“Yes, I can concur with that,” Sebastian broke in, buttering a bread roll. “When my favourite woollen vest was put through a cottons cycle and shrank—”
“Dios mío, otra vez el chaleco.” Luis groaned. “You never let me forget that vest.”
“It was Pierre Cardin,” Sebastian shot Luis a sharp look. “And you washed it with your cotton slacks like it wasTK Maxx.”
“I like TK Maxx—” Ari broke in, and Tom’s eyes shot to her once more. Her tone was placatory, almost calming, and it occurred to him that she must have been playing peacemaker between these mismatched men for years.
She was always fixing things, Tom realised. Cars, engines, her art, her brother’s marriage. She’d even tried to fix him, once upon a time, although neither of them had realised it. Tom swallowed as he looked at her, an ache building within him. It was his turn to fix things now, he decided. His turn to make things better.
“Everyone likes TK Maxx for their cut-price candles, but that’s not my point,” Sebastian interrupted. “I sobbed over that ruined vest for weeks.”
“He’s not lying,” Luis said ruefully.
“I couldn’t eat for days afterwards.”
“Let me get this straight,” Marnie sat up. “You were heartbroken over... a vest?”
“APierre Cardinvest,” Sebastian corrected her. “I don’t think you quite understand what that means.”
“No, I have no idea. But surely you can’t compare the loss of a fiancée to a vest?”
“Loss of a fiancée?” Sebastian scoffed. “She walked out, she’s not dead. Unlike my vest, which is never coming back.”
Tom shook his head, standing taller. “Speaking of walking out, I’m going. I need some air.”
“I’ll come with you,” a small voice offered, and Tom jolted with surprise. He looked across the table to find Ari finally looking at him, her face uncertain, chewing on her lip with nerves.
“Yeah, sure,” he answered. And, damn it, there was a wobble to his own voice he hadn’t intended. He was giving away his own nerves.
There was quiet in the room as Marnie, Sebastian, Luis, Stella and Corentin watched Ari stand and walk across the room. The silence was awkward and thick, and Tom suddenly found himself wishing Sebastian would start talking about vests again.
“Right, so, um, we’re going to, uh...” he spluttered into the quiet.
“Of course,” Marnie replied smoothly, and Tom could see that she was trying to hide her delight.
“It’s a lovely evening for a walk,” Corentin added, and Tom watched as Stella turned to him with a soft smile.
“Why, aren’t you just a romantic,” she gushed.
At that, Tom turned away.
“Come on,” he said to Ari softly, “let’s get out of here.”
“Okay.” She nodded. “Okay.”
* * *
The ground was wet beneath her feet, the forest floor sodden and sticky with mud and fallen leaves. An earthy smell of damp was in the air, moist and rich with decay. It was a clear evening, a pink and orange sky breaking through clouds the colour of slate,and Ari looked up through the overhanging canopy of leaves to look at the light. Leaning back against an old birch tree, Ari took a deep breath, trying to gather her thoughts.
Tom leaned against another tree, and she could feel his eyes upon her, heavy and intense. She’d forgotten how intense his gaze could be — forgotten how one look from him could render her legs to jelly and make her heart beat hard within her chest. She’d forgotten so much... all the while forgetting absolutely nothing at all.
“It would have been a nice venue,” she offered quietly, breaking the silence of the forest around them.
“For the wedding?” Tom asked, looking around. “Yeah, maybe. A good venue, but it wouldn’t have been a good wedding.”
“I’m good at my job,” Ari stated. “I would’ve made this work.”
Tom nodded, looking back at her with those intent eyes. “You would. But I wouldn’t — not with the wrong bride.”
