghost of sadness in her eyes. But then she nodded, and they continued walking hand in hand along the beach. It didn’t matter that they weren’t chattering; the silence was companionable rather than awkward. Eventually, she tugged at his hand, then bent down to pick something up from the sand.
‘Not a heart-shape or a letter,’ she said, ‘but still interesting.’
The stone had a perfect hole bored right through the centre.
‘A hag stone,’ she said. ‘Legend has it that you can see through the hole into fairyland and it can protect you against bad luck. It’s meant to be lucky to hang it from a ribbon.’
‘Superstition,’ he said. ‘It’s actually a composite stone where the softer part’s been worn through by water.’
‘Sometimes it’s more fun to forget the science and enjoy the old stories,’ she said.
‘You don’t have to forget the science,’ he said. ‘You can see a sun dog in the sky and know it’s caused by the refraction of sunlight off tiny ice crystals—but knowing how it works doesn’t mean you can’t still appreciate the beauty of the phenomenon.’
‘Brad?’ she asked.
‘Yes?’
‘Shut up.’ And, just to hammer her point home, she kissed him.
His head was spinning by the time she broke the kiss. She clearly knew it, because she grinned. ‘I’m glad that still works.’
He couldn’t help laughing. ‘OK. I was being pompous.’
‘Just a little bit. But at least you know it.’ She handed him the stone. ‘Thread it on a ribbon,’ she said.
‘I will.’ And he meant it. ‘Let’s head back into town. Have you eaten since lunch?’
‘No,’ she admitted. ‘I’ve been too busy.’
‘Fish and chips or pizza?’
‘Pizza,’ she said. ‘We could eat at my place.’
‘I’d like that,’ he said.
* * *
They picked up a takeaway pizza from the pizzeria in town, then headed back to Abigail’s cottage.
‘So how is it, being back again?’ she asked.
‘As a tourist? Fine.’
‘Why did you stay away for so long?’ she asked. ‘I mean, I can understand it’d be hard for the first year, with the first birthday, Father’s Day and Christmas to get through.’ And the mess of their divorce. So many memories to stop him in his tracks. ‘But why did you never come home after that, even for Christmas or your mum’s birthday?
‘I always see Mum for her birthday and Christmas,’ he protested. ‘And I see Ruby. I video-call Mum at least twice a week.’
‘Which isn’t the same thing as coming home.’
He blew out a breath. ‘I know. Since you ask, I just couldn’t face it. There were too many memories, too much unfinished business that will never get closure now.’
‘Unfinished business?’ She didn’t understand. Like her, Brad and Ruby had had an idyllic childhood, growing up with parents who adored them. They’d all been popular at school and done well academically; Brad had won every single science prize. She couldn’t think of anything that would count as unfinished business. Unless... ‘Do you mean us?’
He shook his head. ‘Not that. It doesn’t matter.’
She thought it did, but he had that closed-off expression in his eyes that she knew only too well. Time to back off. Maybe if she gave him time to think about it, he might open up and help her understand what was in his head—and she could help him deal with it.
‘But yes, before you ask, I feel guilty about not coming back. I know I was selfish. But I can’t change the past, Abby.’
‘No.’ But you could learn from it. ‘Was it as bad as you thought it would be?’
‘No,’ he admitted. ‘I think, the longer I left it, the more it built up in my head and the worse I felt. It was easier to use work as an excuse to avoid coming here. But I’ll make more effort in the future.’
She hoped so—for his mum’s sake. ‘OK. I think you’re talked out for now. Are you up for something different for pudding?’
He looked relieved that she wasn’t pushing him any further. ‘Bring it on.’
‘Correct answer,’ she said, and took a tub from the freezer.
‘New recipe?’
‘Very, very old one, more like,’ she said. She served him a scoop, then sat with her elbows propped on the table and her chin resting on her hands, watching him.
‘Aren’t you having any?’
‘Maybe later. I want to see your reaction,’ she said.
‘Are you turning into a scientist, now?’ he asked.
She laughed, liking his sense of humour. ‘No. I just want to see your face when you try it.’
‘I’m not even going to ask,’ he said, and tasted a spoonful.
She saw the exact moment he realised what he was eating. And that it wasn’t actually sweet.
‘That,’ he said, ‘is really not what I was expecting.’
‘Is that you being polite and you don’t like it?’
