Chapter 15
15
Carole arranged cookies and cakes on a deep-rimmed plate and decided they looked like a pretty good offering of thanks. Well, the beginnings of one, anyway. After what Tom had done last night, driving her and her parents to the hospital and then hanging around for hours while her father was treated, a few chocolate chip cookies and iced doughnuts really was the least she could do.
It was three o’clock on Sunday afternoon, and she’d already texted Tom to see if he was at home and okay with her popping round with the goodies. When he’d replied with a thumbs-up emoji, she’d wasted no time transferring the baked goods to a fancy plate.
Before leaving the house, she checked her appearance in the mirror and wished she didn’t still look a bit on the knackered side. Sleep had claimed her the moment she’d crawled into bed last night—well, very early this morning, as it was after three before her head hit the pillow—but her dreams had been dark and when she’d woken at seven-thirty, she hadn’t been able to fall asleep again.
Earlier, she’d gone round to her parents’ house to visit her father. The cast on his wrist had made his sleep awkward and he, too, was on the tired side, although he put on a good show of cheerfulness to stop Carole worrying about him. The bump on his head had swollen overnight and it was obvious from his careful movements that his body was sore from the impact he’d sustained when he hit the floor at the wedding reception.
Still, he’d insisted he’d be fine in a few days and was his usual upbeat self about the cumbersome cast on his wrist. When Carole had grumbled about it on his behalf, he’d shrugged and said as there wasn’t much he could do about the cast, he had no choice but to put up with it until it was time for it to come off.
She’d left him settling down on the living room sofa to watch an old episode of Columbo on television while her mother cooked up a batch of lentil soup in the kitchen, which she said was perfect food for a healing invalid.
“I heard that and I’m not an invalid!” her father had protested, his voice booming into the kitchen from the other room.
Nina had winked at Carole conspiratorially, amused at his blustering outrage.
“See? I told you he’s fine,” Nina had told her. “There’s no need to worry about him. Now, off you go and get on with the rest of your Sunday.”
Carole had loped out of the house, still worried despite her parents’ attempts to reassure her. Those images of her father crashing to the floor and his face contorting as he let out a howl of pain would stay front-and-centre in her mind for a long time.
And seeing her father brought so low like that, and made to look so helpless and vulnerable, had carved an aching trench straight through her heart.
This was, she knew, the reason why she’d burst into tears last night when Tom brought her home. He’d been so kind to her, comforting her and giving her a much-needed hug, but she was still mortified that she’d started crying in the first place.
She was a thirty-five-year-old woman, not some little child. What must Tom think of her, blabbering like an idiot? Memories of how she’d dissolved into a sobbing wreck made her cringe, and if it wasn’t for the fact that her feet were still throbbing from wearing those ridiculous high heels yesterday afternoon, her toes would be curling with sheer embarrassment.
So, sweet treats were in order, because she wanted to thank Tom, again, for his help and apologise, again, for her stupid crying jag.
She rang his doorbell and held up the plate of goodies when he answered.
“I come bearing delicious gifts and much gratitude,” she said with a grin.
Tom’s eyes widened at the towering plate of baked goods—it was possible she’d gone overboard—and opened the door further to let her in.
“Good job I’ve already put the kettle on,” Tom said. “But you really didn’t need to do this.”
“Yes, I did. This is the least I can do.”
In his kitchen, she set the plate on the counter while Tom made coffee. “How’s your dad today?” he asked.
Carole filled him in on her visit to her parents’ house.
“Dad is sore but putting on a brave face,” she finished. “I left him settling in for a Columbo marathon on television.”
“Well, he’ll be as good as new in no time with a bit of Columbo on the go.”
She smiled and accepted the mug of coffee he handed her. Tom gestured outside to the back garden which was bathed in sunshine.
“Shall we take all this outside and enjoy the summer while it lasts?”
“Good thinking.”
They juggled mugs and baked goods and napkins out to the garden table and settled down. They each selected a cookie and started munching.
“Uh, listen Tom, at the risk of sounding like a broken record, I want to say sorry again for bursting into tears last night,” Carole said. “I’m not a teary person and I’m still mortified about it.”
“Don’t be. It’s okay. You’re worrying about nothing.”
“You were brilliant last night, Tom. A big help just when I needed it. Hanging around with my family at the hospital until stupid o’clock wasn’t what you signed up for when we agreed to be each other’s wedding dates. I’d like to make it up to you by cooking dinner for you some time. I make a passable lasagne, if you’re interested.”
