In all honesty, I hadn’t yet come up with anything to say, and it was keeping me up at night. My faith in love wasn’t exactly at an all-time high.
‘Well, I can’t think of two people more perfect for the job.’ Maeve poured a mountain of Parmesan on her food. She’d been known to make waitresses sweat in restaurants, holding out until the last minute to say stop as they continued to grate cheese on her food. ‘The love experts.’
I snorted without thinking. ‘Yeah, right.’
Rory shot me a weird look across the table before he shook his head, grinning at Maeve. ‘Your faith in my speech is much appreciated.’
They exchanged a look, which I tried my hardest to decipher.
‘I, for one, cannot wait for our weekend away.’ Isla poured herself – and Joe, instinctively – another glass of wine. We’d caved and given them a small hint about the sten last week after relentless questions, and it had appeased them for the time being. ‘I need some time off. Work is horrendous. If I get as bad as some of these bridal parties, shoot me.’
‘You’re the most relaxed bride I’ve ever come across.’ I sent her a reassuring look. ‘I don’t think you have anything to worry about.’
Joe nodded. ‘Not even the peony disaster upset her.’
Ah. The peony disaster. Isla’s very own peony supplier had told them that they couldn’t provide enough peonies on that short notice. She hadn’t batted an eyelid, but we’d all known that for a florist, having your favourite flower on your big day was important.
‘And you were the coolest about the bridesmaid dresses.’ I patted her hand. ‘We’re forever in your debt for that.’
Her approach to bridesmaids had been very liberal. She wanted us all to feel comfortable, so as long as our dresses fit into her pastel theme, she’d said she didn’t care about colour or style. Her sisters had gone for a pastel lilac and blue, Maeve had chosen a green, and I’d gone for a soft pink. Together, we’d look like a rainbow, which was exactly what she’d been going for with the whole wedding theme.
‘Ta-da!’ Maeve had left the table a couple of minutes ago, returning with our tiramisu, which she placed in the centre of the table. ‘Sponges lovingly made by my sous chef.’
Rory smirked. ‘You do know that saying Penny helped to make it reduces our willingness to eat it by 27 per cent, right?’
I pulled a face at him, serving myself first to prove a point.
‘If Level doesn’t work out, I definitely have a career in the kitchen ahead of me.’
His face dropped. ‘Why wouldn’t it work out?’
There was a moment of tense silence around the table whilst I decided how to defuse. ‘It was a joke, Ror. I know it’ll work out.’
He shook it off, nodding and accepting the bowl of dessert that Maeve held out to him. She placed a hand on his shoulder, leaning in and whispering something in his ear. No one else batted an eyelid, but I’d zeroed in on it. Another strike in favour of my theory. Everyone else tucked in, but Maeve was staring at me weirdly from across the table.
‘What?’ I mouthed at her.
She shook her head and went back to her food. ‘So, how does everyone feel about charades?’
The mood lightened again as all three of them groaned. I nodded along, realising how precarious this tangled web of relationships had now become. This was exactly what I’d always worried about.
25
I lingered outside the restaurant, checking my emails and making use of the minutes until Daniel arrived. Was there anything worse than being the first to show up for a date? One of our housemates had been stood up in first year, and the image of her standing outside Turtle Bay in her kitten heels haunted me to this day.
Emails replied to, I turned my attention to the menu on the exposed brick wall outside the restaurant. He’d booked a table for two at an Italian restaurant near Covent Garden, a place I’d had on my London list ever since moving back after university. You practically had to be royalty to get a table – either that, or you’d had the foresight to book months in advance. I had no idea how Daniel had managed to get a table with only a week’s notice, but I wasn’t going to argue. Even if I had stayed up until one o’clock this morning trying to find him on social media. The man was a ghost. There just wasn’t a Daniel Grayson online who lived in London and worked in app development. Unless he’d completely changed his look, and had shaved off a goatee recently. He’d mentioned that he tended to avoid social media unless it was for app research, and clearly he was telling the truth. I shook my head, reading through the many bowls of pasta on the menu.
I’d just decided on the fettuccini when I felt a tap on my shoulder.
‘Penny?’ I glanced up, expecting to see Daniel, even though the accent didn’t quite match.
My blood ran cold. Isaac.
‘Oh, hey.’ I didn’t give him more than that to work with; he could sweat this one out.
He shifted from one foot to the other, clearly uncomfortable. Mission accomplished. He was wearing the same outfit – deep red jumper and dark jeans, with a long lightweight grey coat over the top – as he had on our first date. I wondered if the jumper still had the same pull in the right-hand corner, where my earring had caught.
His expression morphed from abject horror into one of forced friendliness. ‘This is weird, right? Are you eating here?’
Of all the restaurants in London. This was karma getting me back for ever thinking I could mess with the fate of other people. How had Isaac got a table? The only logical conclusion was that it must have been booked well in advance. As in, whilst we were still dating. I resisted the urge to narrow my eyes.
‘Yeah, I am. I’ve got a date.’
He smiled. ‘That’s great! Look, Penny, I felt really bad about what happened between us.’
I imagined he’d lost about ten seconds of sleep to it. ‘What happened between us? You mean when you organised a date and then you left me hanging.’
His mouth fell open a little bit. ‘I just –’
‘You just what?’ I smiled, hoping my eyes revealed how not friendly I was being. ‘Look, Isaac, I would have understood if you’d told me. I’m too busy to waste my time prepping for a date that’s never going to happen.’
By this point, he’d paled. ‘You can’t help it when there’s a spark elsewhere. That’s the whole point of that app.’
Boy did I know it. And he clearly wasn’t getting my point. I was glad to find that I didn’t feel hurt any more; this was a man who ghosted women unless they pestered for a response and if I was honest, he had a permanent cowlick. The only thing left wounded was my pride.
‘Well, you’re welcome.’ I smiled.
‘For what?’
