Kate Hardy - Wish Upon a Wedding

She clearly didn’t know what to say to that, because it silenced her.

They walked back along the canalside to Camden, hand in hand; then he bought them both a glass of wine and they sat outside, enjoying the late evening sunshine before walking back to her flat.

‘Do you want to come in?’ she asked.

‘Is that wise?’

‘Probably not, but I’m asking anyway.’

‘Probably not,’ he agreed, ‘but I’m saying yes.’

They sat with the windows open, the curtains open and music playing; there was a jug of iced water on the coffee table, and she’d put frozen slices of lime in the jug. Sean was surprised by how at home he felt here; the room was decorated in very girly colours, compared to his own neutral colour scheme, but he felt as if he belonged.

‘It’s getting late. I ought to go,’ he said softly. ‘I have meetings, first thing.’

‘You don’t have to go,’ Claire said. ‘You could stay.’ She paused. ‘If you want to.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘I’m sure.’

In answer, he closed her curtains and carried her to her bed.

* * *

The next morning, Claire woke before her alarm went off to find herself alone in bed, and Sean’s side of the bed was stone cold. She was a bit disappointed that he hadn’t even woken her before he left, or put a note on the pillow. Then again, he’d said that he had early meetings. He’d probably left at some unearthly hour and hadn’t wanted to disturb her sleep.

At that precise moment he walked in, carrying a tray with two paper cups of coffee and a plate of pastries. ‘Breakfast is served, my lady.’

‘You went out to buy us breakfast? That’s—that’s so lovely ,’ she said, sitting up, ‘but you really didn’t have to. I have fruit and yoghurt in the fridge, plus bread and granola in the cupboard.’

‘I noticed a bakery round the corner from yours. I thought croissants might be nice, and I’m running a bit short on time so I bought the coffee rather than making it.’

‘That sounds to me like an excuse for having decadent tendencies,’ she teased.

He laughed back. ‘Maybe.’

He sat on the bed and shared the almond-filled croissants with her. ‘You thought I’d gone without saying goodbye, didn’t you?’

‘Um—well, yes,’ she admitted.

‘I wouldn’t do that to you. I would at least have left you a note.’ He finished his coffee and kissed her lightly. ‘Sorry. I really do have to go now. Can I call you later?’

‘I’d like that.’ Claire wrapped herself in her robe so she could pad barefoot to the kitchen with him and kiss him goodbye at her front door.

She still couldn’t quite get over the fact he’d gone out to buy them a decadent breakfast. And he’d stayed last night. This thing between them was moving so incredibly fast; it scared and exhilarated her at the same time. She guessed it would be the same for Sean. But would it scare him enough to make him push her away again, the way he had the other night? Or would he finally let her in?

* * *

They were both busy during the week, but Sean texted her on Friday.

Do you have any appointments over lunch?

Sorry, yes.

And, regretfully, she wasn’t playing hard to get. She really did have appointments that she couldn’t move.

OK. Are you busy after work?

Yes, but that was something she could move.

Why?

Am trying to be like you and plan a spontaneous date.

She couldn’t help laughing. Planning and spontaneity didn’t go together.

OK.

Cinema? he suggested.

Depends. Is popcorn on offer?

Could be... he texted back.

Deal. Time and place?

Can pick you up.

She wanted to keep at least some of her independence.

Saves time if I meet you there.

OK. Will check out films and text you where and when.

Claire had expected him to choose some kind of noir movie, but when she got to the cinema and met him with a kiss she discovered that he’d picked a rom-com.

‘Is this to indulge me?’ she asked.

‘I’ve seen this one before. The structure’s good and the acting’s good,’ he said.

‘You’re such a film snob,’ she teased, but it warmed her that he’d thought of what she’d enjoy rather than imposing his choices on her regardless.

They sat in the back row, holding hands, and Claire enjoyed the film thoroughly. Back at his place afterwards, they were curled in bed together, when Sean said, ‘I had a focus group meeting today.’

She remembered the samples he’d given her. ‘Did it go how you wanted?’

‘Not really,’ he said. ‘We need a rethink.’

‘For what it’s worth, I’ve always thought that your caramel hearts would be great as bridal favours. That’s the sort of thing my brides always ask me if I know about, because not everyone likes the traditional sugared almonds.’

‘Bridal favours?’ he queried.

‘Uh-huh—the hearts could be wrapped in silver or gold foil, and you can offer a choice of organza bags with them in say white, silver or gold, so brides can buy the whole package. They could be ordered direct from your website, or you could offer the special bridal package through selected shops.’

He nodded. ‘That’s brilliant, Claire. Thank you. I never even considered that sort of thing.’

‘Why would you, unless you were connected to a wedding business?’ she pointed out.

‘I guess not.’

‘So why didn’t the focus group like the salted caramels? I thought they were fabulous.’

‘It’s a move too far from the core business. Farrell’s has produced hard toffee for generations. We’re not really associated with chocolates, apart from the caramel hearts—which were my mum’s idea.’

‘Are you looking to move away from making toffee, then?’

‘Yes and no,’ he said. ‘What I want to do is look at other sorts of toffee.’

She frowned. ‘Am I being dense? Because toffee’s—well—toffee.’

‘Unless it’s in something,’ he said. ‘Toffee popcorn, like the one you chose tonight at the cinema. Or toffee ice cream.’

‘You weren’t concentrating on the film, were you?’ she asked. ‘You were thinking about work.’

‘I was thinking about you, actually,’ he said. ‘But the toffee popcorn did set off a lightbulb in the back of my head.’ He wrinkled his nose. ‘If I took the business in that direction, it’d mean buying a whole different set of machinery and arranging a whole different set of staff training. I’d need to be sure that the investment would be worth the cost and Farrell’s would see a good return on the money.’

‘Unless,’ she said, ‘you collaborated with other manufacturers—ones who already have the factory set-up and the staff. Maybe you could license them to use your toffee.’

‘That’s a great idea. And I could draw up a shortlist of other family-run businesses whose ideas and ethos are the same as Farrell’s. People who’d make good business partners.’

‘That’s your dream, isn’t it?’ she asked softly. ‘To keep your heritage—but to put your own stamp on it.’

‘I guess. Research and development was always my favourite thing,’ he admitted. ‘I wanted to look at developing different flavours of toffee. Something different from mint, treacle, orange or nut. I was thinking cinnamon or ginger for Christmas, or maybe special seasonal editions of the chocolate hearts—say a strawberries and cream version for summer.’

‘That’s a great idea,’ she said. ‘Maybe white chocolate.’

‘And different packaging,’ he said. ‘Something to position Farrell’s hearts as the kind of thing you buy as special treats.’

‘You could sell them in little boxes as well as big ones,’ she said. ‘For people who want a treat but don’t want a big box.’