Another eye roll. ‘A mother knows when you’re sorry, even if you don’t know it yourself.’
‘I have nothing to be sorry for.’
‘And. Neither. Do. I.’ There was a harrumph and a shake of the head. ‘Now do you want me to fix your messes, or not, Chloe Cassidy?’
‘Yes, please. And thank you.’ That kernel of love bloomed into a knobbly pain in Chloe’s chest and a sting at the back of her eyes. Because she knew that whatever mess Chloe made, she’d always have her mum’s support. Support that really should be a two-way thing, regardless of the past. But it was still fresh and raw, and there were too many questions, personal questions, that Chloe wanted answers to that she was sure her mum wouldn’t want asked.
They would get there, she supposed, but in the meantime, they had to shuffle over the hurdles of hurt pride and betrayal, and that could be a long and bumpy road.
And so Bridget sat, back rigid and taut, mouth pursed in concentration and repressed annoyance, pins sticking out from her lips as she fixed up the fabric into a neat pile of curtain swags. The woman was a sewing genius.
And, at times, a royal pain in the arse. The difficult silence was split by the doorbell.
The cavalry? Someone? Anyone?
Grateful for a diversion, Chloe dashed to the door, expecting another delivery or something for the upstairs people who were always getting things by courier. She hauled the door open and inhaled sharply as she blinked into the late afternoon light. Vaughn? ‘Vaughn?’
He was standing on her doorstep, hands shoved deep in leather jacket pockets, hair tousled by the cold northwesterly. He nodded, gave a brief hesitant smile and rocked back on his heels, looking far more attractive than he had any right too. ‘Bad time?’
Trying to calm her auto-response drumming heart rate, she stepped back and let him in. ‘Not at all. Come on in. How did you know where I live?’
‘Your website has your contact details, and I would change that to a PO Box if I were you. You never know who might just turn up.’
‘Hmmm. Good point. I mean, anyone could just turn up, right? Uninvited?’
He grinned. ‘Exactly. I was passing, and I owe you an apology for the other week.’ He followed her into the front room. As she turned, Chloe caught the slight raise of the eyebrows as he noted Mum on the couch. ‘Hello.’
‘Oh good, someone who actually knows when they’re apologising.’ Mum sat back in the chair, clutching the fabric in her hands, and waited, as if she was watching a movie and she’d just got to the best bit. ‘This should be good. Don’t mind me, go right ahead and say it. Your apology.’
Oh, God, really? ‘Thank you, Mum, but isn’t it time you were going?’ Chloe tried, and failed, to give Mum a telepathic hitch up and out the room. The telepathy thing clearly only worked with Jenna.
Bridget pushed the fabric towards Chloe and rolled her eyes again.
I will never do that to my kids, Chloe promised silently. Or lie to them.
‘Chloe Cassidy, do you want me to finish fixing your mess or not?’ She pointed an accusatory finger at Vaughn. ‘Is this another man from that Timber dating thing? Because you remember what happened last time? Ah, no… that wasn’t Timber, was it? That was the online dating thing? Right you are.’ She smiled at Vaughn and explained slowly as if letting him on a huge secret, which it was, or at least had been, ‘We had the police round, again…’
Only she pronounced it po-lice, in a tone that was deeply unsympathetic.
Chloe’s cheeks burned. It was fast becoming her normal whenever her mother or Vaughn were around. Having them both in the same room meant she was doomed to look like a beetroot forever. ‘No. Mum. Please. Really, Vaughn, it’s nothing like that.’
‘Like what?’ He grinned, clearly eager for the secret-spilling to continue. ‘Timber? Online dating? Chloe? You never mentioned this.’
Before she could answer, Bridget cut in. ‘She’s after a man, you know. Since The Jilting.’
‘The Jilting.’ He pressed his lips together as if holding in a snort. ‘It has a title, like it was an official event? Like, The Diamond Jubilee? The World Cup? The Jilting.’
Let me die. Now. ‘No. Who’d do anything like that? No, Mum, he has nothing to do with online anything. This is Vaughn. Vaughn Brooks.’
‘Brooks.’ Mum’s eyes narrowed, and she tapped her foot, her way of trying to jog her memory. Very little of what Bridget Cassidy did made sense to anyone but her. ‘Brooks. Aren’t you… didn’t you… weren’t you…? How do I know you? You look familiar.’