As she watched Tom chewing on his cookie and saw his eyebrows lift at her suggestion, it suddenly occurred to her that maybe he thought she was offering something more than just a thank-you meal. Like, something more romantically inclined. Her cheeks flushed with heat at her unthinking mistake.
“Passable lasagne?” Tom said. “It’s hard to say no to passable lasagne.”
His amused response made her laugh, relieved she hadn’t sent mixed messages.
And if you had sent mixed messages, would that be so bad?
Carole coughed on her cookie as the unexpected thought took her by surprise. Had she meant, even subconsciously, for Tom to wonder if passable lasagne might be a prelude to something more? Did she hope it would lead to something more?
Stunned, Carole realised she didn’t know how to answer that question.
Yes, Tom was handsome and funny and kind and clearly an all-round stand-up guy if last night was anything to go by but…
… but that was neither here nor there.
He was her next-door neighbour, and they were doing each other a favour with this wedding date stuff. The last thing she was about to do was let her stupid brain—which was, by the way, still emotionally wrung-out after everything that had happened last night to her lovely dad—start conjuring ridiculous romantic fantasies that were too idiotically misguided for words.
Tom was her next-door neighbour . As in, the person who literally lived on the other side of the wall from her. She’d only moved in a few weeks ago, and if you were lucky enough to have nice neighbours—which she did—then you tried to be friends with them in a helpful, neighbourly sort of way.
You didn’t start imagining… other sorts of cosy scenarios that went beyond that, not unless you wanted to risk embarrassing yourself silly.
She realised Tom was staring at her, presumably waiting for her to say something further about the passable lasagne she’d offered to cook for him.
“Uh, so are you free some night next week?” she asked once she’d dislodged the cookie crumbs that were still stuck in her throat with a swift gulp of coffee. “I’m working late on Tuesday and Wednesday, but the other evenings are okay. Or we could wait until the weekend, if that’s better?”
“I can’t do next weekend, but Thursday is good.”
“Brilliant.”
“What should I bring?”
“Just yourself. This is a thank you dinner, which means you aren’t allowed to contribute anything.”
Tom laughed. “Fair enough.”
They sipped their coffee and ate their baked treats for a few moments, basking in the summer sunshine. The silence was comfortable and easy. A squirrel popped up on the top of the fence and paused to look at them both before scurrying off. When it lost its footing on the narrow fence slats and had to scramble not to fall off, they both laughed softly in amusement.
“He’s in too much of a rush,” Carole observed as the squirrel clambered back up to the top of the fence.
“Lots of Sunday afternoon chores to attend to,” Tom said.
“Busy little guy.”
The squirrel vanished into a tree at the bottom of the garden. Moments later, another squirrel popped up at precisely the same spot on the fence where the first one had appeared. Glancing around, he sniffed the fence and then darted off at high speed in the same direction as his predecessor.
“Oh, I think that first squirrel must be on the run,” Carole laughed. “This one looks angry.”
“How can you tell?” Tom asked, his lips curving in amusement.
“He just seems a bit puffed up and like he’s ready to kiss ass and take names.”
Tom laughed. Carole joined him. Apparently, the sugary treats and the caffeine and the warm sunshine were mixing dangerously with her sleep deprivation and making her talk complete rubbish.
Squirrel number two sprinted into the tree that the other squirrel had vanished into, and moments later they heard the two creatures racing around the trunk and along the branches, the leaves shaking violently as they chased each other. When squirrel number one reached the end of a long low branch and leapt precariously into the adjoining garden at the bottom of Tom’s plot, squirrel number two followed hot on his furry heels and the animals vanished again from sight as the pursuit continued.
“Looks like you were right,” Tom grinned. “They’re clearly mortal enemies.”
“I hope they don’t kill each other. Maybe they’ll find a way to make peace and become good friends.”
Tom’s eyebrows quirked, his eyes sparkling with amusement. “Let’s hope so.”
For another long and lovely moment, they sat there in Tom’s garden, enjoying the summer sunshine and finishing their coffees. Carole thought she could easily close her eyes and doze off in the garden chair, thanks to how comfortable she felt beneath the sun’s warmth and in Tom’s company.
Deciding that falling asleep in the man’s garden was not a good move, she blinked and stretched and ate the last bite of her sugary doughnut.
