Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 80612 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 403(@200wpm)___ 322(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80612 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 403(@200wpm)___ 322(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
A knock at my door pulled me back out of my own head. I needed to think less. And I needed to call Kelly. I’d not seen her for a few weeks. I’d been busy and . . . I’d just not had the urge to call her.
I swung open the door to find a grinning Hartford. I’d not heard the lift.
“Do you have cake for our debrief?” she asked, grinning at me.
God, she was pretty.
“Is that what we’re doing? Debriefing? Now?”
“Of course we’re debriefing.”
That’s what I liked about Hartford. Most other women would apologize for bothering me or ask me if it was okay to stop by this late. She was unapologetically in my life, and it was refreshing.
I made two espressos and slid one across the counter. “I did cookies and cream,” I said, pulling out the cake box that had been delivered earlier.
A smile unfurled on her face, and I tried to dismiss the feeling of being slightly proud I’d brought her joy. “From Dragonfly bakery? Are you kidding? I’ve heard about this place. It’s meant to be the best in London. Did you get these for me?”
“Yes, but I’ll warn you now—I have an ulterior motive.” I knew she’d love this cake. It looked like a heart attack on a plate but I’d been assured it was the best you could get. “I have some questions I want to ask you in a professional capacity, in exchange for the cake.”
“No problem. God, it looks amazing. And look—chocolate sprinkles. And what is—holy buttercream. Are those sugared violets?” She picked up one of the purple stone-like decorations and popped it in her mouth. “Oh dear sweet sponge, I’ve not had one of these in so long.”
She looked so happy. All at once, it struck me that it might have been her date with Tom that had put her in a good mood.
“I might have to eat this entire thing,” she said, gazing lovingly at the cake. “It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.” She looked up at me and her pale blue eyes drew me in like a Tahitian pool straight out of Conde Nast Traveler. Yup, I definitely needed to call Kelly.
She picked up the knife and plunged into the sponge.
I watched as she carefully portioned out two slices and helped herself to dessert plates and forks. “Here.” She slid a plate to me. “If you treat Mavis like this, you’re going to have her proposing before the evening’s out.”
I watched as she slid a forkful of cake into her mouth and stilled, closing her eyes as if she was blocking out the world so she could focus on savoring the flavors.
And then my brain caught up to what she’d said.
“Mavis? Who’s Mavis?” I rounded the island and took a seat next to her. Our stools were turned at an angle so we were almost facing each other.
She opened one eye and then the other. “Your date on Sunday night.”
“You set me up with a woman called Mavis?”
“Joshua, did anyone tell you not to judge a book by its cover or a woman by her name? I was named after a town in Connecticut where my parents banged. I mean, if people judged me by my name—” Her sentence was interrupted by a second forkful of cake.
I wasn’t bothered about Mavis. It didn’t matter who she was, it was just two hours. I was pretty sure I could get through one hundred and twenty minutes with just about anyone. I was more interested in Hartford. And her date with Tom. And of course, the Merdon pitch.
“So, how was Tom?”
She leaned her head to one side. And then the other. “Okay.”
That was it? She’d been nearly an hour past our agreed time limit. Surely that meant it had been a great date? What didn’t she want to tell me? “What does okay mean?”
“Just that he was nice enough. No urge to rip his clothes off, but it was a nice way to spend an evening.”
I tried to push away the memory of her hand on my chest just before we kissed. Had she wanted to rip off my clothes? “But you were late.”
“I was talking to the guy behind the bar. He was telling me about a food bank around the corner. I think I’ll stop by this week.”
“You’re going to a food bank?” First the dreadful flat in Borehamwood, now Hartford was visiting food banks? Did she have a crack habit I wasn’t aware of?
“Yeah, I might volunteer. All in the name of expanding my horizons and impressing my boss. I figure volunteering is a halfway point between spending days at the spa and spending time at the hospital.”
I was beginning to realize that Hartford liked to be busy. But she took it to the extreme. “I suppose it is.”