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‘Um, yes,’ he admitted.
‘Brad, it’s gone eight o’clock.’
‘I know, I know. But I started late.’ He smiled at her. ‘How was your day?’
‘Busy but good. Yours?’
‘The same. I’m calling in a few favours, and I’m taking ten days off from next Monday evening.’
So he really meant it. He was actually coming back to Great Crowmell, to spend time with her and see whether they still had something between them. And she was shocked to realise how relieved that made her feel. ‘OK,’ she said, hoping that both her voice and expression were light and cheerful and didn’t betray her feelings too much.
‘I’d better let you get on,’ he said.
Which was Brad-speak for I’m busy but I don’t want to be rude to you, she remembered. ‘Don’t spend all night in the lab.’
To Abigail’s surprise, Brad contacted her every day during the week; sometimes it was just a brief text, sometimes it was a phone call, and sometimes it was a video call. But every day she knew he was thinking about her, and that made her feel good.
On Thursday morning, a parcel arrived for her at the café. She opened it to discover a paperweight in the shape of an ice cream, together with a message in Brad’s neat handwriting.
Just wanted you to know I’m thinking of you.
She knew he’d be busy in the lab, so she didn’t want to disturb him with a phone call; instead she texted him a picture of the paperweight on her desk, so he could pick up the message at a time to suit him.
Thank you. It’s brilliant. And very useful.
And what was sauce for the goose...
She wasn’t set up to do mail order cakes, but she knew a good local supplier. And they’d just released a new flavour of sponge cake: sticky toffee pudding. Brad’s all-time favourite dessert, unless that had changed—and somehow she didn’t think it had. It took only a couple of minutes to order one to be delivered to him the next morning, together with a message.
Don’t stay too late in the lab tonight.
Much later in the day, her phone pinged with a text in reply to her photograph.
My pleasure. Flowers would’ve been more conventional but would also have meant gossip, so I thought you’d prefer the paperweight.
He had a point.
And he actually called her in the middle of the day on Friday. ‘I just got your delivery. Thank you. Is this the next step in your empire?’
Abigail laughed. ‘No. But it’s a local firm and Ruby’s office uses them,’ she said, ‘so I’ve tried four different varieties. I nearly sent the apple crumble one—it’s gorgeous with lots of cinnamon—but then I saw the sticky toffee pudding and I was pretty sure you’d like it.’
‘It’s fabulous. My team says to thank you, too.’
‘My pleasure. Don’t work too late.’
‘Yeah, yeah.’ But she could hear the laughter in his voice. ‘Speak to you soon.’
And did she actually hear him mutter ‘love you’, just before he disconnected the call, or was that just what she’d wanted to hear so her ears were playing tricks on her?
She didn’t have the courage to ask him. But there was definitely an easy affection between them again. A warmth that hadn’t been there for a long time—a warmth she’d missed. She liked the man he’d become, and she rather hoped he liked who she’d become, too.
Abigail was run off her feet over the weekend, and was pretty sure that Brad was just as busy in his lab; but then on Monday evening, when she left the café, she picked up a text from him.
Leaving now.
The message was timed an hour ago, so he was already on the way.
Staying at the Bay Tree Hotel in Little Crowmell.
The hotel was attached to a golf course and had a spa; her stomach tightened for a second as she remembered the last time she and Brad had stayed in a hotel with a spa. The weekend away she’d won in a competition. The weekend when everything had gone wrong, and their life together had unravelled faster than she’d ever believed could happen.
She shook herself. Five years. Older and wiser, she reminded herself. They were different people now, and these were different circumstances.
