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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 should 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.’
‘You’d have a boat coming to bring your mail and supplies once a week, and you could go fishing when you weren’t on duty in the lighthouse,’ he pointed out.
‘Yes, but you’d have hardly any fresh vegetables and fruit, except on the couple of days after the supply ship came, and think of the sheer isolation.’ She shuddered.
‘But think of the views—all the stars you’d see.’ He looked at her, remembering one of her big bucket list items. ‘Maybe even the Northern Lights.’
‘If you were in one of the lighthouses in Northumbria or Scotland, perhaps,’ she said.
‘And the birds you’d see. It would be great if you were an artist—Ruby would love it.’
Abigail laughed. ‘Your twin likes being smack in the middle of modern life. She’d enjoy the sketching for maybe a week, and then the isolation would drive her crackers. And imagine her with no phone coverage.’
