Reunited at The Altar

It would be oh, so easy to ask her to come in. To stay with him tonight.

But that wouldn’t be fair. He couldn’t offer her a future. And he’d let her down before.

Instead, he brushed his mouth against hers. Lightly. Not demanding. ‘Goodnight, Abby. Sleep well.’

And he unlocked his door and went inside before he did anything stupid—like picking her up and carrying her over the threshold.

* * *

Abby let herself indoors and curled up on the sofa.

That kiss yesterday had blown all her defences wide apart.

And tonight, eating fish and chips with him on the harbour wall and then going to the dunes to watch the stars come out—it was like reliving the best bits of their teenage courtship.

The worst thing was, she realised she was more than halfway to falling in love with Brad all over again. If she’d ever actually fallen out of love with him. Which she was really beginning to doubt.

She needed to get herself under control. He wasn’t going to stay here, and this was where she belonged. They couldn’t have a future together. Their lives had gone off at tangents from each other, and there was no way they could compromise.

At least she’d be busy for the next couple of days with Ruby, too busy to spend any time with Brad. She’d keep herself under rigid control at the wedding, making sure she was polite but keeping a distance between them. And then, after the wedding, he’d leave again—and she would have time to bring herself properly back to her senses.

CHAPTER FIVE

SATURDAY DAWNED BRIGHT and sunny: perfect weather for a wedding.

As the stand-in for the father of the bride, officially Brad didn’t have anything much to do before the wedding apart from getting dressed and then accompanying Ruby to the church. But he knew exactly what James Powell would’ve done. He would’ve shooed his wife out of the kitchen and told Rosie to get ready with the girls, and he would’ve been the one dispensing cups of tea and terrible jokes and lots of hearty laughter.

Well, Brad could do that. Maybe not the hearty laughter and terrible jokes, because he wasn’t a showman like his father had been; but he could do tea and calmness.

Colin was staying overnight with his brother Richard, mindful of all the old wives’ tales about not seeing the bride on the morning of the wedding until she walked down the aisle. Brad and Abigail had got dressed together; maybe that had been one of the first in a long line of mistakes. Along with not having something old, something new, something borrowed and something blue, he thought.

He shook himself. Today wasn’t about himself and Abby—or the fact that she’d managed to avoid him ever since the night they’d sat and watched the stars come out and kissed each other. They’d be polite and civil to each other today, and maybe they could talk tomorrow.

He made mugs of tea for his mother, sister, Abby and Isabella’s mother Sadie, and added a glass of milk for Isabella, then took the tray upstairs and knocked on Ruby’s door. ‘I’m leaving a tray of tea outside,’ he said. ‘By the way, the wedding flowers are here and they all look perfect. And there was an extra delivery for you, Ruby.’

A single deep red rose, with a message from Colin—no doubt telling her how much he loved her and how he was looking forward to marrying her later that day. Yeah. Brad remembered that feeling. How excited he’d been, hardly able to wait for the rest of his life to start—his new life as Abby’s husband.

Older, wiser, he reminded himself. And divorced.

He dispensed bacon rolls—a hummus and falafel wrap, in his sister’s case—mid-morning; and dispensed more tea when the hairdresser and make-up artist arrived.

And then finally it was time to head for the church.

Ruby emerged in a gorgeous strapless lacy gown, her hair in an updo and a tiara securing her veil. Brad had a lump in his throat as he looked at her. ‘You look amazing. Dad would’ve been so proud of you.’ He hugged her, careful not to crease her dress or spoil her make-up. ‘You look fabulous, too, Mum.’

‘Thank you,’ Ruby and Rosie chorused.

‘And you, Isabella. You look very pretty.’

But the one who really made his jaw drop was Abby. She looked stunning in a deep red dress with a V-neck and tiny shoulder straps; it was fitted at the waist and fell to the floor. And he knew every curve under that dress, knew every inch of skin. The memory practically poleaxed him.