Chapter 17
17
Carole fanned herself in her kitchen, her cheeks flushed thanks to the late evening sunshine flooding through the kitchen window and the wine she’d drunk.
And thanks also to the bolt of heat that had seared her skin when Tom had pulled her into that weird half-hug before he left.
It was her fault the hug had turned awkward. She’d been reaching for the door at the same time as Tom, but when he opened it himself and then turned to say goodnight, she’d somehow ended up sagging into the side of his body like a collapsed sack of potatoes.
She cringed just thinking about it. While Tom was trying to give her a friendly hug goodbye, she was falling into his arms like some lovestruck idiot.
Lovestruck? Really?
Her cheeks burned even hotter. She definitely wasn’t lovestruck . That was ludicrous.
How about crush-struck? Was that a word?
No, it wasn’t a word, not even if you stuck a hyphen in the middle of it—but it should be a word, because it described her to a tee.
She had a crush her next-door neighbour. That was not a good move. Not a good move at all.
Not least because the bizarre half-hug they’d shared at her door was evidence enough, surely, that Tom wasn’t the least bit interested in her. He’d almost shoved her away when she’d accidently collapsed against his side and clung there like a limpet.
Or had he? Had he actually shoved her?
No, of course he hadn’t. He was too much of a gentleman to shove her.
But he hadn’t exactly embraced her, either. She’d embarrassed him and made things weird when she’d flung herself towards him when the poor man had just been trying to bid her farewell and depart the house with a bit of dignity.
And yet, she couldn’t stop thinking about that moment they’d shared, when they’d collided in the middle of the kitchen and their hands had brushed together. Feeling his fingers against her skin had reminded her of how it felt when she’d danced in his arms on Saturday night.
There’d been a moment on that dancefloor when everything and everyone around them had simply vanished from her thoughts and she’d only had eyes for Tom.
The same thing had happened tonight in her kitchen, and those same feelings had flooded her senses—gorgeous, sweet, delicious feelings that she could’ve happily immersed herself in for, oh, forever.
You’re demented, she told herself. Demented and imagining impossible things that could never happen.
They were just two new neighbours who’d agreed to help each other by being wedding plus-ones. No strings attached, that’s what they’d said when they’d settled on their plan and that’s why the mutually beneficial arrangement was so perfect.
And if it hadn’t been for Tom’s help in rushing her father to hospital on Saturday night, Carole might never have invited him round for dinner and probably wouldn’t have dropped by his house on Sunday with cookies either.
Much though she was keen to get to know her new neighbours on Foxglove Street, her life was hectic right now between settling into her new job and moving into her new house and dealing with all the unpacking and redecoration work. She didn’t have much time for neighbourly socialising, if she was being honest with herself.
Which meant she definitely didn’t have time for fantasising about the gorgeous man who lived next door and what it would feel like to kiss him.
She didn’t even want to kiss him!
Did she?
No, of course she didn’t.
After breaking up with Greg, she wanted and needed some time and space on her own. Though she might not be dwelling on the end of their relationship, and was relieved to put it all behind her, she was nevertheless looking forward to being by herself for a while.
There were things she wanted to think about and figure out—such as why, at thirty-five years-old, she still hadn’t been in a relationship with someone she could imagine spending the rest of her life with (except for Steven Weaver all those years ago, who obviously didn’t count because he was a turd and she’d been a brainless idiot back then)—and she had no interest in venturing back into the dating jungle anytime soon.
And even if she was looking for some romantic fun with a man, something frivolous and commitment-free and completely casual as a little treat to keep herself occupied after the big break-up of a three-year long relationship, she’d have to be out of her mind to consider embarking on such an affair with her next-door neighbour .
She’d only just bought this house. Fun though it might be to throw herself into a steamy affair with a man as luscious as Tom, the mortification of having to continue living beside him once it all came to an inevitable end was too toe-curling to imagine.
Assuming Tom was even interested in her that way. Which he almost certainly wasn’t, if the half-hug, half-shove at her door a few moments ago was anything to go by.
She should be relieved he wasn’t interested. And she was. Sort of.
So why was she still standing in the middle of her kitchen thinking about all of this? Carole had no answer to that question.
Gathering up the bottles of salad dressing they’d used during dinner, she carried them to the fridge. When she opened the door, she saw the two bowls of dessert she’d prepared earlier and completely forgotten about.
It was just a simple Eton Mess, filled with sweet strawberries and crushed meringue and dollops of whipped cream, and although it hadn’t exactly required hours of slaving in the kitchen to put it together, she was still sorry Tom had missed out on dessert because he’d had to rush off.
While Carole could easily devour one of the dessert bowls herself, eating two of them was out of the question. She didn’t like to think of the second bowl going to waste.
Perhaps she should take it round to Tom and he could enjoy it while he worked?
Before she could analyse whether this impulse was due to a desire to avoid unnecessary food waste, or because she simply wanted Tom to have his share of the dessert she’d prepared, or because she longed to see him again and smooth over the weird half-hug farewell they’d exchanged moments earlier, Carole grabbed one of the bowls from the fridge and headed for the door.
But when she opened it, she let out a yelp of surprise when she found someone standing right in front of her on her doorstep.
The dessert bowl in her hand almost tumbled to the floor as she screeched to a halt to avoid crashing into the older lady who was there. It took only a second for Carole to recognise the woman as Olive Nimmo, her neighbour from further down Foxglove Street.
“Oh, my goodness, you scared me, dear!” Olive said with a laugh, clutching a hand to her chest. “You threw the door open so quickly that you quite startled me out of my wits!”
“I’m so sorry!” Carole said. “I shouldn’t have come barrelling through the door like that. Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” Olive said with another laugh, and held up the bundle of leaflets she was holding. “I was just posting these through the doors up and down the street. The Hamblehurst Local History Museum is having a special summer open day soon and we want to spread the word.”
