Chapter 16
16
Tom rang Carole’s doorbell, a bottle of red wine at the ready for his host. She’d told him he didn’t need to bring anything, but Tom had never turned up empty-handed at someone’s house when he’d been invited for dinner and he wasn’t about to start doing it now, either.
He’d also brought back the fancy plate Carole had used to carry the cakes and cookies they’d shared on Sunday afternoon. When she’d left after showing him the wedding photos on her phone, she’d been in a mad hurry and Tom had been too dazed to realise she’d forgotten it, his brain half-scrambled on account of the bolt of undeniable attraction that had shot through him as they’d stared into each other’s eyes.
Had Carole felt the same thing? Was that why she’d fled from his back garden with all the speed of an Olympic sprinter?
And if the answer to those questions was no, then was it really such a great idea to turn up here for dinner? Lusting after his new next-door neighbour was not a good move. It was embarrassing and, well, it was potentially creepy, too.
After all, they’d promised to help each other out as no-strings-attached wedding plus-ones, and they still had one more wedding day to get through. He wasn’t exactly holding up his end of that bargain if he started drooling over her.
And while Carole might be entitled to enjoy some romantic fun on the rebound following the end of her long-term relationship, it was a bad idea all round for Tom—her neighbour—to be the one to provide it for her.
So why was he here on her doorstep tonight? The sensible thing was to cancel the dinner plans they’d made, invent some excuse, and just stay away from her.
Except he didn’t want to do that.
Instead, he wanted to sit down and share ‘passable lasagne’ with her and listen to her talking. The mad little narrative she’d whipped up when those squirrels had gone dashing through his garden on Sunday afternoon had charmed him in some incomprehensible way.
He wanted to be here tonight, despite knowing it was a mistake after the way he’d reacted to her when they’d looked at those wedding photos together beneath the warm summer sunshine. He wanted to drink wine with her, eat her passable lasagne, listen to her stories about squirrels who were mortal enemies, and wait for the perfect moment to gaze into her eyes and…
The door was flung open, startling him from his thoughts, and suddenly Carole was standing right in front of him, smiling and waving him into the house.
“I told you not to bring anything,” she said, eyeing the wine in his hand.
“Well, I did it anyway. We don’t have to open it.”
“I’ve already got a bottle of red wine open that I used to make the lasagne sauce. We can drink the rest of that first.”
Pulling himself together, he followed her into the kitchen where the oven hummed and music played from a speaker on the counter. The small kitchen table was set for two, complete with a little vase filled with white daisies. Candles flickered in glass tealight holders. The scene looked… romantic.
She was killing him here.
“Dinner smells fantastic,” Tom said, setting down the wine and the plate he’d brought with him.
“Thanks. It’ll be ready in about ten minutes. I’ve got some snacks to keep us going in the meantime.”
She carried a bowl of glossy black olives to the table and then began slicing crusty bread at the counter. Tom noticed the apron she was wearing, which featured a cartoon image of a frazzled cook with the words Queen of Kitchen Disasters printed on it.
“Nice apron,” he laughed.
Carole, who was carrying the sliced bread to the table along with a plate of butter, looked down at the apron and gave him a wry smile.
“This was a gift from my sister, who likes to think she’s hilarious.”
“It sounds like there’s a story there.”
“There is, but it’s not one that does me any favours. A few years ago, I volunteered to cook Christmas dinner for my family and it, er, didn’t quite turn out the way I planned. I burned the turkey so badly it looked like it’d been in an inferno, and we ended up ordering Chinese takeaway. This”—she gestured to the apron—“was Jane having some fun at my expense.”
“Burning the turkey was just a one-off, I take it,” Tom said, angling his head to peer through the window on the oven. “I don’t see any smoke or flames.”
“Lasagne I can handle,” she laughed. “Turkey and all the trimmings, not so much. Don’t worry, I’ve got everything under control here and now accept my limitations. Can I pour you some wine?”
She held up the bottle she’d already opened, and Tom nodded. The wine was probably a bad idea once you mixed it in with the flickering candlelight and the sweet daisies on the table, but it’d be weird if he refused.
Or so he told himself.
After pouring two glasses, Carole joined him at the table.
“Cheers, and thanks for coming round for dinner,” she said.