‘Yes, Mum, you have met him before. Very briefly. Vaughn, this is my mum, Bridget.’
He stuck out his hand. ‘Vaughn Brooks, Jason’s best man. Yes. Hello, again.’
Bridget stared at his hand, but she didn’t take it. ‘And what are you doing here?’ Her eyes pigged towards Chloe. ‘Chloe? Why’s he here?’
‘I’m helping Chloe with her…’ Vaughn drew his hand back, smiled a soft secret smile, then looked at the material and the nautical things out on the desk. ‘Navy wedding?’
Thank you, Lord, for a change of subject. Chloe grasped it. ‘Not exactly. Taylor used to sing on a cruise ship. He likes boats and thought it was appropriate.’
A frown. ‘The wife-to-be? Naval at all?’
‘No, he’s a dentist. Nathan. Gay wedding,’ she explained. ‘The pink pound’s normally a goldmine, so I’m hopeful of getting more work from this. It’s going to be spectacular.’ Or would have been had she not stuffed up the chair backs. Still, they were fixed. Crisis over. Thank God for Mum.
Vaughn scratched his head and again had that look as if he was trying hard to keep up. ‘Oh. A wedding, on a boat.’
‘A love boat. Lots of people get married on boats. It’s a thing… a theme. More common than you’d think, actually, and even more poignant for them because of Taylor’s past on the cruise ship.’ Chloe shook her head in despair. ‘It doesn’t have to make sense, Vaughn. It’s love.’
‘Oh yeah.’ He scratched his head, looking bemused and incredulous. As if love was something that made his head hurt rather than his heart soar. Sore, maybe, and Chloe knew all about that.
Bridget butted in, fixing him with her evil eye. ‘And you’ve come to help our Chloe with…?’
Please, for the love of God, leave the man alone.
Vaughn stuck his hands back in his pockets. ‘Her brochures. I’ve also got a proposition.’
Now Bridget looked straight at Chloe. ‘Say yes.’
‘Mum!’
‘Beggars can’t be choosers, Chloe.’
‘Please, Mum, you don’t know what he’s here for. He might be wanting to sell me into the slave trade.’
‘Good luck with that. I hope they don’t want you to do any sewing for them. Or cooking for that matter. She’s a useless homemaker, Mr Brooks. Good with numbers, though. Know anyone who wants a slave administrator? She’s your girl.’
Chloe glared and mouthed shut up to her mum, then turned back to Vaughn. ‘Kitchen? We can talk without interruptions there.’
‘No need.’ Bridget gathered up the fabric into neat piles and shuffled to standing. ‘Don’t worry about me. I know when I’m not wanted.’
Far from being glad her mum was leaving, Chloe’s gut knotted up. Things between them were a long way from back to normal. Then she looked over at Vaughn; things had never been normal there. Back to her mum. ‘You don’t have to go, Mum. Seriously. Stay.’
Vaughn took a step forward. ‘No, please don’t leave on my account, Mrs Cassidy. What I have to say to Chloe can be said in front of you, don’t worry, it isn’t an inappropriate proposition. I’m not going to sell her into the slave trade.’
‘More’s the pity. But never mind. Three’s a crowd, right you are. I’ll take this, Chloe, and fix your mess up good and proper. Be sure to pop round later, if you’re not too busy, then. We have some talking to do.’ For a second, her Mum was serious and focused. ‘There’s things I need to say.’
&
nbsp; ‘Yes, Mum.’ Chloe walked her to the door and gave her a hug, holding on just a little longer, hoping the healing properties would help her Mum. Help them both. ‘I’ll call round later. And thank you. Really. You’re a star.’
‘Yes, and don’t forget it.’ She was gone in a huff and a quick slam of the door.
Silence.
And then, as Jenna would say, there were two.
CHAPTER 13
THERE WAS a grin the size of Cheshire on Vaughn’s smug face. He was still standing in the middle of the room, filling the space with his height and his presence. Her apartment felt shabby in comparison with his bright aura, which was still guarded, but it shone. Just shone. She tried to look at her place from his eyes, then remembered the chaos of his office.
