Lando dips into his waistcoat pocket and brings out some coins. ‘Let’s get two trolleys in case we want to put different things in, or have one each.’
That hardly shouts togetherness, but I’m past criticising.
As Lando pushes me a trolley then grabs his own, Tia calls again. ‘Hold it there! You look super-cute! Then give me a twirl or two across the car park, and I’ll have you side by side, pushing your way into the store.’
Lando pauses to look at me as we go through the automatic doors. ‘It might be good to laugh here.’
There’s a hot tub display I’m very tempted to push him into, but I remind myself to stay professional. ‘Thank you, Ridley Scott, if you tell me a joke, I’ll happily split my sides.’
He leans in much too close and murmurs in my ear, ‘There’s the one about the guy who booked to view the house for sale in need of TLC when he didn’t have the first idea?’
This is the first mention of it since we were at his place, and he’s obviously got the wrong impression.
‘Who said TLC?’
Lando thinks. ‘Possibly your mum.’
I finally let out a laugh. ‘That’s a wild underestimate.’
He pulls a face then glances around at the expanse ofwarehouseand his eyes light up. ‘This looks interesting! What exactly do they sell here?’
I pull to a halt by the parasols and sun loungers. ‘You really don’t know, do you? If it wasn’t so tragic, it might be funny.’ Another glance at his bemused expression and it hits me. ‘B&Q is a budget DIY and home store, which you won’t ever have had need for because you have unlimited funds and use contractors for all your maintenance.’ I stare at him. ‘I’m right, aren’t I?’
He blows out his cheeks. ‘I wouldn’t put it quite like that, Maevey. But I am a B&Q virgin.’
‘In that case, Lando, let me show you the delights of the paint-mixing centre. Where you have interior designers, we choose our colours here.’ I pull out a Laura Ashley brochure, unfold it and he stands at my elbow and looks down at some tastefully muted squares I assume he’ll be at home with.
I laugh up at him. ‘You have no idea of the fun you’re missing out on not doing your own decorating.’
Lando stares at me. ‘And you do?’
I shrug. ‘Of course! Although my colour choices are way more out-there than these.’
He purses his lips. ‘Can you expand on that?’
I grin at him. ‘Recently Carmine for the girls’ rooms, and Midnight Black for the boys.’
He winces, then he gives a low laugh. ‘Maevey Waves, forever wild at heart, but I wouldn’t have it any other way.’
I ignore that my tummy is doing somersaults, and get back to basics. ‘I’ve always loved a make-over. Mum tackles jobs like tiling and I’m in charge of paint rollers. How else do you think I got my love of overalls and boiler suits?’
He gives another low laugh. ‘I definitely remember your teenage flying suits, the painting not so much.’
The charcoal grey suit Oliver has picked out to go with my dress echoes the darkness of Lando’s eyes, and as I take in the stubble shadows on his jaw a shudder runs down my spine.
I remind myself never to look at his chin again, and to be doubly sure, I picture him standing in his suit beside this same dress I’m in, but this time I make myself imagine it’s being worn by a bride who isn’t me. The pony kick that hits me in my stomach is unexpected and very misplaced, but at least it serves as a warning to get a check on my emotions before they career any further out of control.
I’ve no idea why coming into a home shop has thrown me so far off the rails, but I’ve got to get a hold of myself and fast.
Realistically, Lando looks well out of place in here in his wedding clothes, but he wouldn’t look any better in his jeans; he’s just got an edge that sets him apart from the rest of theshoppers. I already know that me shopping for homeware with him would result in the same kind of disastrous mismatch we have in every other area of our lives, so I have no idea why I’m trying it out for size in my head.
Lando frowns down at the colours. ‘Four different sea sprays on the same chart and none of them anything like the sea?’ He leans in closer. ‘I may have Soft Sea Spray in the bathroom at Smugglers End.’
If he told me that Queen Camilla had Dusky Blush in her visitor’s cloakroom at Windsor Castle, it wouldn’t sound any more incongruous or unlikely.
I give a cough. ‘That could be a white, Lando.’
His voice rises in surprise. ‘There’s more than one?’ Then it falls again and he nudges my elbow with his. ‘As you’re the colour expert, I’ll take your word on that.’