“Cheers, and thanks for inviting me.”
They clinked glasses and sipped. The wine was good, rich and robust, and Tom figured it would be perfect with the lasagne Carole had prepared, the aroma of which was filling the kitchen.
“So, how’s your dad doing?” Tom asked, spearing an olive with a cocktail stick.
“He’s on the mend. Lots of nasty bruising, unfortunately, and the bash on his head looked awful for the first couple of days, but he says he’s starting to feel better now that the aches and pains aren’t quite so bad.”
“I’m glad to hear it.”
“He sings your praises every time I pop round to see how he’s feeling. Mum and Dad are grateful for getting them to the hospital and home again.”
“I was happy to help.”
“Dad says he enjoyed chatting with you about football in the waiting room at A&E and says he wants to take you for a pint to watch a game sometime once his cast is taken off, just to say thanks again.”
“He doesn’t have to thank me, but I’d be up for a trip to the pub to watch some football. Tell him I’ll look forward to it.”
Carole smiled. “Thanks, Tom. I’m sure that hanging out in some pub with my dad isn’t your idea of a great way to spend your free time, but it’ll mean a lot to him to buy you a pint and show his appreciation. You’re a good guy.”
He speared another olive, wondering if she’d still describe him as a ‘good guy’ if she knew the thoughts he’d had about her on his way over here tonight. Probably not.
Sitting here at her kitchen table was only making those thoughts race faster through his mind. While Carole was commending the aid he’d rendered at the weekend to help her father, he was thinking about how gorgeous she looked in the flickering candlelight as she sipped her wine. Even the daft apron she was wearing did nothing to blunt his attraction to her.
In fact, it somehow only made it stronger. That she’d happily wear the joke apron that her sister had given her to commemorate the disastrous Christmas lunch she’d prepared was evidence of her good humour and refusal to take herself too seriously. He liked that about her.
And the way the apron cinched at her waist and showed the curves that lay beneath it only made him want to tug the ties loose and…
Okay, he wasn’t even going there. What was wrong with him?
When they’d sat together at dinner during the wedding reception, he’d had none of these feelings or mad impulses. So, what had changed?
It was the slow dance they’d shared at the wedding that had done it. He was sure of it.
He might even have realised as much at the time, if it hadn’t been for that prat Steven Weaver knocking Carole’s father to the floor and unleashing mayhem. Once that happened, he’d thought only of helping Frederick, and any flickering attraction he’d felt towards Carole on the dance floor had been swamped by the emergency they’d faced.
But when he’d sat with Carole in his garden on Sunday afternoon looking at the wedding photos on her phone, the image of the two of them slow dancing together had instantly rekindled that flickering attraction.
And it had caused some sort of emotional tectonic shift inside him, too.
Now here he was, drinking wine with Carole as the candlelight danced in her eyes, and she was talking and smiling, and why hadn’t he noticed just how amazing her smile was before or the way she tilted her head when she laughed in a way that just about killed him?
Tom gulped down some wine and stuffed some olives into his mouth in an attempt to get himself under control. He’d never felt something like this happen so quickly before, this sudden overwhelming attraction to a woman, and the shock of it left him floundering.
He realised he wasn’t even listening properly to what Carole was saying while she chattered away beside him.
Nice one, Tom, sit here and ignore her—that’ll prove just how much of a ‘good guy’ you really are.
A pinging sound from the counter had Carole getting up from the table and turning off a little kitchen timer. She opened the oven door and pulled out the lasagne dish.
“I’ll let this cool down for a minute before we eat so we don’t burn our mouths on the sauce,” she said, and then removed a bowl of salad from the fridge. “I haven’t added dressing to this salad yet in case you’re picky, but I’ve got plenty of choices.”
After setting the salad bowl on the table, she added bottles of olive oil and balsamic vinegar, along with bottles of premixed salad dressings in various flavours. She topped up the crusty bread in the basket, accepting Tom’s offer of help to carry more olives to the table. Once everything else was ready, she sliced into the lasagne and spooned generous servings onto two plates.
“That looks awesome,” Tom said, and meant it as he admired the thick layers of pasta and meat sauce that comprised the dish. “Did you make it all from scratch yourself?”
