Kate Hardy - Wish Upon a Wedding

But Claire Stewart was different, and she got under his skin in a way that nobody ever had before. He definitely wasn’t letting her do it, but it was happening all the same—and he really didn’t know what to do about it.

Part of him wanted to call her because he wanted to see her; and part of him was running scared because she made him look at things in his life that he’d rather ignore.

And he still couldn’t get her words out of his head. Everybody has a dream, Sean. Just what was his?

He still hadn’t worked out what to say to her by the evening, so he buried himself in work instead. And he noticed that she hadn’t called him, either. So did that mean she, too, thought this was turning out to be a seriously bad idea and they ought to end it?

And then, on Tuesday morning, his PA brought him a plain white box.

‘What’s this?’ he asked.

Jen shrugged. ‘I have no idea. I was just asked to give it to you.’

There was no note with the box. He frowned. ‘Who brought it?’

‘A blonde woman. She wouldn’t give her name. She said you’d know who it was from,’ Jen said.

His heart skipped a beat.

Claire.

But if Claire had actually come to the factory and dropped this off personally, why hadn’t she come to see him?

Or maybe she thought he’d refuse to see her. They hadn’t exactly had a fight on Sunday evening, but he had to acknowledge that things had been a little bit strained when she’d left. Maybe this was her idea of a parley, the beginning of some kind of truce.

And hadn’t she said about not sending him flowers and how you couldn’t give chocolates to a confectioner?

‘Thank you. I have a pretty good idea who it’s from,’ he said to Jen, and waited until she’d closed the door behind her before opening the box.

Claire had brought him cake.

Not just cake—the most delectable lemon cake he’d ever eaten in his life.

He gave in and called her business line.

She answered within three rings. ‘Dream of a Dress, Claire speaking.’

‘Thank you for the cake,’ he said.

‘Pleasure.’

Her voice was completely neutral, so he couldn’t tell her mood. Well, he’d do things her way for once and ask her straight out. ‘Why didn’t you come in and say hello?’

‘Your PA said you were in a meeting, and I didn’t really have time to wait until you were done.’

‘Fair enough.’ He paused. He knew what he needed to say, and he was enough of a man not to shirk it. ‘Claire, I owe you an apology.’

‘What for?’

‘Pushing you away on Sunday night.’

‘Uh-huh.’

He sighed, guessing what she wanted him to say. ‘I still can’t answer your question.’

‘Can’t or won’t?’

‘A bit of both, if I’m honest,’ he said.

‘OK. Are you busy tonight?’

‘Why?’ he asked.

‘I thought we could go and smell some roses.’

Claire-speak for having some fun, he guessed.

‘Can you meet me at my place?’

‘Sure. Would seven work for you?’

‘Fine. Don’t eat,’ she said, ‘because we can probably grab something on the way. Some of the food stalls at Camden Lock will still be open at that time.’

Clearly she intended to take him for a walk somewhere. ‘And is this a jeans and running shoes thing?’ he checked.

‘You can wear your prissiest suit and your smartest shoes—whatever you like, as long as you can walk for half an hour or so and still be comfortable.’

When Sean turned up at her shop at exactly seven o’clock, Claire was wearing a navy summer dress patterned with daisies and flat court shoes. Her hair was tied back with another chiffon scarf—clearly that was Claire’s favoured style—but he was pleased that she didn’t add her awful khaki cap, this time. Instead, she just donned a pair of dark glasses.

They walked down to Camden Lock, grabbed a burger and shared some polenta fries, then headed along the canalside towards Regent’s Park. He’d never really explored the area before, and it was a surprisingly pretty walk; some of the houses were truly gorgeous, and all the while there were birds singing in the trees and the calm presence of the canal.

‘I love the walk along here. It’s only ten minutes or so between the lock and the park,’ she said.

And then Sean discovered that Claire had meant it literally about coming to smell the roses when she took him across Regent’s Park to Queen Mary’s Garden.

‘This place is amazing—it’s the biggest collection of roses in London,’ she told him.

There were pretty bowers, huge beds filled with all different types of roses, and walking through them was like breathing pure scent; it totally filled his senses.

‘This is incredible,’ he said. ‘I didn’t think you meant it literally about smelling the roses.’

‘I meant it metaphorically as well—you must know that WH Davies poem, “What is this life if full of care, We have no time to stand and stare,”,’ she said. ‘You have to make time for things like this, Sean, or you miss out on so much.’

He knew she had a point. ‘Yeah,’ he said softly, and tightened his fingers round hers.

He could just about remember coming to see the roses in Regent’s Park as a child, but everything since his parents’ death was a blur of work, work and more work.

Six years of blurriness.

Being with Claire had brought everything into sharp focus again. Though Sean wasn’t entirely sure he liked what he saw when he looked at his life—and it made him antsy. Claire was definitely dangerous to his peace of mind.

She drew him over to look at the borders of delphiniums, every shade of white and cream and blue through to almost black.

‘Now these I really love,’ she said. ‘The colour, the shape, the texture—everything.’

He looked at her. ‘So you’re a secret gardener?’

‘Except doing it properly would take time I don’t really have to spare,’ she said. ‘Though, yes, if had a decent-sized garden I’d plant it as a cottage garden with loads of these and hollyhocks and foxgloves, and tiny little lily-of-the-valley and violets.’

‘These ones here are exactly the same colour as your eyes.’

She grinned. ‘Careful, Sean. You’re waxing a bit poetic.’

Just to make the point, he kissed her.

‘Tsk,’ she teased. ‘Is that the only way you have to shut me up?’

‘It worked for Benedick,’ he said.

‘ Much Ado is a rom-com—and I thought you said you didn’t like rom-coms?’

‘I said I didn’t mind ones with great dialogue—and dialogue doesn’t get any better than Beatrice.’ He could see Claire playing Beatrice; he’d noticed that she often had that deliciously acerbic bite to her words.

‘And it’s a good plot,’ she said, ‘except Hero ends up with a man who isn’t good enough for her. I hate the bit where Claudio shames her on their wedding day, and it always makes me want to yell to her, “Don’t do it!” at the end when she marries him.’

‘They were different times and different mores, though I do know what you mean,’ he said. ‘I wouldn’t want Ashleigh to marry a weak, selfish man.’

She winced. ‘Like Rob Riverton. And I introduced her to him.’

‘Not one of your better calls,’ Sean said.

‘I know.’ She looked guilty. ‘I did tell her to dump him because he wasn’t good enough for her and he didn’t treat her properly.’

A month ago, Sean wouldn’t have believed that. Now, he did, because he’d seen for himself that Claire had integrity. ‘Claire,’ he said, yanked her into his arms and kissed her.

‘Was that to shut me up again?’ she asked when he broke the kiss.

‘No—it was because you’re irresistible.’