Page 48 of Second Chances at the Board Game Café

She ran her fingers along the top of the bath, fantasising about taking a dip in it. Imagining Harry playing with Max downstairs – might Harry be persuaded to play that train game that Sylvia always brought along? – whilst she lazed in the hot soapy water, soft music playing in the background, a row of candles along that windowsill. She shook her head. It was never going to happen.

‘It can’t happen,’ she said to her reflection in Harry’s bathroom mirror. ‘You know it can’t. You can’t foist any more change upon Max. You have to put him first.

‘And,’ she added as an afterthought, ‘you cannot fall in love with a man just because of his dreamy bathroom.’

Although, she realised, it wouldn’t be just because of the bathroom. The many reasons to fall in love with Harry were beginning to stack up.

Back downstairs, he was waiting for her in the dining room, with a notebook and – was that a pen tucked behind his ear?

She handed him the folder. It was full of receipts – both receipts for supplies she’d bought for the business and copies of receipts she’d given to customers – along with a few pages where she’d jotted down an accurate but somewhat untidy record of every transaction.

Harry cast his eye down the first sheet. ‘Oh, you made a set of curtains for Mr B.’

‘He was a good customer. I haven’t seen him since…’

Her voice trailed away. She met Harry’s eyes again, and smiled at the memory of Mr B hastily backing out of the shop, mumbling apologies in Polish.

He continued reading. ‘That is a lot of zips.’

‘Yep. You have no idea how tedious it gets. I want to make things, Harry. Design things.’

‘And you are. This fashion show is only the beginning.’

‘Maybe. Hopefully.’ She sighed. ‘Sometimes I think my dad was right. It was just pie-in-the-sky to dream of being a fashion designer.’

He took her hand. ‘You need to believe in yourself. Oh God, I’m beginning to sound like Kate.’

Taylor laughed. ‘It’s so hard to believe in yourself when someone close to you doesn’t.’

‘Your father should have supported you. If I’m ever lucky enough to be a dad,’ Harry said, ‘I shall encourage my child to do whatever he or she wants.’

This was the ideal moment. The perfect opportunity to tell him about Max. Taylor saw a sadness in his eyes that she’d never noticed before. She wanted to ask if he wanted children, but wasn’t quite sure if she should, and before she could decide, before she could find the right words, he cleared his throat, looked down at the page of figures in front of him and took the pen from behind his ear. ‘Now since you’re working from home, you can claim a portion of your utility bills against your tax.’

So practical, she thought. He was kind. Practical. Looked a bit like Patrick from the Sewing Bee.

She looked at his lips. Remembering how gentle they’d felt on hers. Wondering if he’d kiss her again this evening. And she decided that maybe she’d wait just a little while longer before she told him about Max.

25

Harry went into great detail about tax relief that Taylor could claim because she worked from home. So much so, in fact, that she’d begun to wonder if she mightn’t need to make her speech. Perhaps she’d misinterpreted. Perhaps he was no longer interested in her in a romantic way; if he were, he surely wouldn’t be banging on about form P87, and asking her if she had a vehicle that she used for work or any professional subscriptions, as she’d be able to claim for those.

Taylor’s head was a little woozy now from all the wine. She wondered if magazine subscriptions counted. If the Sewing Bee ever produced a monthly magazine, would that be tax deductible?

She wasn’t sure if she’d said that out loud, but Harry was now talking about the importance of keeping a record of all business-related expenses, and Taylor’s mind began to wander. She glanced around the room, thinking how beautiful it would be with just a few personal touches here and there. A couple of pictures. Different curtains. Some splashes of colour. It would be lovely to live in a place like this.

He must have noticed she was no longer listening to the accountancy spiel, as he said suddenly, ‘My home must seem very boring to your eyes. I don’t have any flair for interiors, I’m afraid.’

‘I like your home. What I’ve seen of it, anyway.’

‘Would you like to see some more of it?’ Harry said.

‘Yes, please. I’d love the guided tour.’ Taylor’s eyes met his and she held his gaze. She reached across the table and took his hand. ‘Shall we?’

‘You don’t want some more coffee?’

‘Afterwards.’

They got to their feet, and Taylor led Harry from the dining room, through the hallway and up the stairs. In her alcohol-induced haze, she wasn’t quite sure of her own motives. She was curious about Harry, and she did want to look round his house, but she also wanted to be held.