Page 72

“It might even rival Matt’s beater over there,” Graham teased, motioning to the rusted, red Mini Cooper. “I can’t believe you still have that.”

“Of course I do,” Matthew defended. “She’s worth more than your pipes.”

The Scotsman snorted in disbelief. “You mad bampot.”

A long, low whistle sounded from Finn behind them. “Who’s drivin’ that?” he asked.

All eyes shifted to the Aston Martin in the drive. Matthew hesitated. “That would be the…consultant’s.”

Looks of understanding passed between the lads and Matthew. “Ah, ’course,” Finn said. “And do we get to meet this infamous consultant today?”

Matthew scoffed. “Absolutely not. Nor will you be meeting her ever.”

After he had spoken with Winnie’s family on the video chat, she’d avoided him. After Matthew had spoken with her in the stables, she’d full-on ignored him. It was just as well. He was ignoring her, too. It seemed that they both wanted to pretend that their conversation hadn’t occurred—the conversation where they’d behaved more as friends than standoffish colleagues. Who knew what sort of trouble his real friends would concoct if they did meet her.

“Oh, come on,” Graham protested. “You’re really going to deprive us of the pleasure of seeing her for ourselves after all we’ve heard about her?”

That was even more of a reason to keep his friends and Winnie separated. Matthew may or may not have exaggerated certain aspects about the woman to his mates.

For example, she wasn’t the worst human being he’d ever had the displeasure of knowing. At least, not anymore.

“That’s exactly what I’m going to do,” Matthew said. “I’ve mapped out our whole weekend, so I’m afraid we haven’t the time.”

“So now we don’t get to see her or her festival?” Finn asked.

“Precisely,” Matthew returned.

Before, he’d been relieved that his friends weren’t going to be seeing his failure-of-a-festival. Now, he was just glad they wouldn’t be there either for Winnie’s faire. He’d never be able to live it down if her event actually turned out better than his—which was a fear he was praying wouldn’t be realized.

“What if I promise you can drive the Tesla before we leave?” Cedric asked, attempting to sweeten the deal. “Then can we meet her?”

“Not a chance,” Matthew said.

He led the way forward to where the ever-vigilant Mr. Fernsby waited for them by the front door of Foxwood.

Despite their pressing to meet Winnie, Matthew had a good feeling about this weekend. Time with his friends he hadn’t seen in months, a charity run to participate in, a break from the festival—and most importantly, time away from Winnie.

It was going to be great.

So long as he kept his mates away from the consultant, that is.

Matthew leaned back against the cushion in the booth of the White Hart, listening to the chatter of the pub around him and his mates. The charity run had come and gone that morning, the weekend having flown by, and now the four of them were enjoying their final night together, banter and laughter abounding.

“I didn’t lose,” Matthew defended. “There were three others behind me.”

“Mate, they were in their eighties,” Finn said, shaking his head. “That means you lose by default.”

Matthew shook his head, even though he agreed with him. He’d raced abysmally that morning. But what else was to be expected when he hadn’t trained a lick in the last couple of weeks?

Fortunately, he didn’t care about winning or losing in that moment. What he did care about was eating. White Hart overflowed that night with customers—as was the norm for the pub on a Saturday evening, being one of the best in Grassington—and the waiter had yet to come to their table. While Matthew tried to remain patient, his growling stomach had other plans.

With his friends still in conversation about the charity run, Matthew glanced around for any sign of a worker, hoping to ask for a time estimate so he could prepare himself for the wait.

He looked past the pub’s old stone walls, wooden support beams, and amateur paintings of Yorkshire landscapes before spotting a waiter at the bar, chatting with a few other customers. Matthew was about to raise his hand to get his attention, but he paused when he caught sight of the woman the waiter stood beside.

Her back was toward Matthew, her dark hair in a top bun, and a silk shirt was draped gracefully across her slender shoulders.

His heart stuttered. Winnie. He hadn’t seen her in three days—thanks to his very calculated actions—though in some ways, it felt like weeks had passed by.