Page 18 of The Clockmaker's Cottage
‘Here,’ he said, holding them out. ‘Just in case you have nothing suitable in the suitcase. Try not to take that as a declaration of peace, okay?’
‘I wouldn’t dream of it.’ She grinned.
‘There’s a shower room downstairs, as you know,’ he said. ‘Upstairs, there’s a bath. Your room’s the first on the left.’ He hesitated, then held her gaze, that half-smirk re-emerging. ‘Don’t go turning right into mine in the middle of the night.’
His eyes stayed on her a fraction too long, an unidentifiable meaning in his gaze.
Was that… an invitation? Of course it wasn’t, he was married! This was Theo Blake, andthatdefinitely wasn’t going to happen, and besides, she’d literally just run from her own wedding!
‘Don’t flatter yourself,’ she quipped.
He grinned, stepping aside.
She took the clothes and wine, clutching them like some bizarre post-wedding survival kit. ‘Thanks,’ she said, pausing at the bottom of the stairs. ‘For the loan.’
‘You’re welcome.’
‘And just so we’re clear,’ she added, lifting a finger. ‘We may be trapped in this soggy romcom set-up together, but there will be no merging of sides.’
Theo leaned casually against the banister, arms folded, looking entirely too pleased with himself. ‘Noted. No unauthorised incursions. Consider the borders officially respected.’
‘Good,’ she replied.
Then, without another word, she turned and headed up the stairs, her wedding dress rustling behind her. She probably looked completely ridiculous– her train sweeping the steps, wine glass in one hand, borrowed clothes in the other– like a runaway bride in a romcom who’d taken a wrong turn and ended up in a horologist’s cottage of dreams… or nightmares. Only time would tell.
Despite the weather, the ruined lasagne, and the fact she was sharing a roof with her old academic rival, she found herself smiling. Pippa knew they’d argue again tomorrow– about clocks, history, or the best method of pasta preparation– just like they had in those old university days. But tonight? Tonight, she had wine, hot water, and maybe, just maybe, a story worth telling one day. Even if it had started with cold feet, a won-on-a-whim competition, and the worst possible person waiting for her at the end of the road.
ChapterFour
Later that night, after a long soak in the bath, Pippa slipped under the covers and dialled Rose, pressing the phone tight to her ear.
As soon as her best friend answered, Pippa whispered, ‘You’ll never guess who the other competition winner is.’
‘Why are you whispering?’ Rose whispered straight back. ‘Better yet, why amIwhispering?’ She laughed.
‘Because I’m in bed and he’s just over the landing.’
‘He who?’
Pippa closed her eyes. ‘Theo.’
Silence. Then an intake of breath. ‘TheoBlake?’
‘Yes.’
‘Your Theo Blake?’
‘He was never my?—’
‘You were obsessed with him at uni,’ Rose barrelled on. ‘You may have pretended you weren’t after Freshers’ Week, but it was only yourself you were kidding.’
‘I did not pretend?—’
‘Pippa,’ Rose said seriously, ‘this is fate.’
‘This is coincidence,’ Pippa whispered far too loudly. ‘Need I remind you he’s married?’
‘Still,’ Rose said, undeterred. ‘Do you remember your mum? That lunch in second year when we came together to visit? When she said…’
