The Little Shop of Hopes and Dreams (Mills & Boon M&B)

by Fiona Harper

  He huffed out a laugh as he ran. Also ridiculous. Why on earth would he put off doing what he really wanted to do? Why would anyone?

  His feet hit the ground rhythmically and he concentrated on his breathing, keeping his shoulders loose and his form good. Okay, maybe it had been easier when he’d been further back in his career, when the hopes of becoming a well-respected landscape photographer were just a dim and distant dream. Back then, his dreams had always been dangling in front of him, calling to him, but still bright and shiny and totally out of reach.

  But they weren’t that far away any more, were they? If he wanted to he could stretch and see what he could do, if he could make it.

  Thud, thud, thud, his feet went.

  So, why aren’t you? said his head.

  He swallowed in an effort to quell the chilly feeling in his gut. Maybe because he knew what it was like to trust a dream, to trust the future, to believe it was all about to come true before having it ripped out from underneath him. Divorce tended to do that to a person. Anybody would think twice after something like that.

  Nicole goes after her dreams.

  Oh, shut up, he told himself. So what if she did? So what if, despite the mystery surrounding her, that at least was crystal clear. Bully for her.

  He picked up speed, legs and arms working harder. Okay, so maybe he was a little bit nervous. Everyone was when the thing they were passionate about hung in the balance. Maybe he was just a little bit worried of finding out that he only had the talent to be a small-time amateur landscape photographer and that another twenty or thirty years of weddings stretched into the future like a life sentence. If that was the case, all that confetti and cake nonsense wouldn’t be so much fun. It was easier to pretend he was doing it because he chose to, rather than because he had to.

  Okay.

  So maybe Nicole had a point. Maybe he should just do it. No matter what. That was the kind of guy he’d always thought he was anyway.

  As he ran he started to play his conversation with Tom back over in his mind. But Tom hadn’t mentioned work, had he? He’d been talking about Saffron.

  But no way was he playing it safe by being with Saffron. She was one seriously crazy chick, always coming up with some new hare-brained scheme she hadn’t thought through properly. Saffron was the complete opposite of safe.

  He shook his head and laughed softly as he eased off his pace a little. So much for Tom’s little lecture. The man obviously had no idea what he was talking about.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  ‘Nicole! What have you done?’ Peggy stood, mouth open, and stared at the wall opposite the shelves at Hopes & Dreams. Where there once had been an expanse of eyewatering fuchsia was now an oasis of fresh Caramel Latte paint.

  Nicole, dressed in a pair of her dad’s old overalls, with her hair in a messy ponytail and a paintbrush in her hand, turned to survey her handiwork. ‘It looks great, doesn’t it? Much more classy.’

  Peggy turned to look at the shelves. ‘And where have those funky little heart-shaped frames I got from IKEA gone?’ she demanded. ‘I only put them there last week!’

  Nicole stopped smiling. Peggy was making an awful lot of fuss over a bit of paint and a knick-knack or two. ‘I know I said we wouldn’t do anything drastic, but I decided the office could do with a little bit of an “edit”, just to get us started in the right direction. I just removed a few bits of clutter…More turns up every week, Peg, and it was getting a bit crowded. Now we can see the individual pieces more clearly again.’

  ‘That wasn’t what we agreed,’ Peggy said and let her cardigan slip off her shoulders. She caught it and hugged it to her, arms across her middle. ‘I specifically remember you saying something about there being no paintbrushes, not yet.’

  Nicole frowned. Yes, she supposed she had said that. Somehow she’d forgotten.

  ‘And do you know how long it took me to find exactly the right shade of hot pink? Why didn’t you talk to me about it first?’

  Nicole laid the brush down very carefully on the lid of the paint tin and stepped off the dust sheet she’d covered half of the office with. She frowned. ‘I don’t know. I just woke up this morning with an idea in my head and decided to run with it. I didn’t think it’d be such a big deal.’ She’d had a can of the same colour she’d used in the meeting room left over. Mia had said she shouldn’t spend more money, and she hadn’t.