Olive held out a leaflet, and when Carole took it from her, she scanned the information printed on it.
“The open day is still a few weekends away, but we want to make sure as many people can come as possible,” Olive explained. “The museum is having a major fundraising drive, and we hope this will bring in some money to help us with our various historical projects in the community. There will be special exhibits, historical talks, fun projects for the children, and a historical fashion show, which we’re very excited about. We have quite a few vintage clothing items in our collection and decided it would be exciting to put on a fashion show instead of simply having them on display on the mannequins.”
“That sounds like fun.”
“We hope it will be. So, if you can come along, it would mean a lot to have your support. The event runs from noon until four-thirty on the last Saturday of the month, but you don’t have to be there all afternoon. Pop along for fifteen minutes if that’s all you can spare and see what we have on offer for you to enjoy.”
“I’ll be sure to drop by,” Carole said, tucking the leaflet into the pocket of her capris with her free hand.
“Oh, that looks delicious,” Olive said, noticing the dessert bowl Carole was holding.
“I was just about to drop it off to Tom next-door,” Carole explained.
Olive beamed at this information. “It’s so nice to know you’re already getting to know your neighbours. I’m glad you’re settling in here on the street and making friends.”
Carole felt a blush warm her cheeks. Her current thoughts about Tom went far beyond simple friendship… and that was a mistake.
Perhaps almost crashing into Olive here on her doorstep was a sign that she shouldn’t go round there with this bowl of sinful dessert after all? She was sending all sorts of mad messages to the man and…
Her thoughts were stopped in their tracks when Tom’s door suddenly opened on the other side of the low picket fence that separated their front gardens. Tom hurried outside but stopped when he saw Carole and Olive standing outside her door.
“Oh, hello,” he said, smiling at them both.
“Nice to see you, Tom,” Olive said. “I was just posting these leaflets through everyone’s letterboxes. Here, take this and it will save me a trip up the front path to your door.”
Olive passed a leaflet across the fence to Tom, and he scanned the details.
“I know that the goings-on at the local history museum might not be hugely interesting to youngsters like yourselves,” Olive said with a wink, “but I was just explaining to Carole that if you can drop by even for a few minutes to show your support and look at the work we do and perhaps add a few coins to our collection box, we’d be very grateful.”
“Of course,” Tom said, still scanning the leaflet. “If I’m not busy, I’ll try to come along.”
“Thank you. Well, I’d better get on with my rounds.” Olive waved her bundle of leaflets in the air and walked off towards Carole’s front gate. “See you at the open day if not before!”
“Bye, Olive,” Carole said, and waved as the older lady strode off to the house next to Tom’s, already folding a leaflet to post through the letterbox.
When Olive vanished behind the shrubbery masking Tom’s front garden from the one on the other side, he turned to Carole.
“I was just fetching some paperwork I left in the car,” he said, nodding to where his car was parked on the street.
“And I was just coming round to drop this off for you,” Carole said, and gestured with the bowl of dessert she was holding. “I made this for us to have after our lasagne. It would be a shame for yours to go to waste, and I thought you might as well eat it while you’re dealing with your work problem.”
Tom’s eyes widened in appreciation. “Thanks, Carole. That looks great.”
“It’s nothing fancy, just Eton Mess. The sugar rush should keep you going while you work.”
She thrust the bowl across the picket fence towards him. He gave the contents of the bowl another appreciative nod and then smiled at her. “Thanks again. I’ll enjoy this. I’ll just stick it on the hall table while I fetch the paperwork I need from my car.”
“Enjoy the pudding, Tom. See you later.”
As Tom ducked back inside his house, Carole darted back inside hers, cringing as she closed the door. The point of popping round to give Tom the bowl of dessert was so she could smooth over the weirdness that had cloaked their final moments together after dinner.
And yet the dessert exchange had been just as weird. Weird, strained and awkward.
Why? Carole knew the reason—it was because she was being weird and strained and awkward, that’s why.
One minute they’d just been two neighbours enjoying one another’s company, and the next everything was different, and it was all because of her stupid crush.
Back in the kitchen, Carole tacked the leaflet Olive had given her to the smart new corkboard she’d hung on the wall, so she wouldn’t forget about the event the history museum people were putting on. She’d pop by if she had time because it would be a nice way to meet more folk and make more friends in the town.
If tonight was anything to go by, she needed to expand her social circle and spend time with people who weren’t Tom from next door.
Perhaps a little distance from the man would help clear her mind? No more dropping by his house with delicious treats, no more inviting him over for dinner. What had she been thinking with the candlelight and the sweet daisies in a vase anyway, making the kitchen look all romantic and cosy?
Yet another mistake she had to own, and yet another mixed signal she’d had no business sending.
Yes, a little distance was exactly what was needed. Tom’s ex-partner’s wedding wasn’t until next weekend, and she had many busy days at work ahead of her in the meantime.
Plus, this coming weekend was jammed, too. She was running a Saturday morning clinic and then having a working lunch with colleagues to discuss new therapeutic strategies before catching up on admin. On Sunday, her mother was cooking lunch for everyone and she was looking forward to a day spent with her family, fussing over her injured father, chatting with her mother and sister, and having fun with her nieces.
Between her weekend commitments and her weekday work schedule, not to mention the endless things she still wanted to sort out around her new house in what free time remained in the evenings, there’d be no time for socialising with Tom.
Plus, hadn’t he said something about travelling to Cambridge next week for another sales pitch? Yes, he had, which meant he’d be gone anyway.
Carole huffed out a breath of relief. If Tom wasn’t coming and going next-door, that would make it easier to… not think about him at all.
And that could only be a good thing.