Chapter Eighteen
C HLOE FELT RESTED by Friday morning and woke up early to take a long shower. The embarrassment with Eric was still there, but she felt much more ready to face it now. And besides, she had to be in top shape for her date with Harry tonight. There was no way she was going to miss it.
Not a date , she reminded herself.
It was a quiet day at the library, and after finishing her usual tasks, Chloe decided to check if anybody had borrowed a book yesterday during her sick day.
It turned out a few had, as well as people bringing books back.
The girl who said she’d seen the romance recommended on TikTok had returned the book she’d taken out. Chloe hoped she’d liked it.
The shift at the library passed quickly, and when she got home, Chloe locked herself in her room to get ready, thoroughly glad she had not confronted Harry about Eric’s notes.
He had asked her to meet him at the Italian restaurant later.
She was determined to look good this time.
It had nothing to do with him meeting her much more attractive sister. None at all.
She felt like a child doing something mischievous when she stuck her head out of the bedroom door, listening out for music or the buzz of the TV .
If Gwen saw her all dressed up, she would ask too many questions, and Chloe wasn’t ready to talk about Harry yet.
When she heard the shower running, Chloe stepped into the hallway and hurried out of the house.
Glad for her warm coat, Chloe walked into Wellbridge and to the restaurant address Harry had texted her.
He was already there, waiting for her outside, his broad back to her as he examined the delicate cursive writing on the restaurant’s windows.
He was wearing his trench coat, lights from the restaurant’s interior making his hair shine gold.
‘Hi,’ she said, walking over to him. ‘Have you been waiting long?’
‘Only a couple of minutes.’ He held a small bag in his hand. He held it out to her. ‘Are you okay? The librarian said you were ill and didn’t go to work yesterday.’
She was touched. ‘Much better, thanks.’ Inside the bag was a small box of chocolates, coffee flavoured. ‘Oh, Harry. Thank you.’
‘You’re welcome,’ he said gruffly. ‘There’s no nuts in them, I checked. There isn’t really anywhere inside to put flowers,’ he added, looking a bit shy as he put his hands into his pockets.
‘I prefer chocolates anyway,’ said Chloe happily. ‘To tell you the truth, I don’t really like flowers.’
‘Me neither,’ admitted Harry. ‘They remind me—’
‘Of funerals,’ they said at the same time. They exchanged sad smiles.
He doesn’t like flowers. She wondered again why he was studying the symbolism of flowers, but it wasn’t her place to ask.
‘Well, let’s get inside. It’s cold.’ Harry opened the door for Chloe. The interior was deliciously warm and carrying the scent of tomatoes and basil.
They eased into conversation, thanking a staff member when they brought a bottle of wine.
‘I’ve been to the Brew House about six times since you recommended it,’ Harry said.
‘Their baking is terrific. Pretty sure I’ve already put on a couple of pounds.
’ He patted his stomach, which Chloe thought looked fine.
‘Worth it, though. I can’t bake, myself.
Can you? I imagine it’s easier, with your nut allergy. ’
‘I don’t really bake. My sister makes good cinnamon rolls, though.’
She winced inwardly, not wanting the conversation to be steered towards Gwen. Too late now.
‘I couldn’t help noticing a certain . . . tension between you two,’ said Harry carefully. He poured red wine into Chloe’s glass. ‘It’s none of my business, but . . .’
Chloe fiddled with a corner of the white tablecloth. She suddenly wanted to tell him, to share it with him. After all, he’d told her about his wife. ‘Things have been bad between us for a long time,’ she said. ‘I was actually supposed to get married here in Wellbridge. Forever ago.’
‘Oh?’
She nodded. ‘We were young. We’d been together all through school and thought we were ready.
But . . .’ Even after all these years, the memory made her throat tight.
She had to say it aloud, give it a voice.
‘Gwen got a bit drunk, and I caught them kissing.’ She ignored Harry’s sharp intake of breath.
‘I called off the wedding. Gwen said I was being dramatic, that she was only messing around and it didn’t mean anything.
But we didn’t talk again. Only briefly, before our parents’ funeral. ’
The thought still made her sick. She and Liam had been together for years, all through school, and at eighteen, she had thought she was ready to marry him.
They had planned the wedding, invited the guests, and bought the dress.