“Everything except the pasta. That’s from a box, because in all honesty, life is too short to faff around making your own fresh pasta sheets. But I made the meat sauce and the white sauce and put it all together myself. I just hope you like it.”
“If it tastes half as good as it looks, I’m going to love it.”
She smiled at the compliment and topped up their wine glasses, then untied her apron and hung it on a hook on the back of the door. Tom stole a glance at the capri trousers and silky t-shirt she wore, and which had been mostly hidden beneath the apron until now. Her outfit was summery and sleek, the shirt fabric clinging to her body in a way that made his mouth go dry.
Get. A. Grip. Tom took a long glug of wine, because alcohol would help, obviously.
Once they were seated again, Carole served them both salad and they dealt with their chosen dressings.
“Okay, I think the lasagne should’ve cooled down enough to eat it,” she said. “Fingers crossed.”
Tom scooped up some lasagne and ate it. The meat sauce was rich and savoury, the white sauce smooth and velvety, and together with the silky pasta it tasted amazing.
“This is delicious, Carole,” he said, already forking up more of the meal. “You promised passable lasagne. This isn’t just passable. It’s fantastic.”
Her smile showed how pleased she was by his compliment. “I’m glad you like it. And I’m glad you let me cook for you tonight. It’s not just about saying thanks again for all your help with my dad at the weekend. It’s also nice to get to know you better, Tom.”
“It’s nice to get to know you better too, Carole.” The candlelight danced in her eyes, and for a long beat Tom couldn’t look away. “I mean, we are neighbours and, er, it’s nice to know your neighbours.”
“Agreed.”
They shared a smile over their wine glasses. Tom wondered if he was imagining the lingering look she gave him.
Yes, you’re imagining it. Eat your dinner and drink your wine and then go home.
“So, how’s your week on the NHS frontline going so far?” he asked.
Her smile shifted and a look of resigned weariness crossed her face. “It’s been a tough one, actually. Every one of the clinics I’ve run this week has been short staffed, which means a lot of last-minute juggling of appointment slots and quite a bit of chaos. I hate letting down the patients who really need our help, and ended up working late the last three days to make sure everyone was seen.”
“That sounds hard.”
“It’s just the way it is. There are too many demands on our services and not enough resources to meet them. These new mental health programmes I’m working on are making a big impact on patients’ well-being, I know that for a fact, but that doesn’t mean there aren’t plenty of challenges along the way. Even with extra money attached to these programmes, we’re still up against growing demand on the services.”
She gave a little shrug and added, “But it is what it is. We do the best we can with what we have. I used to get much more upset about the limits on the services we could provide, but that just left me exhausted and frustrated. Now, no matter how tough a day I’ve had and no matter the challenges I’ve faced, I make a point of reminding myself that I worked as hard as I could to help my patients and that’s all I can do. Then, I start again the next day with a smile on my face and determined to make a difference. That keeps me going.”
“It sounds like a rewarding job to have, being able to help people facing mental health issues.”
“Some people need a lot more help than others, but I know that the therapies we use do help. For some of our patients, the help we offer might mean they finally find the strength and strategies they need to take the first steps towards managing the anxiety and depression they’ve struggled with for years. From those small first steps they can, and often do, take even bigger steps and eventually make other changes in their lives that are positive and that they didn’t think were ever possible.”
“That must make you proud, to know you’ve made a difference.”
“Not proud so much as… happy to know I can use my skills and training to help people who really need it. Whenever I’m ready to tear my hair out because of a lack of resources or staffing problems or any of the hundreds of other problems we face, I just focus on the fact that what I do, and what our brilliant team of mental health specialists does, it all helps.”
Looking up from her plate, she gave him a coy grin. “Of course, the plentiful supply of chocolate biscuits we keep stocked in our staff room gives me some extra encouragement when I need it, too.”
Tom laughed. “It sounds like you all deserve at least that much to help you get through the day.”
“Some of our patients are very kind and bring packets of biscuits along to contribute to the talking therapy group sessions I set up recently. In fact, they’re a bit competitive and determined to out-do each other with their contributions. We’re awash in Penguins and Orange Clubs at the moment. Not that I’m complaining.”