  ‘You did it on an impulse?’ Peggy said slowly, looking at Nicole as if she’d just announced she was going to dance the lambada down Oxford Street, naked. ‘It’s not part of some big refurbishment plan you’ve forgotten to tell me about?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  Peggy turned and made her way swiftly to the kitchenette behind the office space. When she returned with two cups of coffee, she led Nicole to sit on the purple sofa, which had been pulled away from the wall and was now sitting slap bang in the middle of the room. Nicole sat as she was instructed, mainly because she realised she’d upset Peggy somehow, and compliance was probably the safest option at this point. ‘I know we said we’d wait until we had new offices,’ she explained in a calming voice, ‘but I really don’t think we can hang around.’

  Nicole took the mug gratefully. She’d got here at 5 a.m. and she was starting to realise just how thirsty—and hungry—she was after all that painting.

  She looked at Peggy. ‘You’re right. I should have waited and talked to you. I don’t know why I didn’t. But it’s done now, and we agreed we needed to have a makeover eventually.’

  Peggy didn’t look convinced. ‘I know that if our whole business goes that route we might need to change our image a little, but Saffron is only one customer, and the rest of our clients like us the way we are. We’re turning ourselves into blooming Squinty and Detest!’ She lobbed a coin from her purse in the general direction of the swear tin. ‘And I really do not want to model myself on those two—’

  ‘But we need to do this!’

  Peggy laid a hand on Nicole’s arm. ‘No, Nicole. I think you need to do this. And it’s more than just business planning gone mad, isn’t it? What on earth happened this weekend? I hardly saw you all Sunday, and when you came back from your parents’ you just sloped off saying you wanted a bath and an early night with a good book.’

  Nicole stared at her coffee mug. She hadn’t taken a sip yet. ‘I did want an early night with a good book.’ Anything to take her mind off what had been whirling round her head.

  ‘And I took you at your word, because other than that you seemed fine—no tracksuit bottoms, no high-school flicks…’ She leaned in and looked at Nicole. ‘What happened at that wedding? That’s what this is all about, isn’t it? Alex?’

  Nicole nodded. She had a horrible feeling it was, even though that had been the furthest thing from her mind when she’d picked up the paintbrush that morning.

  ‘I think you need to tell me,’ Peggy said softly.

  Nicole sighed. She looked at the wall. Suddenly it didn’t look so classy and wonderful any more. In fact, it looked a little bit…beige. Like the rest of her life had been until Alex Black had sauntered into it again and turned it upside down.

  Yes, she really did need to talk about it. To finally stop pretending this was all part of the master plan and admit what a screw-up she was. Before she did that, though, there was something else she needed to say.

  She turned to look at Peggy. ‘I’m really, really sorry about the wall. I honestly don’t know what came over me.’

  Peggy gave her a soft little smile. ‘Love makes idiots of us all.’

  Nicole’s first instinct was to bat that comment away, pretend it hadn’t hit the mark at all, to say it was nonsense to suggest she might be in love with Alex after only a few weeks. But when she looked deep into herself she found that wasn’t entirely true.

  She might not be head over heels in love with the guy—yet—but she’d been down that slippery slope once before and recognised the start of the uncontrollable slither down it
. She’d promised herself she wouldn’t do this again, wouldn’t fall helplessly and hopelessly for a guy who was so out of her league he might as well be on a different planet.

  ‘We’ll put the frames back…’ she mumbled.

  ‘Don’t worry. I’ll just take them home and find a place for them. I think you might have had a point about overdoing it.’ She stood up. ‘If we’re going to have a good old gossip session, we need breakfast.’ She glanced through the window to the little coffee shop over the way. ‘And don’t worry. It’s my treat. Give me three minutes…’

  With that she disappeared out the shop door and across the courtyard. When she returned the pair of them sat on the floor with their coffees and pastries and Nicole filled her in on everything that had happened over the weekend, including Alex’s startling confession.

  ‘What are you going to do?’ Peggy asked, when Nicole had finished.

