Coming Home to Wishington Bay. Maxine MorreyЧитать онлайн книгу.
it … “smooth chat-up spiel” on me earlier.’
This time it was Gabe’s turn to colour a little – and it was kind of adorable.
‘I really wasn’t, you know.’
Somewhere deep inside, I felt a surprising stab of disappointment. ‘No.’ I laughed it off. ‘I know that. I was just using it as an example of one of the many dopey things that emanates from my brother’s mouth from time to time.’
‘Right.’
We walked on in silence for a little way, the only sound around us being the soft whoosh of the waves as they caressed the sand before pulling back out.
‘Not that I wouldn’t practise on you.’
I looked up.
‘I mean, not that anyone would want to just practise on you, because that sort of implies they’re looking for something … someone a bit …’
‘Gabe?’
‘Yes?’
‘It’s probably best if you quit while you’re ahead.’
‘Yep. I think you’re probably right.’ His laugh was soft in the quiet of the night, but after a few minutes he spoke again. ‘Ned just likes teasing me about stuff like that precisely because it’s not really something I do.’
‘Chat women up?’
‘Chat anyone up,’ he said, apparently clarifying things for me, just in case.
‘You mean women just fall at your feet naturally?’ I was teasing, but even when I thought he was a burglar and then threatening to report me for squatting in my own house, I could still totally see how that could happen.
‘Ha! Yeah, I wish.’
Be careful what you wish for there, Gabe …
‘It’s just finding the time.’
‘Too much surfing?’
‘Too much working. And then, when I’m not, you’re right, I want to get in the surf because I don’t know when the next opportunity will be.’
I stopped walking and two steps later, Gabe realised and also stopped. In the front of his jacket, Bryan shuffled a little and carried on snoozing.
‘Wait, so after an evening of everyone giving me grief about how I was a workaholic, you’re standing there telling me you’re one too? Isn’t that just a little hypocritical?’
‘I do work a lot, but that’s not necessarily being a workaholic.’
‘Are you though?’
He shifted his weight as he looked down at me. Now I’d taken my sandals off, he was back to having a good twelve inches’ height advantage over me.
‘Probably.’
‘Hmm.’
‘Gigi tell you that?’
‘No. I’m getting that information straight from the horse’s mouth. Gigi was always too busy telling me how gorgeous and wonderful you were.’
Gabe shook his head. ‘Funnily enough she told me the same about you.’
‘Oh God, did she really?’
‘Uh-huh.’
‘Well, that’s not embarrassing at all.’
‘Don’t worry about it.’
There was something in the way he said it … I knew that he was saying it to make me feel better, less embarrassed about the fact my grandmother had clearly been trying to set us up since the poor man had moved in, but still … Was it stupid that I wished he’d followed it up with something about her at least telling the truth? I gave myself a mental shake.
Yes, Holly, it was stupid. Clearly good food, fresh air and moonlight were playing havoc with my normally fairly sensible reasoning system. A good night’s sleep – something I had definitely been short of for far longer than I cared to remember – would help me sort this out. The novelty of a relaxed evening and an easy stroll with a good-looking man and a cute dog was just something my system wasn’t used to processing. God knew it had been far too long since any one of those things had been part of my life, let alone all of them together in one night.
Besides, what was I even doing thinking of anything that had a hint of romance about it? I’d broken my own rules about that once before and been severely burned for my troubles. There was certainly no wish to ever repeat that particular experience. My grandmother, however, had been a romantic through and through, and my views on relationships were the one thing we disagreed on.
When I’d started dating Paul, and she could see I’d begun to get serious about things, she’d been thrilled. Her thrill had lessened a little when she actually met him but when I’d questioned her about it, she’d just told me that it was something she couldn’t put her finger on. I had been so excited for Paul and Gigi to meet that I was heartbroken to find out she hadn’t liked him as much as I’d hoped. All the time he was there, she’d been perfect and gracious, but then her career on the stage had taught her well about how to put on a smile, even if you didn’t feel like it.
I sighed as I remembered the argument we’d had once I’d realised it had all been an act with Paul, and then I’d become even angrier when she hadn’t been able to explain why she didn’t like him. I couldn’t understand it. After all her words about how love was so special and that continuing my stance on absolutely refusing to even consider the sort of relationship she and Grandpa, and that my parents had had meant that I was doing myself and my heart the biggest disservice possible. But when I finally gave in and opened my heart, it still wasn’t right.
We’d both cried and I’d stormed off back to London. My strop lasted all of a day and by the following evening, I’d been back on Skype to Gigi, hoping that we could make up. She’d apologised too and said that she was sure Paul would grow on her, and it was probably just her natural concern for her granddaughter because she wasn’t sure there would ever be anyone good enough for me. All of which, of course, had made us both cry again.
But, as usual, Gigi had been far more astute than me when it came to love and six months before she died, I’d driven down to Wishington Bay with my heart in shreds. It seemed likely that the reason she hadn’t taken to Paul was because he was a lying, cheating piece of shit who’d decided that just one girlfriend was a little bit too restrictive for him. And I’d had absolutely no idea. I’d, stupidly, thought that despite all my reservations, I had actually found what my relatives had managed to – the love and support of a partner with whom I could see myself spending the rest of my life.
I was, however, entirely disavowed of this ridiculous belief around eighteen months ago, and as much as I wished that could have happened in the privacy of my apartment or his, the universe had apparently decided that wouldn’t be half so much fun as having it happen in the middle of a Christmas works party for the entire company. Thankfully, both for me and the new dress I’d just spent a fortune on, it was immediately clear to the beautiful, tall and elegant woman who stalked in on towering black patent Louboutins, that her existence was as much a surprise to me as mine had apparently been to hers. Possibly the look of absolute shock and horror I could feel on my face had helped her with that conclusion.
This had, thankfully, resulted in both her screaming, and her aim with a gravy-laden plateful of Christmas dinner, being directed solely at him. As he stood there, covered in food, a roast potato sliding slowly down his expensive lapel, she gave him – and me – the final proverbial kick as she pulled off a large diamond ring from her left hand and slammed it down on the table.
* * *
‘That was a big sigh,’ Gabe commented, turning his head a little towards me as my mind bounced back to the present at his voice.
Oh Lord, I had done that out loud.
‘Anything