“Oh, I almost forgot,” she said, pulling her phone from her pocket. “My sister took a bunch of photos at the wedding yesterday and sent through the ones she snapped of us. Some of them are pretty good. Want to see them?”
“I’d love to.”
Tom scooted his chair closer to Carole’s while she swiped at her phone screen to find the photos she was after. She’d taken dozens of shots at the wedding, especially of her sweet little nieces looking so gorgeous in their flower girl dresses, as well as plenty of candid pictures of her parents, her sister and brother-in-law, the wedding party and the fun at the reception.
She’d also captured some great selfies of her and Tom throughout the day. Angling the phone so Tom could see the screen, she swiped through the selection.
“Here are some I took of us.”
“Those are good selfies,” he said. “Send me a couple of them, will you?”
Carole nodded. “And here are the ones my sister took of us, dancing together at the reception.”
Tom smiled as he studied the photos. Jane had snapped a couple of brilliant shots of Tom twirling Carole around the dance floor, both of them laughing and enjoying the fun. In another shot, they were performing an over-the-top dip towards the camera, the two of them all smiles.
“We look like we’ve mastered those dance moves,” Tom said.
Carole laughed and swiped through the rest of the shots Jane had sent her. It was only when she reached the last one that she realised she hadn’t noticed it first time around when she’d flicked through the shared folder where Jane had added the images.
The final photo showed Carole and Tom dancing close together in each other’s arm, their gazes locked, their expressions soft. It was, she realised, a photo captured when they’d been slow dancing to the love song the band had played.
The intimacy of the photo caught her by surprise. Heat flushed her cheeks as Tom continued looking at the image, his closeness to her suddenly making the skin on her arms tingle with awareness.
His gaze flicked up from the phone screen. Beneath the brilliant summer sunshine, his eyes were flecked with burning gold, sparkling in a pool of warm caramel. One long delicious moment spun out between them as their gazes locked and Carole imagined dipping her mouth towards his and surrendering to a kiss that would taste of chocolate cookie and summer heat.
Carole blinked first, breaking the spell as she jumped to her feet and thrust her phone into her jeans pocket.
“So, they’re great photos, yeah?” she said, a little breathlessly. “I’ll, uh, send a few of them to you.”
“Great. Super.” Tom jumped up too, a mixture of surprise and confusion swimming in his expression. “That, uh, that sounds great.”
“I should go. I’ve got a million things to do before I’m back at work tomorrow.”
“Oh yeah, me too.”
“The weekend just vanishes when you’ve got a wedding to go to, and suddenly it’s Sunday afternoon and you’re playing catch-up.”
“Exactly.” Tom grabbed the mugs from the table. “Still, it was a great wedding. Well, it was a great wedding until your dad got knocked over and hurt but, well, you know what I mean.”
“I do know what you mean. You’re right, it was a great wedding.”
They shared a smile and Carole turned to leave before she said—or did—something she would regret. When Tom opened the front door for her, she barrelled through it like a shot.
“See you on Thursday for passable lasagne,” Tom said with a grin.
The pulsing heat that had passed between them as they’d looked at that photo of them dancing together had made her completely forget about the dinner invitation she’d extended.
“Oh sure, see you Thursday. Seven o’clock okay?”
“Sounds good to me.”
Carole scurried up Tom’s front path and then through the gate and towards her door. As she fumbled the house key from her pocket, Tom waved from his doorstep then disappeared back inside.
The cool air of the living room was welcome after the sunshine of Tom’s garden and the heated moment they’d shared.
If it even was a moment. Was it possible that she’d imagined it?
Yes, that really was a distinct possibility. The blazing sunshine, the sugary jolt from the cookies she’d eaten, the lack of sleep, and the lingering after effects of the shock she’d felt last night when she’d watched her poor father being knocked over and badly hurt… all those things had simply scrambled her brains.
She pulled her phone from her pocket and flicked through the wedding photos until she came to the one of her and Tom dancing together, eyes only for each other.
It was a gorgeous photo, capturing a magical moment, and as she stared at it Carole remembered the sensation of Tom’s hands on her hips as she’d swayed in his arms.
She sighed and flicked the photos closed.
You’re imagining things. It was just a fun moment at a wedding, nothing more and nothing less. You ought to remember that and get a grip before he comes for dinner next week, unless you want to make a total prat of yourself.
With this thought ringing in her head, Carole threw herself into the things that needed to be done before the working week started again tomorrow morning.