  Nicole gave her a glum little smile that only just about lifted her mouth at the corners. ‘What can I do? I can’t do anything, can I? I certainly can’t tell Alex that his girlfriend has hired me to help her propose to him! And I can’t tell Saffron I’m smitten with the man she wants to marry. It’d kill the agency dead.’

  Peggy said nothing. It was such an unusual occurrence that Nicole was tempted to laugh. Instead she unfolded her legs and got up off the floor. ‘I’m just going to have to keep going.’

  ‘That’s the plan?’ Peggy said a little nervously, as she also rose and brushed her skirt down. Nicole could tell from her eyes that she wanted her to say yes. Strange. The amount Peggy moaned about Nicole’s plans, you’d think she didn’t like them.

  Nicole shook her head. ‘The plan’s shot to pieces. Having a plan suggests you have a choice in what’s about to happen and we just don’t.’

  ‘Actually, I shouldn’t have asked what you were going to do,’ Peggy said. ‘I should have said, “What are we going to do?” We’re in this together, you know.’

  Nicole smiled weakly at her friend. When she spoke she sounded a lot calmer than she actually was. ‘We’re just going to have to ride the roller coaster and look for an exit when the opportunity presents itself.’

  For the first time in almost five years she was outside the lines of the life she’d drawn for herself, and she didn’t like it one bit.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  Alex had always liked covering registry-office weddings, especially when they weren’t the kind with the full-on fairy-tale bridal treatment. There was something so refreshing about a couple with a few select friends and family members who rushed down to the local town hall and tied the knot—no fuss, no rigmarole.

  Carol and Mark were an older couple compared to some of the other brides and grooms he’d photographed. They were both in their forties, both had been married before with all the trimmings and, despite the fact they both had highly paid jobs in the City and could have afforded anything they wanted, they’d decided that all they wanted was a fun and informal day to mark the beginning of their new life together. His son was the best man and her daughter the bridesmaid, but there were no floor-length gowns or morning coats, and only the bride carried a bouquet.

  Carol wore a stylish red shift dress with matching jacket and a large wide-brimmed black hat, and Mark a well-cut suit. The witnesses had worn what they liked, although it was obvious they’d coordinated enough not to clash with each other too badly.

  ‘Ready?’ Alex yelled, looking at the display on the back of his camera as it perched on a tripod at the bottom of the steps at Chelsea Old Town Hall.

  The dozen or so guests surrounding the bride and groom all either nodded or yelled their answers, confetti clutched in their fists.

  ‘One, two, three—’

  Alex’s ‘go’ was cut off by a loud cheer from the confetti-throwers and a few passers-by who joined in for the heck of it. Little bits of coloured paper spiralled into the air and floated down again. He kept his finger on the button and just kept snapping, catching each moment like the frames of a motion picture. Some would be terrible. A few would be good. One might even be perfect.

  As the last of the multicoloured cloud rained down past the bride and groom, Mark picked Carol up and spun her round.

  Alex knew he’d just got his shot.

  He turned to grin at his assistant, share the moment with her…

  And realised she wasn’t there.

  He shook his head and got on with his job. Weird. He’d been doing weddings for eight years now, and Nicole had only done two with him. How was it possible for him to miss her, to feel that there was a hole next to him that ought not be there?

  He sighed as he rummaged in his bag to change the lens.

  And how was there a hole in the rest of his life too? In his workshop-cum-office, in his flat, when she’d never even set foot in those places? He felt as if he’d undergone a seismic shift, and the life that had seemed exciting and fulfilling last week now seemed drab and pointless.

  He must be coming down with something.

  That was it. It had to be it. Because he didn’t want to let it be anything else. He didn’t want to feel this gnawing sense of loss, of the warm tingle in his chest when he thought about her. And not just because he couldn’t have her. He should be grateful things had ended, that he was going out with a no-nonsense woman like Saffron.