Gwen, naturally, had been the maid of honour.
But when Chloe had caught her seventeen-year-old little sister kissing Liam, her entire world had shattered.
Harry’s hand moved across the table and took hers. It was large and warm and covered her cold fingers in a reassuring grip. ‘I’m so sorry.’
Chloe looked up to meet Harry’s eyes. In this lighting, she could see flecks of green in them. ‘About your parents and about what happened with Gwen. Losing one parent is awful, but both, and at the same time. They . . . Did they die together?’
Chloe’s chest felt like it was full of rocks, but she took in a long breath, focusing on the warmth of Harry’s fingers around hers, and on the ordinary sounds of clinking glasses and low talking.
‘They were involved in an accident. Someone was driving down the wrong side of the road and hit them.’ She sniffled and Harry handed her his napkin.
She couldn’t believe she was crying in the middle of a nice restaurant.
‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought it up. ’
‘Chloe, you don’t ever need to be sorry for talking about your past.’ He squeezed her hand, giving her a gentle smile. ‘I understand why you feel awkward around Gwen. It can’t be easy, even if it was a long time ago.’
‘We haven’t talked about it.’ She sniffled. ‘She left after that, shortly before I went to university.’
‘Left?’
‘Yeah, she went off with some guy. A millionaire traveller. Our parents were furious.’ She dabbed at the corner of her eye with a napkin, hoping her mascara wasn’t running.
‘It didn’t last long. She ended up in Singapore, and the next thing I knew, she’d found someone else.
’ She stopped talking. No matter how angry she was with Gwen, this wasn’t her business to tell Harry.
‘Oh no, this is so silly. Can we talk about something else?’
‘If you like,’ he said, with a tone that told her they could return to the topic of her family whenever she was ready.
‘Have you been in construction for long?’ she asked, thinking of his company she had unwittingly rung.
‘Quite a few years now. I’m from Newcastle originally, but started my company here and have been in Derbyshire ever since.
I mainly work in site management. I organise the projects, and sometimes visit them myself if they’re local, to assess and give quotes, things like that.
Though I used to have more of a hands-on role before .
. .’ He trailed off, then took a sip of his wine.
‘What got you into working at the library?’
Chloe smiled at the thought of the large library with its gothic windows and mahogany shelves and of the cat bringing her out of her dark cloud of despair.
The library felt like a haven, one of the few places left in Wellbridge not tainted with bad memories and regret.
‘I just love books,’ she said. ‘My mum would take me to bookshops and libraries all the time when I was a child. And if we read a book about a real place, we’d visit.
Sometimes all of us, sometimes just me and Mum.
’ Gwen had been closer to their dad. She’d had him wrapped around her little finger since she was a kid.
‘Working in the library suits you, you know,’ Harry said.
‘My sister said the same thing,’ Chloe grumbled, wondering if Harry also meant she was bookish and boring.
‘I don’t even think I know anyone who has worked there, aside from you,’ said Harry.
‘I mean, I’ve maybe made small talk with the librarian once, but I certainly haven’t hung out with anyone who worked there.
I remember visiting the library a few times when I first moved here, then when I started my business, I went looking for a book about construction.
Ah, here’s our food.’ The delicious savoury aromas filled the space between them as they picked up their knives and forks.
‘Then . . . well, to tell you the truth, I hadn’t visited since before Julie died. ’
Chloe cut her tortellini slowly, not sure whether to move past the subject of his wife or ask more about her. Still, she had just opened up about her parents and her sister. ‘How long has it been since she passed away?’ she asked, her voice soft.
‘Two years and five months.’ Harry twirled his tagliatelle with his fork.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said quietly. She couldn’t imagine finding the love of her life, marrying them and being happy with them, only to lose them so young.
Chloe thought the date had become a bit gloomy. She was glad he had told her about his wife, though. It was a sign of trust. Besides, even though she hadn’t lost a spouse, she could somewhat understand his grief. She missed Mum and Dad so much it hurt.
There was a strange sense of relief in knowing they were both grieving, that the library had provided a place of solace and comfort for them.
‘So that was the first time you’d been to the library in over two years?’ she asked. She ate as she listened, and now the painful moment had passed, she found she was enjoying her lasagne immensely.