Holiday with the Best Man

He checked the breakfast tray. Coffee, croissants, freshly squeezed orange juice, granola, Greek yoghurt and a bowl of perfect English strawberries. Philly would forgive him for not buying the sweet peas from her; he’d seen them in a shop window on the way back from the deli and they’d just reminded him of Grace, all sweet and shy. And he hoped that Grace wouldn’t mind the fact that the flowers were propped in water in a juice glass rather than in a proper vase.

It was almost nine o’clock. He didn’t think that Grace was the sort who’d stay in bed all day; but at the same time she would still have had the chance to relax and sleep in a bit longer than she could on a weekday. Hopefully she wouldn’t mind him waking her now. He tucked the newspaper under his arm and carried the tray to her room; he balanced the tray between himself and the wall and knocked on the door. ‘Grace?’

‘Yes?’ Her voice sounded sleepy and he felt a twinge of guilt. Maybe he should’ve left waking her for another half an hour.

‘Can I come in? I’ve brought you some breakfast.’

‘I...sure.’

He walked in to the room. She was sitting in the middle of the king-sized bed, nestled into the duvet, with her hair all mussed and her eyes all sleepy, and his mouth went dry. Oh, help. This wasn’t in the plan. He wasn’t supposed to react to her like this. He was meant to be sweeping her off her feet, not the other way round. And he definitely needed to keep his eyes off her pretty camisole pyjama top. He absolutely couldn’t walk over there, slide the straps from her shoulders and kiss her bare skin. Even though his body was urging him to do exactly that.

‘I, um, didn’t know what you like for breakfast, but I hoped this would be OK. And I brought you the Saturday paper.’

‘Thank you. That’s really kind of you. And flowers. That’s so lovely.’

Her smile was sweet and shy and genuine, and it made him feel warm inside. ‘Pleasure.’ He handed her the tray. ‘I, um...’ How come he was suddenly so flustered and inarticulate? He was known for being as good with words as he was with building, and he could talk anyone through even the most complex project so they understood the plan and loved the concept as much as he did. But, in Grace’s presence, all his words seemed to have turned into so much hot air. ‘I know we said we’d clear our diaries, but I need to nip into the office and do a few things this morning,’ he improvised. ‘Would you mind amusing yourself?’

‘Roland, you really don’t have to entertain me all the time,’ she said. ‘You’re already being kind enough to put me up while the flat’s drying out. I don’t expect you to run around after me as well.’

‘OK.’ He couldn’t take his eyes off her hair; he wanted to twine the ends round his fingers and see if it was as soft and silky as it looked. So he’d better leave before he did something stupid. ‘See you later, then.’

She smiled at him. ‘Have a good morning. And thank you for breakfast. This is such a treat. I can’t remember the last time someone brought me breakfast in bed.’

Hadn’t Howard done that for her? Then again, she’d said they hadn’t lived together.

Did that mean they hadn’t slept together, either?

That was a question Roland knew he couldn’t ask. Not without going into very dangerous territory indeed. Sleeping with Grace... He really had to get that idea out of his head. Fast. Because that wasn’t part of the deal he’d made with her. This was about helping her to feel swept off her feet, and helping him to move past the guilt and misery so he could truly live again.

He changed the subject to something safer. ‘We need to leave here at about four, if that’s OK with you,’ he said.

‘I’ll make sure I’m ready.’

And he knew she’d do exactly that; she prized reliability in others, and that meant in turn that she was always reliable too.

But even when he drove to the office, he found it difficult to concentrate on work instead of thinking about Grace. His foreman, Charlie, who’d come in to the office to debrief him on a project, teased him about being on another planet.

Possibly Planet Crazy, Roland thought, because he just couldn’t get Grace Faraday out of his head.

When Roland drove back to London later that afternoon, he had just enough time to drop into the deli to pick up his order and then change into a fresh shirt and a pair of chinos. Grace was ready on time, as he’d expected; her idea of ‘smart casual’ turned out to be smart black trousers and a pretty strappy top. One which made him remember that pretty camisole top she’d worn in bed that morning, and heat spread through him. ‘You look lovely,’ he said, meaning it. And somehow he’d have to find that tricky balance between sweeping her off her feet and losing his head completely.