Tom listened as she talked a little more about the talking therapy groups she’d set up since starting her new job with the health trust. Considering she’d only arrived in the post a few weeks ago, she’d hit the ground running, and he liked hearing her talk about the work she was doing and the new initiatives she was testing to get the most out of the health services on offer.
She was careful to talk in generalities and avoid betraying any patient confidentiality, but it was clear that her commitment to her career and to the patients under her care was total.
The passionate way she spoke about her work was captivating. Seeing her animated expression as she talked about her determination to help people find their way towards better mental health made him want to sit here all night listening to her talking.
“Anyway, that’s enough about me,” she said, looking embarrassed. “I’ve been talking for ages and you must be bored listening to me going on and on. What’s been happening with you this week? Any big things going on at work?”
“After last week’s trip to Manchester, I was playing catch-up back at the office,” he said. “We’ve got some new products and service plans coming online in the next couple of months which I need to be ready to start selling, so I spent the week working on that.”
“Sounds exciting.”
“There’s always something new happening and I need to keep up to date. We’ve also got interest from a potential new client, a big bioengineering company based in Cambridge that might want to purchase some of our business products to help them streamline their sales and marketing processes, so I’m booked to go up there next week to walk them through the next steps.”
He wittered on about his work for a few more minutes, answering Carole’s questions about this and that. Swapping stories about their work life was easy and relaxing, and sitting at the kitchen table as the evening sunlight slowly dipped outside the window while they drank wine and ate was…
… wonderful. Maybe too wonderful.
“So,” Tom said, “after what happened to your poor dad at the wedding on Saturday, you must hate your ex, Steven, even more than you did before?”
He laughed as he spoke, making a joke out of the question even as he wondered why on earth he was steering the conversation back to the idiot oaf who’d caused so much mayhem.
“I never hated him, not really,” Carole said, and gave a careless shrug. “I was nervous about seeing him after all these years, yes, but to be honest…”
She trailed off and looked thoughtful before speaking again. “The truth is that seeing Steven again was a revelation. I imagined he’d be a certain way—charming, gorgeous, funny, all the things I remembered about him from when we were together. But he was none of those things. Instead, he was boorish, rude and drunk, and it sounds like his life is pretty chaotic. I had a lucky escape.”
“Chaotic in what way?”
Carole waved a hand. “With everything that happened with my dad, I never got the chance to tell you what Steven said when he came over and spoke to me. He’s been married and divorced three times.”
“Wow.”
“Yeah, that was my reaction too. Although I always knew Steven was the one at fault all those years ago when he cheated on me, some part of me couldn’t help but wonder if he’d gone on to find happy ever after with some other woman. And I couldn’t help but wonder if it was something about me that caused him to cheat in the first place.”
Tom opened his mouth to protest against such an idea, but Carole held up a hand.
“I know it wasn’t anything to do with me, or at least I do now,” she said. “But I was a broken-hearted twenty-year-old and it was impossible not to wonder. I stopped thinking about Steven a long time ago, but what he did left its mark. Seeing him at the wedding and talking to him made me realise that the version of him that lived in my memory was very different from the real man. I thought seeing him again would open all the old wounds. But instead, it just left me feeling relieved that things fell apart when they did and that I never ended up any more embroiled with the man that I did.”
“That’s a good way to think about it. And now you can forget about him.”
“Yeah.” She sipped more wine, her expression still thoughtful. “I can’t help but wonder, though…”
“What?” he asked when she trailed off and stared into her wine glass.
“I can’t help but wonder if what Steven did all those years ago had a bigger impact in my life than I realised. I’m still single, after all.”
“You just haven’t met the right man, yet.”
She glanced up at his words and he saw something mysterious in her eyes as her gaze held his. A long beat passed before she looked away and drained the last of her wine from the glass.
“Maybe you’re right,” she said, her tone breezy again. She picked up their empty plates. “Let me clear these away and then I can stick the kettle on for coffee.”
Tom rose from his chair and helped her carry the dishes to the counter, wondering at the abrupt end to their conversation. He wished they were still sitting together at the table as the candlelight flickered, drinking wine and sharing their deepest thoughts.
