Reunited at The Altar
And until then she just had to keep going. Pretend that everything was just fine and she’d had a business meeting.
She splashed water on her face, then drove back to the café and buried herself in all the admin tasks she hadn’t done that morning. And please, please, let her find the right words to tell Brad.
* * *
The Abby Brad had dropped off at the café that morning had been laughing and bubbly, a little flustered and cross with herself, but happy.
The Abby he met at seven was quiet. Too quiet.
‘Is everything all right?’ he asked.
‘Of course. Why wouldn’t it be?’
But he’d seen a flicker of panic in her eyes. Which were grey, not green, another tell-tale sign that she was upset.
‘Abby. Talk to me. Tell me what’s wrong.’
‘There’s nothing wrong.’ Her tone was light, but he could tell it was deliberately so; and it increased his conviction that something had happened.
He waited until they were seated at the quiet table he’d booked in a pub and had ordered their meal before tackling her again. Maybe something had happened to the business. ‘Something’s wrong,’ he said gently. ‘I’m guessing it’s work. What’s happened? Someone’s gone bust, owing you a lot of money and you need a temporary loan to keep on track?’
When she said nothing, he pushed on. ‘Because I’ve got savings, Abby, and they’re yours if you need them. I’ve seen how you’ve grown your parents’ business and you’re a good manager, so I know you’ll get through this. I’m more than happy to invest in Scott’s if you need me to.’
‘It’s not that.’
To his horror, a tear slid down her cheek, followed by another. And then the tears were unstoppable.
He knew she’d hate it if the waiter came over and saw her crying like this. And he also knew something was really, really wrong. She needed him, and she needed them both to get out of here. Now.
‘Go out to the car. I’ll deal with everything here and then I’ll be with you,’ he said, handing her his car keys.
He went to see the waiter. ‘I’m really sorry, but something’s cropped up and we can’t wait for the meal we’ve ordered. Can I pay the bill? And if I could have a bottle of water to take away, that’d be great.’
The waiter was nice about it, but it felt as if it was taking for ever to sort everything out; and Brad was totally at a loss as to what had upset Abby so much. If it wasn’t the business, was it her parents? He knew she was close to them. Had one of them had bad news about their health? She’d said something about her mother being diagnosed with coeliac disease. Had that been masking something more sinister?
He was really worried by the time he got back to the car.
She’d stopped crying, but her face was pale and she was still looking worried sick.
‘I don’t have tissues,’ he said, ‘but I have this.’ He handed her the bottle of water. ‘I’m going to drive us somewhere quiet, then you’re going to talk to me. I know something’s wrong. If I can do anything to help you fix it, I will, but even if I can’t then talking about it will help you feel a bit better.’
She looked at him. ‘That has to be the most hypocritical thing you’ve ever said.’
He stared at her. ‘What?’ He couldn’t believe she was picking a fight with him, when he was trying his best to be supportive.
‘“Talking about it will help.”’ She actually used her fingers to make fake quotation marks round the words, and that stung. ‘It didn’t, five years ago.’
That stung even more, because he knew it was true—and because now she knew why. ‘You mean, because I didn’t talk,’ he said. ‘I’ve kind of learned that one the hard way.’ He couldn’t stop a note of acid creeping into his voice when he added, ‘And, believe it or not, I might have grown up a bit since then.’
But Abigail wasn’t one to pick a fight. She was straight-talking, but she didn’t deliberately start arguments. ‘You’re trying to deflect me,’ he said. ‘Don’t. Just tell me whatever it is.’