CHAPTER FOURTEEN – THOMAS #2
If the weather kept this up, her car was stuck there until March at least.
“That’s a fair point,” she said, bobbing her head as she looked at her car. She paused for just a moment then turned back to me, closing the distance between us.
I raised my eyebrows when she stopped right in front of the car and bent down, gripping the edge of the window.
She ran her lower lip between her teeth and slowly brought her pretty blue gaze up to meet mine, and there was almost a hesitance in it that gave way to a shyness that I wasn’t used to seeing on Sylvie.
“Thank you,” she said after a moment, dipping her head. “For this evening. I don’t know how you ended up at the pub, but I really did need someone to talk to.”
“I was delivering Christmas trees.” I laughed quietly, holding her gaze. “But you’re welcome. I’m glad you’re feeling better.”
She smiled, and her face lit up like she was a whole Christmas light display. It warmed my grinchy little heart for a hot flash of a second, and I beat away the rush of temptation to act on my attraction to her.
She’d been drinking.
That alone was reason enough not to act on it.
Yes, she’d eaten.
Yes, she had full control of herself.
But she’d been drinking.
I couldn’t say one hundred percent if totally sober Sylvie would consent to me kissing her, so I wasn’t going to do it.
Because by God, if I ever kissed this woman, she was going to be completely on board with it. She was going to consent to it, she was going to want it, and she was going to fucking like it.
“I am feeling better,” Sylvie said with a smile as soft as her voice. “I really needed to let it out, and I guess I also really needed to eat, so thank you for buying me dinner. And not letting me fall on my arse in the road. The last thing I need is a sprained ankle.”
“It was my pleasure.”
She leant forwards right as I turned my head to look over her shoulder, and her lips brushed against mine.
We both stilled, and every thought I’d had a mere thirty seconds ago rushed out of my mind at the sweet feeling of her mouth pressing against my own.
I barely had time to register the fact that my head turn had ruined her attempt at kissing me on the cheek before she gasped and leant back, still gripping onto the car door.
“Oh, my God,” she breathed, her eyes widening. “That didn’t happen. Pretend that didn’t happen.”
“It happened,” I replied, holding her gaze. “You know it happened.”
“That didn’t happen,” she repeated, her voice low. “Oh, my fucking God. Never bring that up.”
“I’m bringing it up.”
“No, you aren’t.” She slapped her hands against the car door and took a step backwards. “That was a mistake, and we are never talking about it again!”
I raised my eyebrows. “You’re the one who went in for it, Sylvie. Sure, you meant my cheek, but even that’s out of character. We are definitely talking about this.”
“No, we are not!” She stopped, raised her hand, then shook her fist. Presumably for lack of a better thing to do. “Oh, piss off, Thomas!”
I couldn’t help it.
I laughed, dropping my head back on the headrest. That only pissed her off more, and she stomped to the front door, slipping no less than three times, and I watched as it took her four attempts to get her key in the door.
Granted, it was because she kept shooting me dark looks and missed the lock three times because she wasn’t paying attention rather than the fact she’d had a couple of drinks, but that just added to my amusement of the whole situation.
She slammed the door behind her, and I shook my head, but I was happy she was safely inside—without slipping on her arse.
I dropped my forehead to the steering wheel and banged my head against it a few times. With any luck, it’d knock the ideas of kissing the woman right out of my head and send them into orbit where they belonged.
Because… fuck.
Sylvie Harding was tying me up in bloody knots, and I wasn’t sure what I could do about it. I wasn’t sure there was anything I could do about it.
Staying away from her wasn’t an option.
Not now I knew what it was like to kiss her. It didn’t matter that it was accidental or fleeting, that it was a giant fucking mistake she’d literally ran away from.
She’d kissed me.
I knew what it was like to have her lips touch mine. I knew how soft they were, how it felt for that short time, and that meant I couldn’t help but think about what it would be like to kiss her properly.
I wanted to kiss her until her breath hitched.
Until her cheeks flushed.
Until her knees gave out.
Fuck.
***
“Did you have dinner with Sylvie last night?” Mum asked, strolling through the kitchen with her nose stuck in the local newspaper. “Was it a date?”
“Yes, I did, and no, it wasn’t,” I replied. “Watch the stool.”
She stopped and closed the paper, then looked at her feet. “Oh, thank you, darling. I didn’t see that there.”
“Yes, having a paper held against your face does somewhat impede visibility.”
“Don’t be smart with me.” She folded the paper up, leant over the island, and tapped it on my head. “I was reading the football scores, that’s all.”
I wasn’t going to ask. The last time the woman read a football score, I was eighteen and playing my last game for the local development team before I left for university.
It’d been thirteen years.
It wasn’t as if she followed a league.
“What makes you ask about Sylvie?” I questioned, raising my mug to my mouth.
