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She was close enough to touch.
And that way danger lay. Physical contact between them would be a very, very bad idea. Because seeing her again had brought back way too many memories—along with a huge sense of loneliness and loss.
He retreated to the bistro table, and she brought over two bowls, spoons and a plastic tub.
‘Are you selling tubs for people to take home, nowadays?’ he asked, suddenly curious.
‘Yes, but they’re half-litre paper cartons rather than like this. Ruby designed them for me—pink and white Regency stripes, with “Scott’s” written across it in black script,’ Abigail said.
‘So you’re expanding the business?’
She inclined her head. ‘Certain local restaurants stock our ice cream, and we have pop-up ice cream stalls for events. Regency-style carts. Ruby’s having one at her wedding.’
And how different his sister’s wedding would be from his own. A big affair, with the church filled with family and friends. The complete opposite from his and Abby’s: no frills, no fuss, just the two of them, and two witnesses that the wedding planner at Gretna Green had provided. Abby had worn an ordinary but pretty summer dress and carried a posy of cream roses, and he’d worn the suit his mother had bought him for his interview at Cambridge. It had got a bit creased in his rucksack, but he hadn’t cared. He’d just wanted to get married to Abby and be with her for ever and ever, and prove to his dad that he was wrong, that they weren’t too young and he wouldn’t find someone else in the first week away at university—that their marriage would last.
The summer when they were eighteen.
How young and foolish they’d both been.
All that was left from that day now was a handful of photographs.
He shook himself. They were meant to be talking about her business, not their past. ‘Sounds good,’ he said lightly. ‘So what’s this?’
‘A new flavour. I’m still tweaking it, so it’s not in production yet. Let me know what you think.’
She actually wanted his opinion? Something shifted inside him.
She put a scoop into the bowl. ‘If you hate it, don’t be polite and eat it—just tell me what you don’t like about it because that’ll be much more useful. I also have salted caramel in the freezer.’
His favourite. And he knew that she remembered. Just as he remembered that she loathed chocolate ice cream.
He looked at the bowl she’d just given him. The ice cream was a dusky pink, studded with pieces of deep red fruit. He took a spoonful. ‘No more tweaks needed,’ he said. ‘Cherry and almond.’
‘Cherry and amaretto, actually—but that’s close enough.’ She looked pleased. ‘So the amaretto isn’t overpowering?’
He tried another spoonful. ‘No. You’ve got a good balance. It’s not too sour from the cherries, but it’s also not oversweet.’
‘Analysed like a true scientist.’
There was amusement in her voice, but there was also respect. And maybe, he thought, a note of affection? But he’d managed to kill her love for him, five years ago. He’d shut her out, hadn’t let her help him deal with the shock of his father’s death. He didn’t deserve her affection. ‘It saves time,’ he said.
‘Thanks. I thought I might have got it right with this batch, though I was thinking about adding pieces of crushed amaretti biscuits.’
He shook his head. ‘It’ll change the texture too much. This is rich and soft and—well, nice.’
‘Good. Help yourself to more. Or there’s salted caramel,’ she said.
He realised then that he’d finished the bowl. ‘I’m fine,’ he said. ‘But thank you.’
He insisted on doing the washing up. And, even though he knew he really ought to go, how could he refuse when she offered him another coffee?
Her living room was just as cosy as the kitchen.
‘Is that one of Ruby’s?’ he asked, gesturing towards the peacock.
‘Yes. It was a special commission,’ she said with a smile. Then she grew serious. ‘It’s going to be hard for you, this week.’
There was no point in lying. He knew she’d see through it. ‘Yes.’