‘No. Now I’ve adjusted my mindset, it’s quite nice.’
‘Normally I’d serve this with slices of fresh apple or pear,’ she said. ‘Or really good crackers. But I wanted you to try this on its own, first.’
‘For the shock value.’
She laughed. ‘Busted.’
He took another spoonful. ‘So is this what sparked off your idea for dog ice cream?’
‘Yes—after I tried it at the Old Boat House, I looked up some old recipes and gave it a go. Mum brought Waffle over and I dropped some on the floor—and you know what dachshunds are like. He scoffed the lot. And that was my lightbulb moment.’ She smiled. ‘But I use cheddar for the dogs rather than Parmesan.’
‘I still can’t quite believe I’m eating cheese ice cream.’ He took another spoonful. ‘It’s good.’
‘Thank you. I haven’t actually got any crackers in at the moment, but I can slice you an apple if you like.’
‘It’s fine just as it is,’ he said with a smile. ‘When you were talking about my reaction, I did wonder if you were going to give me the dog ice cream.’
‘I could,’ she said. ‘I only use human-food-grade ingredients—partly because the owners don’t believe it at first and want to taste it themselves. But I have an official panel of canine testers, including Waffle, Ollie the Collie—’ his mum’s dog ‘—and the dogs of all my staff.’
‘So you have regular doggy tasting evenings?’
‘Give me a sec.’ She flicked into the photo albums on her phone, found the picture she was looking for, and handed him her phone. ‘Here we go.’
He chuckled. ‘I love it. Doggy testers all in a row, with their owners holding the tubs for them to lick. And is that a chocolate flake?’
‘No, it’s a mini dog biscuit,’ she said.
‘You ought to send this to the local press,’ he said.
‘I got there before you. It’s their photograph,’ she said. ‘My suggestion, and they loved it.’
‘You’re amazing. I always knew you were creative, but this is something else,’ he said. ‘Your mum and dad must be so proud of you.’
‘I like to think I’m taking the family business forward. In a couple of slightly different directions, admittedly—but it’s all customer-driven.’ But it really warmed Abigail that Brad thought her parents shou
ld be proud of her. That he recognised the hard work she’d put in to Scott’s in the years since they’d split up. That she’d changed and grown.
‘You’re amazing,’ he said again.
He insisted on washing up; but he accepted her offer to stay for a while. And it was nice, just being curled up on the sofa together with his arms wrapped round her and soft music playing in the background.
Maybe she should ask him to stay.
But the whole idea of these two weeks was speed-dating—ignoring their past and looking towards their future. In terms of that, they were two dates in: the equivalent of a week in a relationship. So asking him to stay the night would be too soon.
As if he was thinking the same thing, he shifted so that he was sitting properly on the sofa again. ‘I ought to go.’ He leaned over and kissed her lightly. ‘So I’ll see you tomorrow at ten.’
‘And we’ll climb the lighthouse.’
‘It won’t matter if it’s raining because we’ll still have amazing views. And I thought we could have a picnic somewhere afterwards, maybe go inland and find a nice shady forest if it’s really hot. Or sit in the car if it tips down.’
Typical Brad: he planned all outcomes. ‘Sounds good. What would you like me to bring?’ she asked.
‘Nothing—the picnic’s all mine. And yes, I know I probably ought to buy it from Scott’s, but...’ He wrinkled his nose. ‘Then it wouldn’t be a surprise.’
She laughed. ‘I’m not that territorial.’
‘Good.’ He stole a kiss. ‘Is there anything you’d rather I didn’t get?’
‘I’m fine with whatever you’d like to pick,’ she said with a smile. ‘Surprise me.’
‘I think you win on the surprise front with the Parmesan ice cream,’ he said wryly, and kissed her goodnight. ‘Sleep well.’
* * *
On Thursday, Brad knocked on Abigail’s front door at ten; as he’d expected, she was ready. She never had been the sort who took hours to get ready.
They headed further down the coast until the red and white striped lighthouse came into view.
‘Can you imagine what it’d be like, living in a lighthouse?’ she asked. ‘This one’s actually on the mainland so it wouldn’t have been so bad. But it must’ve been so tough, years ago, if you were the keeper of an offshore lighthouse. No telephone, no mail, no visitors—just you and the lighthouse and the other keepers for months, and no fresh food because there wouldn’t be space to grow any.’