‘So you can’t deny he’s actually quite good looking – he’s giving off sexy gentleman vibes. And he does have a great smile, when he’s not being all brooding. And let’s face it, babe, you’re not getting any younger.’
‘Sod off, I’m only twenty-six.’ The indignancy was tempered with a lopsided grin. ‘Great friend you’re turning out to be.’
‘Yeah. Well. Question still stands. How do you feel about him?’
Fran paused. ‘I don’t think it matters, not really. The trouble is, he’s not in any place in his life to be looking for anyone. And I’m not sure I am, either.’
‘There’s never a good time, though, is there?’ Penny frowned at the unresolved nature of her feelings for Harry. ‘I mean, who knew I was going to fall for the sous-chef only to discover he’s got a whole other life on the go.’
‘What do you mean?’
Her frown deepened. ‘It’s complicated, but what’s become apparent is that Harry and I are on very different paths and yet, somehow, I can’t stop myself from falling in love with him. Now it’s your turn. Ignore all the crap and be honest. How do you really feel about Johnny?’
Fran sighed, bit at the edge of her bottom lip, but didn’t reply. Instead, she folded her arms, an action firm in its resolution, and it seemed that particular line of conversation was finished. Penny decided to quit before she managed to muddy the waters of their tentative friendship all over again.
Thankfully, Johnny chose that moment to reappear, a cup of coffee in one hand. Penny waved him over.
‘Your turn,’ she called to him, then turned to Fran. ‘I’ll give you two some time together. I’m not very good at apologies, Fran. And tact isn’t my most impressive quality.’
‘No shit, Sherlock,’ Fran said.
‘But I am so glad we had this chat. I know I didn’t handle the situation well and I’m glad you could forgive me.’
Fran nodded, then winced at the movement. ‘You aren’t solely to blame. Penny, I’m so sorry I misled you. I didn’t mean any harm, but it all snowballed.’
‘In this weather?’ Penny fanned at her face as she stood. ‘NowthatI’d like to see.’
Fran was giggling as Penny crossed paths and grinned at Johnny, telling him she’d be outside, getting some fresh air.
Fran waited for Johnny to settle himself on the chair recently vacated by Penny, the levity sliding from her face as he did so. That conversation with Penny had gone better than Fran might have imagined, but the butterflies were circling her solar plexus again.
‘Did they put the fire out?’ Starting with chit-chat was as good a place as any, she supposed, but she stopped short of mentioningles pompiers. Somehow, the expression on Johnny’s face carried too much weight for flippancy.
‘The emergency services drafted in the local farmers, apparently, got them to plough wide strips all around the fire at a safe distance, to let it burn out.’
‘But what about their crops?’
Johnny shook his head, he looked genuinely saddened. ‘Some of those vines are hundreds of years old, it will take them decades to recover.’
‘The chef was talking about pyromaniacs the other day. Do they know how it started?’
‘Don’t think so. But if those vine growers find out somebody set that fire on purpose, I wouldn’t want to be in their hot little shoes if they ever locate them.’
‘No. I suppose not. Pitchforks at dawn.’
‘Something like that.’
The conversation lulled, and Fran rested against the pillow as Johnny sipped at his coffee. There was so much to be said, almost too much to know where to begin. The companiable – or was it awkward? – silence was interrupted by the chirruping of Fran’s mobile as it lit up on the side cabinet, long forgotten about with everything going on. Johnny reached for it, briefly glancing down at the caller ID before handing it to her.
‘It’s Bill Wilding … Sorry, I mean your father …’
Fran wasn’t particularly surprised to see the number was her father’s private line – it was his third call in as many hours.
She clicked answer before putting the phone to her ear. ‘Hi there.’ The fact she struggled to know how to address him still, that in the end she’d opted out entirely, was embarrassing. Heat rose in her cheeks.
‘How are you doing?’
‘I’m OK. They’ve decided they’re going to let me out in the morning.’
