An A to Z of Love

“What if we need the tables for actual customers?” Charlie’s question was rewarded by a look from Magda that said, yes, business was getting better, but it wasn’t that good. Mia tried not to echo it too loudly.

Charlie sighed. “Come on then. Let’s move some cake.”

Once the cake was rehoused, and Magda had headed home for the night–or to Joe’s; she hadn’t been very clear on that point–Charlie turned to Mia, looking more tired than she thought she’d ever seen him, and said, “Are you hungry?”

She was, but Mia figured it was a bit rude to ask for manual labor and food. “Actually, I came to ask you a favor.” Charlie sank into a chair at a window table, nearest the bar, with a despairing look on his face, so Mia added, “Let me get you a drink first.”

“Just tell me,” Charlie called to her as she poured their wine. “Does it involve any vanilla essence? Because if it does...”

Mia looked at him, head tipped back against the chair, flour still dulling patches of his hair, his eyes closed and his white shirt wrinkled and stained with cocoa powder, and thought, This is it for me. Damn.

Because as much as she might want to deny it, she was irrevocably in love with Charlie Frost.

Now she just had to convince him to feel the same.

But not before she talked him into folding five hundred programs while she stapled them in place. Mia tipped the last of the wine into their large glasses and headed over to the table, saying, “So, there was a small mix up with the printers...”

Two hundred odd programs later, Charlie asked, “Why do we need programs, anyway?”

“So we can charge people a quid to come in,” Mia said. “Beside, they’re all numbered and ready for the special raffle.”

“Raffle?”

“Yes.” Mia stuck out her tongue and concentrated on stapling the spine of the program, rather than the paper to the left or right. She was getting tired and her accuracy was suffering. “You donated a free dinner for two at StarFish.”

“Did I?” Charlie handed her another folded program to staple. “Including wine?”

“One bottle of the house.”

“That was nice of me.”

“I thought so.”

They worked in silence for a few minutes. Mia was just starting to get a rhythm going when Charlie asked, “Have you spoken with your dad this week?”

“Not since he showed up with a conspicuous amount of money.” Mia looked up from her stapler. “You know where he got it, don’t you?” Charlie nodded. “Will I like it?”

“Hard to say.”

“Try.”

Charlie watched her for a long moment, until Mia felt herself starting to squirm under his gaze. Then he said, “He sold A to Z Jones’s journal.”

“Oh.”

Mia turned her attention to the program in her hand, but she could still feel Charlie’s gaze on her skin. Pressing down on the stapler, it wasn’t until she tried to lift the program that she realized she’d stapled it to her cardigan.

Charlie reached over and helped her open the staple and free herself, his hands perilously close to her breasts. Mia could feel the heat of a blush rising up her chest when Charlie asked, “So, do you trust him a little more now?”

“Can we talk about something easier?” Mia re-stapled the program and added it to the pile, already reaching for the next one.

“Like the fact you kissed me the other night?”

Mia winced. Fine. If those were the options... “I don’t think he’s going to ruin the festival, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“But you don’t trust him?”

“Would you?” Mia sighed, and put down her program. “Look, he left me, humiliated and ashamed when I was fourteen years old. It’s going to take more than one expensive gesture to fix.”

“He’s broke,” Charlie said, his tone neutral and, hard as she tried, Mia couldn’t figure out what he was thinking. “He gave you everything he had.”

Mia paused, wondering how she could make him understand. “Have you seen him? In the last few days?”

A small line appeared between Charlie’s eyebrows. “Actually, no. Not since...”

“Not since his grand gesture,” Mia confirmed. “Exactly.”

Charlie was quiet for a long moment, and Mia went back to her programs, relieved to have made it through the conversation intact and grateful they no longer needed her father to come up with something spectacular to entertain the kids: Enid Jones had coerced a friend into donating the use of their inflatable rides–a slide, a bouncy castle, and something called a Bungee Run that Mia was a bit leery of.

She was just wondering if she could convince Charlie to try out the Bungee Run when he said, “I still want to ask about the kiss, you know.”

“Of course you do.” Mia sighed. “I’m sorry, it was just a spur of the moment, celebratory thing. I mean, I just–”

Charlie leaned forward so fast she didn’t have time to move away even if she’d wanted to, which she didn’t, and before she could even take a breath his lips were on hers, warm and insistent and oh so perfect.

Mia shifted forward in her chair, eager to be closer, and Charlie brought his palm up and rested it against the back of her neck as he pulled her into him. Her eyes fluttered open to take in his face, and she saw his brow furrowed in concentration, his eyelashes resting against his cheek, his hair curling against his forehead, and knew again that she loved him.

But before she could shut her eyes again and return to the moment, a flash of movement in the window caught her attention and, without thinking, she pulled away.

“What is it?” he asked, his lips just a few millimeters away from hers. Then he followed her gaze toward the window and said, “Becky.”

Chapter 17

Becky looked around her at Main Street, suddenly awash in baskets of bunting and ladders. Welsh flags were flying from some of the buildings, the fierce red dragon gazing down at them, challenging them. One more day, they seemed to say. Last chance.

Her mouth tightened, and she turned back to Tony and their guest.

“Jolly little place, isn’t it,” Harry Golding said, standing with his hands on his hips, staring toward the town square. Then he rubbed his hands together and asked, “Where’s the site?”

“Just along here.” Tony waved him on ahead, and Becky trailed along behind the men.

“So what’re all the flags about?” Harry asked, and Becky realized, too late now, that Tony hadn’t told him. He hadn’t told their main investor there was a possibility the casino wouldn’t go ahead at all. Becky bit her lip and tried to ignore the feeling that everything she had ever worked for was collapsing around them.

“Oh, just a village fete they’re having here tomorrow,” Tony answered, unconcerned. “Shame, really, the weather forecast says rain.”

They stepped around a ladder–why risk any more bad luck–and when Becky looked up, she saw Mia at the top, glaring down at them. Becky couldn’t think what she had to be cross about. She wasn’t the one who’d seen the love of her life kissing another woman the night before.

It had been odd, watching Mia and Charlie kiss through the restaurant window. Almost unreal. Like watching a couple in a film. Two people she felt a vague connection with but wouldn’t remember later.

Shouldn’t she care more? Shouldn’t it hurt and burn and kill?

Becky glanced over at Tony and bit the inside of her cheek. Maybe he was right. Maybe she didn’t love Charlie any more than he loved her. Maybe she was meant to be alone, forging her own way in the world. That felt strong and right.

Tony caught her gaze and she looked away quickly, hating the blush she felt rising in her cheek.

Much better off alone.

Concentrating on where she was going instead, Becky jumped sideways at the last moment to avoid stepping into a bucket of bunting. “Careful there,” somebody called out, and Becky hurried on, thankful Charlie wasn’t there to make things even worse. Maybe she didn’t

love him. But that didn’t mean seeing him with Mia wasn’t humiliating.

She caught up with Tony and Harry before they reached the Coliseum Cinema, just in time to hear the tail end of a totally fictitious story Tony was telling about an encounter in the Crooked Fox.

“So, I said,” Tony went on, already laughing at his own joke, “I said–”

Harry wasn’t laughing. “And I suppose this is for the festival as well.”

Becky stared at the cinema, rather than Harry’s accusing face. The outside walls had been covered with vintage film posters, and the smell of fresh popcorn was already starting to waft out through the freshly repainted yellow doors.

“One last hoorah,” Tony said, his voice much calmer than Becky thought she could have managed. “You know, before it closes for good. Couldn’t deny them that, now, could we?”