‘Oh, and then there was the time you decided you wanted to be an inventor,’ Oliver continued. ‘You built some contraption out of your granny’s egg whisk, rubber bands and a flashlight, claiming it was a robotic kitchen assistant so you didn’t have to wash up.’
Clemmie groaned, shaking her head. ‘It was supposed to be ageniusinvention, but it caught fire during the first test run.’
‘And nearly took the toaster with it,’ Oliver added, laughing.
‘All right, all right,’ Clemmie said, trying to regain some dignity. ‘What else have you got?’
‘Well,’ Oliver said, his voice softening slightly, ‘I know that the only thing you love more than baking is how it makes other people feel. I mean, I heard about that time you stayed up all night baking cakes for the entire village after Dr Sandford’s roof collapsed in that storm.’
Clemmie smiled, recalling the memory. ‘It was a hard time for the village. That storm caused so much devastation. It just felt like the right thing to do.’
Oliver tilted his head, watching her with a knowing look. ‘But I bet you still smiled at every single person who came into the café, didn’t you? Then,’ he continued, leaning forward slightly, his voice dropping, ‘there’s Paris.’
Clemmie’s breath caught, her fingers tightening slightly around her glass.
‘I’ll never forget how you looked that night,’ he said, his eyes distant as if the memory played vividly in his mind. ‘We were walking along the Seine, and you saw that little boutique. Yourface lit up like Christmas morning when you saw the dress in the window.’
‘It was stunning,’ Clemmie murmured, the memory washing over her. ‘Then you bought it for me and took me to the opera,’ she said, her cheeks flushed. ‘I’d never even been to one before.’
‘You looked like you belonged there,’ Oliver said softly. ‘You turned heads the moment we walked in. But you didn’t notice because you were too busy staring at the stage, completely enchanted.’
Clemmie bit her lip, smiling at the memory.
‘Actually…’ Oliver began, reaching into his pocket. He pulled out a small velvet box and placed it on the table between them.
Clemmie looked at it, her brows knitting in confusion. ‘What’s that?’
Oliver pushed it gently towards her. ‘Open it.’
Her fingers trembled slightly as she lifted the lid. Inside lay the most exquisite pair of earrings she’d ever seen, delicate drops of silver and sapphire, sparkling like tiny stars.
‘I bought these for you that night,’ Oliver said, his voice almost shy now. ‘I wanted to give them to you before the opera, but… if I remember rightly, we kind of got distracted… and then we were running late.’ He smiled. ‘But I kept them. All this time.’
Clemmie’s throat tightened as she stared at the earrings, her heart swelling. ‘You’ve kept these for the past three years?’
Oliver nodded. ‘I’ve never stopped thinking about that night or about you.’
For a moment, Clemmie was speechless. She gently ran her fingers over the earrings, her eyes glistening.
‘You’re full of surprises,’ she said softly, looking back up at him.
‘I could say the same about you,’ Oliver replied.
Clemmie smiled, slipping the earrings back into the box and clutching it close to her heart. ‘Thank you.’ Lifting her glassagain, she said, ‘To the big softie behind the tuxedo. May you always have someone who remembers the important things… like how much you love treacle tart and Percy’s love of cheese.’
Oliver clinked his glass with hers, the warmth in his gaze unmistakable. ‘Cheers to that.’
For a moment, they sat in comfortable silence, the world outside the Royal Yacht fading into irrelevance. Clemmie couldn’t help but think that, in this moment, everything felt exactly as it should, but there was the tiny niggle in the back of her mind.
‘The week we spent together in London…’ Oliver began, his voice soft but steady, his eyes locked on hers, ‘that was the happiest I’ve ever been. I didn’t have to pretend or put on a show. It was just us.’
The way he was looking at her, with so much sincerity, made Clemmie’s pulse quicken. But she couldn’t let herself get swept away, not yet. She forced herself to ask, ‘Then why didn’t you get in touch? If it meant so much to you?’
Oliver didn’t flinch, and didn’t look away. His gaze was unwavering, full of regret. ‘Because I thought it would be too difficult. Communicating with someone I couldn’t have… Our lives were on two completely different paths.’
Clemmie had told herself the same thing a hundred times since their time in London, but hearing him say it aloud only deepened the pain. She fiddled with the edge of her napkin, her thoughts spinning.
He had meant something to her…stillmeant something to her. She had buried it, ignored it, convinced herself it was a fleeting connection. But now, as she sat across from him, the truth was harder to deny.