Then she forgot about that and was just captivated by his eyes, glittering and steely grey as they were, while he laughed. ‘Timber? Chloe, really? Any luck?’
‘No. It was hideous. I don’t want to talk about it. Why are you here?’
His shoulders seemed to tense up. ‘Like I said, I owe you an apology for walking out on Saturday.’
Saturday. The almost-kiss scenario. The hours afterwards of quiet, but insistent sexual frustration. More dreams of food porn. ‘You don’t have to apologise, really. Honestly, it’s fine.’
‘It’s not fine at all. So, I’m sorry.’
‘Aha.’ She tapped her foot, because in her language, that meant she was waiting impatiently for more.
He frowned as he looked down at her tapping boot. ‘What’s the matter?’
‘I’m waiting.’
‘For?’
Chloe sighed. Men. ‘An explanation.’
‘You want an explanation? An apology isn’t enough?’
‘No. I’m not entirely sure what you’re sorry about. The fact that you left in a hurry, or the fact that you… I thought you might…Vaughn, why did you just up and leave like that? Explain yourself.’
‘That’s not fair. Usually, an apology is enough.’ He shook his head and thrust his hands back into his pockets. But after a second, his mouth twisted into a thoughtful kind of pout that had a smile in it. ‘But this isn’t usual, is it? Okay then, I’ll trade you. An explanation for an explanation.’
Her heart thrummed. ‘An explanation about what?’
‘What happened’—he made quote marks with his fingers as he said the next words— “last time—more po-lice?’’
She couldn’t help laughing at his woeful interpretation of her mother’s accent. ‘Not bloody likely. Not going there. At all. Some things have got to stay private.’
‘Too bad.’ A shrug of lovely broad shoulders. ‘Then you can accept my apology without an explanation, and we’re both off the hook.’
‘I can see right through your games, but you’ve chosen the wrong person to play with.’ And was it hot in here? Ever since he’d stepped foot in her apartment, the temperature had skyrocketed. And did he need to push his sleeves up on his sweater so she could see his muscular arms and the tiny dark hairs that accentuated his many trips to European sunspots?
She leant across the table-cum-desk and pulled the rickety sash window open. Strains of music from the market billowed in along with a gentle spring breeze and the smell of Thai cooking. The whole of Portobello probably knew about the po-lice by now. Mrs Singh wasn’t just the sari shop owner; she was the human version of The London Evening Standard. Like it or not, Vaughn was a local business owner, so at some point Chloe’s goings-on would filter back to him, either at a small business network meeting or generally through the loudhailer dressed in a gold and red traditional Indian dress, chatting loudly to anyone who’d listen in the middle of Portobello Road.
Chloe turned to him, her heart thrilling as her gaze settled on his face. A dark rush of heat ran through her. ‘Okay, Vaughn, I’ll tell you my sordid story, if you tell me yours.’
The smile grew. ‘How old are you, Chloe Cassidy? Five? You go first.’
‘How old are you? Six?’
But he kept his mouth firmly shut and glared, looking as if he could comfortably stand there all night and not utter a single word. And she so wanted to know about his dark, sad past that there was nothing to do except talk. ‘Okaaaay. There was a date, and it went badly, but I was late home, and Mum called the police. Your turn.’
‘How badly?’ His fists were curled tight by his sides, and her breath hitched a little at his response. He was agitated because the date had gone badly? Maybe he was the rescuer type? Maybe that was why he’d broken Jason’s news to her at the altar, and why he was so helpful at the wedding? It was just his natural default.
But then she thought about his brooding eyes, standoff looks, the way he’d argued with Laura and his admission about not wanting complications. He wasn’t a rescuer. Far from it. He was a leaver. A loner. A heartbreaker, no doubt, too.
His heartbreaker eyes narrowed. ‘Did he hurt you? Drug you? Chloe, you can’t be too careful these days.’
‘No! No, it was nothing like that. Seriously. It was just, well…’ She thought about poor DrewsAmused—what a lot of nonsense over a harmless meeting—and laughed. ‘It was all just a little surreal. Now, don’t think you can get out of it that easily. It’s your turn, so spill,’ she urged.
Vaughn took a breath, eyes no longer glittering, now just a dull polished steel. ‘I had a relationship a few years ago, and it didn’t work out the way I hoped it would.’
