Page 66 of Always the Bridesmaid

Her sunglasses are now resting on her head, holding back strands of her hair, so I can see her quizzical look and it makes me smile.

‘Don’t act like I have any say in the tour schedule.’

I chuckle. ‘You’re right. Be ready for nine thirty, that’s an order. Then I’ve booked us tickets to a matinee performance in the West End and a table for dinner afterwards.’

She opens her mouth in, I think, happy shock. ‘That’s all on my list! Which show? And more importantly, how much do I owe you?’

Now I really need to book a show.

‘It’s a surprise and nothing.’

We reach her hotel and we’re standing on the pavement outside, facing each other, staring at each other, and I am blinded by an insatiable desire to kiss her.

I don’t know what to do but I know I need to leave. Now.

I thrust out my hand; I’ve no idea why. For her to shake?

She moves in to hug me or kiss me on the cheek, I’m not sure.

It all happens in the blink of an eye and I sort of poke her in the stomach and she lands a blow to my check with her hand.

Now we are hugging, kind of. Not quite shaking hands and hugging. Shugging.

Oh God, this is awful.

I leave, watching my feet as I go.

‘Night then!’ I call, not looking back and walking in entirely the wrong direction for my Tube station.

‘Nine thirty then?’ she calls in response.

‘Yep! Goodnight!’

I don’t hear anything else as I weave between two small groups of people and hope she can’t see me when I reflexively slap my palm to my forehead.

Total. Loser.

26

SARAH

The slightly confused ending to the day aside – I went in to kiss Charlie’s cheek; I think he, oddly, went to shake my hand – yesterday was a great day. We saw the city’s sights, I laughed so hard I was sore, and last night I passed out in bed, physically exhausted in the best way.

I woke just after 6a.m. and for the first time since arriving in England, I didn’t struggle to peel myself off the mattress. Both because I had the deepest, most peaceful slumber, and because I’m super excited for the day ahead.

I struggled to wait until 8a.m. for breakfast, trying to pace my morning, taking a mug of English breakfast tea in bed before washing my hair and taking time to dress. I drank more tea over breakfast – a pot, in fact – in place of my usual coffee, and I enjoyed a continental breakfast.

Now I’m walking slow circles around the hotel’s atrium, waiting for Charlie to come by. It’s nine twenty-nine and I’m eager to get on with our plans.

Precisely as my watch flips to nine thirty, Charlie walks through the entrance to the hotel. My heart leaps in my chest, as if his presence has startled me, despite my waiting for him for a quarter of an hour.

‘Hi!’ I almost sing, a little too cheery.

He gives me the biggest smile and holds up two take-out reusable coffee cups that say Monmouth Coffee on the front.

‘Good morning,’ he says. ‘This, I assure you, is the best coffee in the city. And the mug is a gift – we shouldn’t keep getting disposables.’

‘I agree,’ I tell him, tempering myself now. ‘Thank you for yet another gift.’

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