  The shots outside the Town Hall were done now, and Alex gathered up his pared-down kit and followed the wedding party to the kerb, where they all hailed taxis and bundled into them so they could travel to the reception venue. He rode with Mark and Carol, sitting on one of the flap-down seats facing backwards and snapping away at them as they held each other’s hands and stared into each other’s eyes on the back seat, oblivious to his presence.

  Those were going to be great shots, with the happy couple sharply in focus and the blur of the London scenery out the back window of the taxi behind them. Shots full of life and movement and colour. Shots where the love they clearly felt for each other was almost a tangible thing.

  He leaped out of the taxi ahead of them when they got to Kensington High Street. The reception was to be in the Roof Gardens, an exclusive little venue perched on top of an old department store. Above the honking, noisy traffic and busy pre-Christmas shoppers was an oasis of calm. The wedding party had hired out one of the function rooms and the Spanish Garden for their guests to stroll in in the winter sunshine—an amazing space. It was hard to believe it sat hidden amongst the London skyline, with its palm trees and fountains and terracotta-tiled covered walkway.

  He was just catching Mark helping Carol out of the taxi, when something in his peripheral vision caused him to lift his head. A flash of honey-coloured hair and a pair of big sunglasses.

  At first he thought it was Saffron, but that couldn’t be, because she’d told him she was meeting her father for lunch on the other side of London. Besides, this part of the city was almost entirely populated with girls like her, with their giant handbags and five-inch heels.

  He started to turn away, but then the girl spun around and waved at the taxi driver who’d just put his ‘for hire’ sign on again as Carol and Mark had exited his cab. Alex took his camera down from his face and stared.

  It was her.

  In a different part of the city from where she was supposed to be, not with the person she was supposed to be with. All the little things that hadn’t been adding up, all the holes in Saffron’s timetable, the faraway stares out the window, the vague answers to innocent questions, all rolled themselves into one unavoidable truth.

  Up until now it had just been suspicion. His paranoia, he’d told himself. After Vanessa had pulled the wool over his eyes so completely he’d always been a little bit that way with women. People thought he was an easy-going sort, who didn’t care about anything, and he let them. Mainly because it was a good disguise and much better than being thought a pathetic sap.

  He shook his head as the taxi did a U-turn in the middle of Kensington High Street, pr
ompting not a few horns to blare and hand gestures from other motorists, and picked his lying girlfriend up from the other side of the street. As usual, she was so lost in her own little world that she didn’t even spot him, even though he was only thirty feet away.

  He watched the cab disappear into the traffic, until it met and blended with four or five other taxis and he couldn’t tell which was which. Then he turned and went into the building in front of him.

  It wasn’t possible, was it? But what else could he think?

  There was only one explanation that came to mind. And that was that his transparent, what-you-see-is-what-you-get girlfriend was cheating on him.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  Nicole walked briskly along Piccadilly. She was due to meet Saffron at The Ritz in ten minutes to view their function rooms. She hadn’t even caught sight of the hotel, when someone grabbed her from behind and hustled her through a wrought-iron gateway and into the little courtyard outside St James’s church. She was about to scream until she turned and saw Saffron standing there, looking more than a little spooked. She looked furtively around before dragging Nicole away from the gate and into the little craft and souvenir market that occupied the courtyard most days of the week.

  ‘What’s going on?’ Nicole asked, rubbing her arm where Saffron had grabbed her.

  Saffron pretended to be perusing a stall of handmade felt…somethings. ‘I just saw my best friend Sara walking out of Fortnum’s, so I had to duck out of the way. This was the safest place I could think of.’

  Nicole looked around. Saffron was right. She couldn’t imagine any of her client’s friends wanting to browse the odd mixture of second-hand jewellery, odd craft objects and ‘I heart London’ T-shirts. ‘What’s wrong with being seen down Piccadilly on a Thursday lunchtime?’ she asked Saffron.

  ‘Nothing. But I told Alex—and Sara—that I was meeting my father for lunch in St John’s Wood. I don’t want to make her suspicious.’

  Nicole’s eyebrows rose. ‘You haven’t told her about the proposal?’