That was it? That was all he was prepared to say? ‘I gathered all that last time you refused to speak about it. But that’s all the details you’re prepared to give?’
‘It’s around about the same number of syllables as you. And as opaque. Your choice, Chloe.’ The look he gave her was insistent and assertive, and she knew that for things to move forward in any way, she had to be honest with him.
She went in to the kitchen and called back, ‘Drink first?’
‘In the afternoon? Must be serious.’ He followed her, leaning against the doorframe as she opened and closed cupboards trying to find some long-lost booze.
‘If I have to spill my guts to you, then yes, I need a drink.’
‘Sure. If you like.’ His eyebrows rose as he watched her scoot down and search in the lower cupboards. And yes, they needed work. They were a chipped, scratched, cheap pine from another decade, and to a sophisticated kitchen person’s eye, like Vaughn’s, they must have seemed very twee. Or just plain bad taste. Certainly not in the food-porn league of his steel professional kitchen. Her kitchen needed work. Or rather, a bomb. Jason had been about to rip it out—no. No more Jason. His cousin grinned. ‘What do you have?’
‘Aha. I knew they were in there somewhere.’ Wishing she was offering him something grand, akin to his dream-inducing mouth-watering morsels, she pulled two sticky bottles out and presented them to him. Hardly food porn generating. Probably not even fit for consumption. ‘Crème de menthe or Jägermeister?’
‘Bleurgh.’ He looked as if he was about to throw up as he scanned the bottles and the sticky ooze down the sides. ‘No. But thank you, anyway.’
‘If I’m honest, they’re probably all well past their use by dates. I think I bought them for Jenna’s twenty-first, which was… five years ago? Yeah, I’m twenty-eight, and she’s two years younger. Yes, five years. Anyhoo, I’m not a regular drinker.’
His mouth contorted as if he’d swallowed acid. ‘So I gather. I should have brought wine. I’ll stick to tea. No? Coffee? No? Ah well, hit me with it—not the crème de menthe or the Jägermeister—the po-lice thing, or you won’t get the photos or my proposition.’
‘Bloody hell, you drive a hard bargain.’
‘So I’ve been told. It’s part of my charm.’ He looked at the frown on her face. Eyebrows rising more as he gave a kind of I give in shrug. ‘Or not. Talk.’
So she leant against her trusty ancient wood-effect melamine kitchen counter and told him about the Cassidy Curse and Jenna’s Love Plan, about TheBigCarlhuna and his guitar and
long, pale fingers and the coffee-stained goodbye note, and about DrewsAmused and the dog in the bag. Surprisingly, Vaughn managed to keep a reasonably straight face. Although she did omit to mention the blue smurf fluff escapade, because that was going just a little too deep into her personal life and he hadn’t earned anything like a preview into that territory as yet. Verbally or otherwise.
When she’d finished, he leant back and smothered a grin. ‘So, well. I was right—nothing is straightforward with you at all. But why would you go to all that trouble just for a wedding date?’
Her cheeks heated, because even though the humiliation was great enough when she talked about her dating failures, it was utterly complete with the explanation as to why. ‘Because for some dumb reason, I told you I was bringing a plus-one. It was on the hoof, and I dug a huge hole and promptly jumped right into it. But more, it was really because I wanted to prove to them that I was still someone. To you all.’
‘You are someone, Chloe Cassidy, and you’re worth a million more than them.’
Something bloomed fierce in the centre of her chest. He was very, very good for her ego. And yet still she didn’t tell him about Jason and his dating profile. ‘Now, your turn.’
Oddly, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a USB stick with the Vaughn’s restaurant logo. Then he wandered back through to the lounge, calling through, ‘Actually before I forget, here’s a stick with my photos. I was going to email them to you, but there’s quite a few of them, and they’re quite big files. I wasn’t sure if your internet connection would be up to big downloads. I thought you might want to have them all together.’
‘That’s kind, thank you.’ She popped the USB stick onto the coffee table and then folded her arms, waiting for him to talk about his past.
‘Grab your laptop and we can make a start choosing some good ones for the brochures. I’ve also added some samples of my flyers and the address of my guy who will do them on the cheap for you.’ He flicked his wrist out and checked the time. ‘I’ve got dinner starting soon, so I can’t stay long. How about we have a quick look?’
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