Reunited at The Altar

‘But we got to see everything,’ he pointed out. ‘The Mona Lisa, Notre Dame, the Eiffel Tower, Montmartre, and all the Monets.’

‘True. Though it would’ve been nice just to go for a wander in the city and see what we could find.’

‘But we only had three days. If we’d been wandering around aimlessly, we would’ve missed all the other stuff we actually wanted to see,’ he reminded her.

How different their approaches were: Brad with his strict itineraries, and her own preference for just seeing what they came across. Maybe they were too different now for things to work between them. Nowadays, she would’ve insisted on one of those three days in Paris being spontaneous. On closing their eyes and putting a finger at random on a map, and using that as their starting point for exploring. But was that too far out of Brad’s comfort zone?

‘Do you remember, we bought all those postcards at the art galleries and museum and stuck them on our living room wall, because we couldn’t afford a proper print in a frame?’ he asked.

‘I remember. And that guy did a charcoal drawing of us at Montmartre,’ she said, ‘when we were both sitting on that wall outside the church.’

‘What happened to that?’

She spread her hands. ‘No idea.’ The drawing had been another casualty of their broken marriage.

As if Brad realised they were heading into dangerous territory, he backtracked. ‘So, when are your days off?’

She made a show of checking her diary, even though she knew her schedule without having to look it up. ‘This week, I have a full day off on Thursday, and a half-day on Sunday. Next week, I have a day off on Monday; I need to go in on Wednesday first thing, but I’ll be done by ten.’

And then on the Thursday he’d go back to London.

When it would be decision time.

Would they make it together as a couple—or would they agree to part for good and ignore the pull of the past?

Right at that moment she had no idea.

Brad made a note. ‘I’ll work through our list and make—’

‘—an itinerary,’ she finished.

‘You say that as if it’s a bad thing.’

‘No. Just sometimes it’s good to be spontaneous.’

‘I can do spontaneous.’ And he proved it by putting his phone down, coming over to her side of the table, scooping her out of her chair and then sitting in her place and settling her on his lap.

And of course she had to put her arms round his neck for balance.

She could hardly complain, given that she’d been the one to make a fuss about him being so buttoned-up and such a planner.

‘I thought you said your balcony didn’t come with strings?’ she asked.

He stole a kiss. ‘It doesn’t. I’m not expecting you to sleep with me, and I’m not asking you to stay the night with me. Even though we’re sort of speed-dating for the next few days, I’m not going to rush you.’ He stole another kiss. ‘But it’s good to hold you again, Abby.’

She stroked his face. ‘It feels good to have you hold me, too.’

‘I’m glad that’s settled.’

And then there was no need to talk. They just sat there together, warm and comfortable and snuggled up, watching the afterglow of the sunset and the stars shining more brightly in the sky as the night darkened.

Finally, he kissed her again. ‘You’ve got work tomorrow. And I meant what I said about no strings and not expecting you to stay the night.’

‘It’d just confuse things. We’re meant to be seeing how it goes, what we still have left between us,’ she agreed. ‘I’ll call a taxi.’

‘But if you want to come for breakfast tomorrow, just show up,’ he said.

‘Maybe.’ She slid off his lap and called the taxi. ‘They’ll be ten minutes.’

‘OK. And thank you for giving me a second chance.’

‘I think we’re giving each other a second chance,’ she corrected.

But had they both learned enough from the past? Would they make the same mistakes all over again? Was this going to be the best idea they’d ever had or a complete disaster?

CHAPTER EIGHT

ON TUESDAY, ABIGAIL took her usual early-morning run to see the sun rise over the harbour, and thought about whether to turn up at the Bay Tree for breakfast with Brad.