Mum shrugged a shoulder. “Is there tea in that pot?”
“Mhmm.”
“Lovely.” She took one of the empty mugs the housekeeper had laid out this morning and made herself a cup.
“Kathleen saw you having dinner last night and said you looked frightfully cosy, so I thought I’d ask.
Forgive me for being presumptuous.” She smiled at me, and her eyes sparkled in a way that said she didn’t want or expect my forgiveness.
That was fine.
I wasn’t going to offer it.
And ‘frightfully cosy’ was a bit of an overstatement.
“Mm, no. It was a coincidence. I was delivering the three footers Rebecca had ordered,” I explained. “I went in to give her the delivery receipt and saw Sylvie. She looked pretty down, so I thought I’d check on her since I was done.”
“And ordered her wine and food?”
“If I didn’t know better, I’d say Kathleen was spying on me for you.”
She waved a hand. “Nonsense, Thomas. Is Sylvie all right?”
“Wedding drama,” I replied.
Mum pulled out a stool and sat down, joining me properly at the island, and wrapped her fingers around her mug only to quickly pull them back. “Hot.” She laughed. “What wedding drama? Can I help at all?”
“Don’t you have enough to do?”
“Don’t be silly. I never have enough to do. Not now I don’t have to assemble a drum kit.”
I’d believe that when I saw it.
“Did you see about that crash yesterday?” I asked.
“On the M65? The one with the lorry driver on his phone?”
I nodded.
“Of course. What about it?” She leant forwards. “Oh, no. Is everyone all right?”
“Yes, everyone’s fine,” I replied quickly. “But Hazel’s veil was in the van that went up in flames.”
“Oh, dear. Can’t they get a new one? Rush shipping?”
I pressed my lips together. “No. It was a custom made one designed to show their families coming together. There’s no time to replace it.”
“Oh, dear,” she repeated. “How terrible.”
“Sylvie wants to fix it, naturally, but she’s pretty much out of options.”
“Of course, she is,” Mum replied, sitting up straight. “She’s not only her wedding planner, she’s her sister. No doubt she’s going to be devastated by this on a personal level as well as a professional one. It’s a tough spot to be in.”
I nodded slowly. “That’s the impression I got. I really don’t know what she can do to make it better.”
Mum tapped her fingers against the counter. “Find another veil, I’d imagine.”
“Yes, Sherlock Holmes. That did cross both our minds.”
She laughed, drawing her mug in close to her before curling her fingers around it again. “I may have a solution to this problem, you know.”
“Really?”
She nodded. “The Carmichaels have a family veil,” she said, referring to Julian’s family.
“It belonged to Julian’s great-great grandmother, and it was handmade by her mother for the wedding.
It was said to be a gift that should be handed down to the firstborn daughter of each generation, but other than his great-grandmother as the fifth child of that generation, there’s yet to be a daughter born at all, never mind firstborn. ”
I frowned. “Really?”
“Indeed. Since then, every generation has only consisted of boys. Julian’s dad wanted to break that and have Cassandra wear it, therefore changing the tradition to the eldest son’s bride of each generation unless a daughter was born.”
“Was she able to wear it?”
Mum shook her head. “At the time they got married, Julian’s grandfather was still alive and forbade it. He was staunchly against breaking the tradition, so Steve and Cassandra accepted it, and she purchased a veil herself.”
“Wait, so the veil has been in a box for… what? A hundred years?”
“More than,” Mum replied. “As it happens, I remember having lunch with Cassandra not long after your father died. That was before Julian proposed, of course, but both she and Steve were aware of his plans.” She leant forwards and picked up her teaspoon to stir her tea again.
“She said to me that she hoped Hazel could wear it or that she and Julian would have a daughter who could. I’ve never seen the veil myself, but she said it’s incredibly beautiful. ”
I tapped my fingers against the countertop. “Are Julian’s grandparents alive? On his dad’s side?”
Mum shook her head. “It’s been some years since his grandfather passed away, but as I can recall, it’s been around two for his grandmother. Although the poor thing had dementia for the last decade of her life.”
“So, the veil is owned by Steve now?”
“Yes. If you or Sylvie were to mention it, I’d think it’s certainly on the table,” she continued, finally looking up at me. “Actually, between you and me, I think Cassandra was slightly upset that she wasn’t able to offer the veil, but we didn’t discuss it much after that.”
I nodded slowly, dropping my gaze to the paper. “Do you think she’d let her wear it now?”
“I don’t see why not. At the very least, it can’t hurt to ask. Cassandra loves Hazel, after all.”
“You’re right.” I picked up my phone. “Do you mind if I tell Sylvie everything you just said?”
Mum’s lips slipped upwards into a tiny smile. “Of course not, dear. You tell her. I don’t mind at all.”