Louisa George - The Secret Art of Forgiveness - A feel good romance about coming home and moving on

Frankie smiled. ‘Not at all. It makes you normal.’

‘Whatever that is.’ Emily grinned. ‘But hey, if this is normal, then God bless America!’

She’d arrived here eight years ago, still a little lost and a little lonely – although that was something she’d been used to. Growing up had been… difficult, in lots of ways. But the Baddermans job had offered her the chance to reinvent herself and she’d grabbed it with both hands. Loneliness was becoming a thing of the past as her colleagues had become her friends and now almost felt like family. They’d taught her a lot about advertising and she was excellent at what she did. Years of hard work and dedication had gone a long way, and meeting Brett had been the final piece to the puzzle.

What on earth did he mean?

***

Five-thirty came and went and the Kids First charity boss was still asking questions. ‘So, given the sensitivity of the campaign, how would you suggest we proceed with the images?’

‘We’ve brainstormed some ideas, based on our preliminary discussions. Here.’ Emily clicked the computer mouse and brought up a picture of a scruffily dressed small girl with wide, vivid blue eyes and a tear-stained, grubby face. Every time she saw it Emily’s heart ached just a little bit – which just went to show how effective it was as a campaign tool. Either that, or she wasn’t anywhere near as practical and hard-nosed as she tried to be. She hoped it was the first, but suspected the latter. ‘We don’t want to be too graphic because, in our experience, that puts people off –’

Her phone buzzed.

‘Oops, so sorry, I thought it was on silent.’ Glancing down she saw a text from Brett.

Stop working NOW. Put everything down. Nothing is more important than this. Meet me at Viktor’s in thirty minutes

Viktor’s? There was a thrill in Emily’s stomach. That was the posh place they walked past between work and the subway station. The one whose menu they’d stopped and gazed at, and then seen the prices, and decided they’d treat themselves for a special occasion. One day.

But why today of all days?

Focus. She looked at the image of the little girl on the screen and reminded herself of all those kids who needed this outreach campaign to work. Kids with mental health issues, suffering from anxiety, or abandonment, grief and loss. Kids just like she’d once been. ‘Our research showed a fifty-two per cent increase in consumer willingness to donate when we used images of…’ The rest of the session had her full attention.

But later, once she’d said goodbye to the Kids First CEO, she allowed her excitement to bubble in her tummy like the fizz from this morning.

Viktor’s?

Why?

She wanted to reply: What have you got planned? Sneaky devil! But instead she wrote: Tying up loose ends. Will be there ASAP.

Why was he taking her there?

‘How did it go?’ It was Frankie, staying late as usual.

‘Not bad. I don’t think we’re too far off what they want; we just need to push our success rate to them. They’re numbers people, I reckon, so I have to get the stats from Pete for the last Homeless Shelter campaign. And specifically the pre- and post-awareness figures. That’ll probably answer a few of their questions in the next round.’

‘If there’s anything I can help you with, ask away.’

‘I will. Thanks, but it’s just number-crunching at this stage. See you tomorrow.’ Emily gathered her bag and folders and began to make her way to the exit.

But she couldn’t help herself. Her stomach was ninety per cent excited and ten per cent panicking to all hell. She tried to sound nonchalant, but it came out more of a squeak, ‘Hey, actually… I do have a question…’

Frankie looked over the top of her laptop. ‘Sure.’

‘Okay… so… if you were having a pretty good run of things and a particular someone invited you to a restaurant you were saving for a very special occasion, what would you think?’

‘The particular person being Brett Fallon?’

‘Maybe.’ Emily’s heart had started doing the drumming thing again… she didn’t dare imagine why he was taking her there.

Frankie let out the screech Emily had been holding in. ‘Oh, my God – d’you think… is he… is he going to put a ring on it?’

Emily found a screech of her own. ‘I don’t know! But now you’ve said it out loud, it sounds silly. It won’t be that. I haven’t ever thought about getting married, we haven’t talked about it…’ But, of course, it made a certain kind of sense now she did think about it. ‘We’re great as we are, though. We don’t need a piece of paper.’

One of Frankie’s eyebrows rose. ‘Well, hello. No one needs a piece of paper, but think of the dress… the shoes… Oh, sorry, too materialistic? Okay…’ She tapped her fingers on the desk with a mischievous glint in her smile. ‘Think of the beautiful babies you’ll have with a man who looks like that and, er, the sex… I mean, the sanctity of marriage. Obviously. But if it’s not that, what else could it be? Moving in together?’

‘Surely you wouldn’t do a dinner to talk about moving in? Would you? Oh, no… what if it’s…’ Emily realised her hands were shaking a little. The fizz to panic ratio was about fifty-fifty now. ‘Ugh, you don’t suppose it could be one of those… sorry, it’s not you, it’s me conversations?’

‘I don’t think you’d have a dinner to talk about that. You’re such a disaster merchant. Sometimes, my darling, the universe is just good to you. Nothing bad has to happen. Relax and enjoy it.’ Frankie’s other eyebrow rose, too, and she shook her head. ‘Honestly, Em, the man adores you. You saw that this morning; he couldn’t take his eyes off you.’

Emily wasn’t wholly convinced. ‘God, don’t you hate it when someone says I have something to say to you… but I have to wait until I see you face to face? The only thing you can imagine is that it’s going to be worse than bad. Like when the phone rings in the middle of the night and you’re gripped with dread –’

‘And it turns out to be nothing but a drunken pocket dial. Come on. He wouldn’t have been like he was this morning if it was something bad. Did he give you any kind of hint?’

‘He did say we need to… celebrate us, or something.’ Her heart hiccupped.

‘So, there you go. I hear wedding bells! What are you waiting for?’ Frankie scraped her chair back and walked over to Emily, put her hands on her shoulders and marched her out to the elevator. ‘Go. Go. And text me later. Please? I want to be the first to say congratulations, followed by a swift, I told you so . Oh… and I look dreadful in apricot, and no puffy sleeves or frou-frou. Bridesmaid, right here… just saying…’

‘ Shut up. It’ll probably be something to do with work. I’m overreacting.’ Emily’s heart went into overdrive but she couldn’t help laughing. ‘Oh, my God, my limbs are like jelly, I don’t know if I can walk there.’

Frankie waved as the elevator doors started to swish closed. ‘Just levitate, sweetheart. Oh, wait… it looks as if you’re doing that already.’

***

Viktor’s was one of those restaurants decorated in tasteful, soft, beige tones with crisp, white tablecloths, chandeliers the size of caves, and exuding calm and sophistication. Neither of which Emily felt as she made her way to the maître d’. ‘I have a table booked under the name of – oh, there he is.’

He was standing by a table at the window, his hand raised in a wave. He was smiling.

He’s smiling.

‘Hey. Busy day, huh?’ He gave her cheek a kiss and pulled the chair out for her before the waiter had a chance. ‘Sit down. I have champagne on ice.’