As they stacked plates and carried things from the table to the counter, they turned at the same time and bumped into each other in the middle of the kitchen. Tom, holding the bread basket, narrowly avoided knocking the bottle of salad dressing out of Carole’s hand as they collided, reaching out to grab it just in time.
Their fingers tangled together and they laughed at the near miss.
And then the laughter vanished as their gazes held.
For a long beat there was just the soft music from the little speaker on the counter and the warm candlelight dancing around the kitchen and the feel of her hands in his. Golden sunlight slanted through the window and lit up her hair and Tom saw the rosy glow in her cheeks thanks to the wine.
He imagined dipping his head to taste the remnants of the lush red wine on her lips.
Lost in the heat of the moment, Tom searched Carole’s eyes for the invitation he longed for.
Before he could find it, the moment was shattered thanks to the shrill ringtone of his phone.
Blinking, he dropped Carole’s hand and stepped away as he tugged the phone from his pocket. Carole quickly turned to the sink, but not before he caught the look on her face.
A look of disappointment? Relief? Tom wished he knew.
He glanced at his phone and saw the call was from a work colleague. If someone was trying to reach him at this time in the evening, it could only be because there was some sort of problem.
“Sorry, I need to answer this call,” Tom said, gesturing with the phone. “It’s work.”
“Of course,” Carole said. “I’ll finish clearing the table.”
Moving out of her way while she worked, Tom answered the phone. His work colleague on the other end of the call immediately launched into a frantic account about key information that had mysteriously vanished from the draft sales proposal they were due to finalise the next day before sending to a prospective client. It took several minutes to calm down his younger colleague by promising to log in to the system right away and help get to the bottom of the problem.
When Tom ended the call, he gave Carole an apologetic look.
“I’m sorry, but there’s a problem at work and I need to get to my laptop and help sort it out.”
“I caught the gist of it. I hope it won’t mean a late night for you.”
“Me too.” Tom gestured to the cleared kitchen table and the plates Carole was loading into the dishwasher. “Let me help you finish dealing with this lot before I go.”
“Don’t be silly, I’ll take care of it. You go and help your colleague. Judging by how hard you worked to calm them down, it sounds like they need you sooner rather than later.”
Tom glanced again at the pile of dishes, but Carole waved him towards the door.
“I’ve got this, Tom. Even if you didn’t have to rush off, I still wouldn’t let you deal with all this washing up. That’s no way to treat a dinner guest.”
“I’m sorry to leave so soon,” Tom said and meant it.
“It’s fine. At least you’d finished eating before your work call came through.”
“Thanks again for dinner. It was wonderful. I’ll cook next time.”
He hadn’t meant to add the impromptu invitation but was glad he did when he saw Carole smile and nod.
“I’ll look forward to it.”
They’d reached the front door. Tom was about to say something else—about the delicious meal she’d cooked, about how much he’d enjoyed her company, about how he wished he didn’t have to rush off—but before he could get a word out, his phone pinged with a message from his frantic colleague, asking if he was logged in yet and reporting yet another error he’d discovered in the sales proposal documents.
With a sigh, Tom opened the door, then lifted his arm in a farewell gesture that ended with him pulling Carole into an awkward hug that left her sort of half-pressed into his side. Embarrassed at the clumsy overture, Tom stepped outside.
“Good luck solving your work emergency,” Carole said and waved him off.
“Thanks, I’ll need it.”
He dashed around to his front door and waved goodbye as he fished his keys from his pockets.
This wasn’t how he’d imagined tonight ending.
Considering some of the fantastical thoughts that had sprung into his head about how this night could have ended, Tom wondered if it was just as well that he’d been forced home to deal with work.
The soft candlelight and the amazing food and the heady wine and the beautiful woman sitting across from him all evening had pushed him dangerously close to doing something he might have regretted.
Might have regretted? Would have regretted.
Carole was his neighbour. His next-door neighbour. There was nowhere to hide if he made a terrible mistake such as… pulling her into his arms and kissing her as if his life depended on it.
Once inside the quiet stillness of his own house, Tom dug his laptop from his bag and switched it on, grateful for the diversion of a thorny work problem to take his mind off the madness of what he might’ve done if he was still in Carole’s kitchen.
Thank goodness for work data that mysteriously vanished into thin air and for panicking colleagues in need of immediate rescue.