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CHAPTER 1

FRANKIE

The knife tinkling gently against the champagne flute eventually cut through the hum of chatter in the function suite, and an expectant hush descended on the wedding guests as the groom took to his feet.

Pink-faced and grinning, he managed to say, ‘On behalf of my wife and I…’ before a rowdy cheer erupted, drowning out his next words. Once everyone had calmed down the groom continued.

Frankie sat back in her chair, delighted to be part of the happy occasion with such lovely newlyweds. As she listened to the heartfelt words she tried to ignore the tightness of her dress around her middle. It turned out the midnight-blue silk fabric was quite unforgiving after countless vol-au-vents, a three-course meal then petit fours, alongside the many glasses of wine, courtesy of the free bar the bride and groom, Helen and Colin, had put on.

‘…and although we only lived half a mile away from each other, in the middle of the countryside, we’d never met!’ Colin said. ‘That was until our very wonderful dog walker realised that if our dogs were in love with each other, it was high time she introduced their sad and lonely owners!’ Colin paused as a laugh rippled around the room. Frankie craned her neck to look at the patch of floor in front of the top table where the dogs in question lay curled up together in a tangle of paws, completely unfussed with proceedings now the food had been cleared away.

‘So,’ continued Colin, ‘if any of you dog owners are looking for an absolutely brilliant dog walker and dog boarder, I can heartily recommend Francesca Bartoli-Barr. And you never know, she might work her magic in the romance stakes for you too! Come on, stand up, Frankie, take a bow! Hope you brought your business cards with you.’ He applauded in her direction as eighty wedding guests all turned to look at her. Frankie stood, feeling her face heat up and no doubt turning the same shade of fuchsia as the corsage on her shoulder.

After a few seconds of unexpected limelight, Frankie quickly sat back down, wincing slightly as her dress strained across her bottom.

A woman at the table behind Frankie tapped her on the shoulder. ‘Have you got your business cards with you?’ she whispered.

‘No, sorry.’ Frankie had never even thought to bring business cards to a wedding.

‘Would you mind writing your number on this?’ The woman slid a piece of paper toward Frankie.

Frankie quickly scribbled down her contact details then sat back to listen to the rest of the speeches.

* * *

The dancing after the meal was a split between a traditional Scottish ceilidh and a disco. Most of Helen’s family had never heard of a Dashing White Sergeant or knew where to start with a Gay Gordons, despite the band’s patient explanations of the steps, and it ended up a free-for-all of windmilling arms, flailing footwork and a lot of careering into each other amidst much hilarity. Frankie chose to sit the dances out, ducking up to the bar whenever she saw someone with rhythmic intentions heading her way. She normally loved ceilidh dancing, just not when wearing a too-tight dress and the impractical skyscraper heels she’d borrowed from her sister, which had now been kicked off under the table.

Frankie ordered a gin and tonic at the bar, and then she was aware of someone standing next to her. She could see in the mirror facing her, between the vodka optics, that it was the man who’d been sitting a few seats away at the meal, one of the two tables made up of late-twenties and early-thirties singletons. They’d caught each other’s eyes a couple of times throughout the meal and although Frankie was in no way looking for a hook-up, she wasn’t blind to the fact he was rather good-looking.

She turned to say something light and small-talkish and was momentarily tongue-tied when she realised he was even more appealing up close. He had classic looks of dark hair and dark eyes, and a good tan. His nose had clearly been broken at one point and, healing with a slight kink, gave his face great character. A neat beard made him look rather like a romantic hero from a period costume drama.

As Frankie took in his appearance, he smiled.

‘I believe it’s your matchmaking skills we have to thank for tonight?’

Frankie gave a slight chuckle. ‘I just pointed them in the right direction and they did the rest themselves.’

‘I’ve been friends with Colin for years, we used to work together when we started out in TV production, and I’d have put money on him being single forever! You must have worked some kind of magic.’

‘Not quite magic. I walked both their dogs and they got on brilliantly together and you know what they say about dogs being like their owners… I knew Helen had recently moved here from Yorkshire and was quite lonely, working long hours, and Colin did too…’

‘Why else need a dog walker?’ he agreed, leaning companionably against the bar beside her, his dark-brown eyes locking on hers.

‘Exactly! So, I set them up on a date together. And the rest was all down to them.’

‘Well, I’m very glad you got the ball rolling,’ the man said as the barman came over with Frankie’s drink, placing it in front of her. He then looked expectantly at Frankie’s companion, but the wedding guest shook his head and the barman went off to serve someone else.

‘Are you not having anything? Traditionally, standing by the bar normally indicates you want a drink?’ Frankie said, slightly bemused.

‘Or if you want to talk to the person at the bar who is getting a drink. I was going to ask you to dance but noticed you’d been doing a great job of evading everyone’s advances so I thought I’d try a different approach. To be honest, I’m actually quite relieved. As a Londoner with no previous experience, the thought of ceilidh dancing fills me with a stomach-churning dread and you’d see instantly I have no clue what to do and I’d ruin any chances of getting your number!’

‘I have been giving out my number a lot tonight.’

‘Really?’

‘There are a lot of people in need of a dog walker.’

‘I’m delighted that’s the only reason.’