Chapter Fifty-Three
‘You look stunning,’ said Dylan, as I opened the door to him and Charlie.
‘Thank you.’ I grinned foolishly, trying not to salivate at the sight of my man. ‘You don’t look too bad yourself,’ I bantered.
He was dressed in chinos and a shirt that was undone ‘just so’. Very… Man at C A.
You’re showing your age, Maggie, Greg snorted. He’s more David Gandy at M S.
I stiffened. Oh no. Tonight was not a night to imagine Greg talking to me.
I was passing through, he assured. Just wanted to wish you a lovely evening. And by the way, you look gorgeous. Dylan is a lucky man.
Thanks, darling, I mentally replied, but I was talking to myself. Greg had gone.
Meanwhile, Charlie was noisily greeting Bess. She was wagging her tail but also giving the mongrel’s ears soft nips, as if to rein in his overexcitement at being in new surroundings.
‘I’ll let the dogs out for a quick wee,’ I said. ‘And then we’ll be off. Come on you two,’ I instructed. ‘Heel!’
‘That’s it,’ said Dylan, bringing up the rear. ‘You tell Charlie who’s boss. Your house. Your rules.’
I opened the back door and the dogs bounded out. For a moment they frolicked playfully together, then Bess watered her favourite patch of lawn. This particular area now resembled burnt toast. Charlie cocked a leg over a rosebush. I wondered if the flowers would wilt, and the petals fall to the floor. Time would tell.
‘You have a gorgeous garden,’ said Dylan, as we waited for the dogs to return. ‘And a lovely home, too.’
‘Thanks,’ I said. ‘Although the house is too big now. I suppose I should think about moving. Downsize. Declutter. I’ve yet to find the right moment.’
Dylan nodded his understanding.
‘There has to be a period of adjustment.’
‘You’re right,’ I agreed. ‘I went from empty nest to widowhood in swift succession. A big upheaval.’
‘How’s the heart?’ he asked.
‘Surprisingly good,’ I smiled. ‘What about yours?’
‘In these last few months’ – his eyes snagged on mine – ‘it’s been coming along nicely.’
‘Pleased to hear it,’ I said softly.
The moment was broken by Charlie discovering Mr Squirrel on the lawn. He grabbed the toy, then belted in through the open doorway with Bess in hot pursuit. They shot into the lounge with lots of playful growling.
‘Right you Herbert,’ said Dylan, taking the toy off Charlie. ‘Settle down. You too, Bess. Your parents are going out for the evening and we don’t want any nonsense.’
I suppressed a giggle-snort.
‘Quite right,’ I added. ‘Don’t raid the biscuit tin. No lolling about on the sofas. And don’t squabble over the remote control.’
Charlie looked at me quizzically, while Bess yawned. She ambled over to her basket, then collapsed into it with a contented groan. A second later and Charlie had flopped down beside her. He put his nose on his paws and regarded us mournfully.
‘Be good,’ said Dylan sternly. He turned to me, eyes twinkling. ‘Meanwhile, Maggie, your conveyance awaits.’
‘Conveyance, eh?’ I laughed. ‘I do hope it’s a brand-new Bentley with sumptuous leather interior.’
‘Regrettably not,’ he chuckled. ‘It’s a BMW that’s been through the carwash and also had the dog hair removed.’
‘That sounds most acceptable,’ I said, affecting a posh accent. ‘Do lead the way, my good man.’