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Alice turns to face me while still making her way up the stairs. “Then how do you know you don’t like it?”

“Because it looks disgusting, therefore it’ll be disgusting. All those bits mixed into a paste. No thank you.”

I’m sure I hear Alice laugh, but I’m too unsettled by the hummus to ask her what’s so funny.

We reach the top of the stairwell, and it’s time to return to reality, but I’m not sure if I want to let her go just yet.

“Well, thank you, Owen. This has been enlightening.” Alice smiles.

“Is that a lie?” I ask.

“Absolutely not. I’ve discovered the secret garden. You like navy blue, and you don’t mix your salad. We’ve made a good start with our fake relationship.”

“I guess we have,” I reply, holding the door open for her.

And what have I learned? That Alice hides herself away behind what she thinks people expect her to be, and she doesn’t truly know who she is at all.

I’m seriously unsure why she would do this, as she’s always struck me as such a beautiful soul. I’m not usually wrong about judging people’s characters and can normally get a handle on a person from the first meeting.

That old saying pops into my head that you should never judge a book by its cover.

I wonder what else I’m going to learn about Alice Sutton over the next few weeks—and whether my feelings for her will bloom much like the plants in the garden.

10

Alice

Leaning on the reception desk, I clock the time and wonder how one hour can feel like ten. Taylor eyes me from behind the desk, her thick-rimmed glasses making her eyes appear larger than they are.

“Don’t let Jamal catch you hanging around my desk again,” she says.

“He’s busy dealing with a complaint,” I tell her.

“Why do people always come in to complain an hour before we close?”

“They do it on purpose. Besides, I have to talk to you.”

Taylor puts down the papers she was artfully shuffling and braces herself for whatever bombshell I’m about to drop, because when do I ever speak to anyone without some kind of drama attached?

I’d taken great delight in calling Lori last night to inform her that Owen had actually agreed to my harebrained scheme. She then spent the next hour convincing me that Owen must have a screw loose or he’s some kind of weirdo.

After the call, I realised I needed to talk to someone who knows Owen and can put the whole thing in context.

Which is why I’m now leaning on Taylor’s desk, trying to look like I’m discussing the rota with her or something equally work-related.

I fill her in on my latest Alice escapade, bringing her up to speed with my fake relationship with Owen, the upcoming wedding, and the fact that she absolutely cannot tell anyone.

“We’re talking about Owen, as in kitchen designer Owen, who has worked here for the last year and hasn’t said more than four words to anyone?” Taylor confirms, peering over the rim of her glasses like a schoolteacher.

“Yes.”

“And he agreed to help you out, just like that?” She waves her hand as if she’s casting a spell.

“Yes. We had lunch yesterday—” I’m about to tell her about the secret garden, but I stop myself just in time. I don’t think Owen would be happy if I started blabbing about his courtyard.

Taylor removes her glasses and blinks. “I don’t know what I’m more surprised about: the fact that he’s agreed to fake-date you, that he’s going to a wedding with you, or that he had lunch with you. I’ve never seen him in the staffroom, let alone eat anything.”

I’m about to describe his lunch to her in great detail, but again, I find myself holding back. He probably wouldn’t want people to know about his strange lunch or how he likes to eat his food.