Confetti Hearts (Confetti Hitched, #1)(20)

He shoots me a careless look. “I’m surprised you think of me at all.”

So am I. Surprised and concerned, but I can’t say that, so instead I say, “You’re very memorable.”

“I am that.” A few beats of silence drop and his mouth quirks.

The little fucker knows I’m dying to know, and he’s making me work for it. I feel a funny stab of admiration for him, mixed with lust. This man challenges me in a strange way, and I both like it and am nervous about it.

I shove him. “Tell me.”

His burst of laughter is loud and joyous. Two girls passing by look at him and giggle. I can’t blame them. He’s a pretty sight, with his dark hair ruffled by the wind and his blue eyes glowing.

“Okay,” he finally says. “My parents were hoteliers.”

“Really?”

He nods. “I grew up in hotels.”

“I bet that was interesting.”

“It was good fun. They started as bar managers for a hotel, and we lived there. My sister and I were shoved in whatever bedroom was free and left with a baby monitor. Our toys and books were packed in our cases so we could move quickly.”

“That can’t have been easy,” I say cautiously. What he describes is a world away from my own solid upper-middle-class upbringing.

He smiles, and there’s a wealth of love and memories in that wide grin. “Not at all. It was fun. My sister and I kept each other up telling tall stories, and we were all really close. My parents bought an old rundown hotel in the Lake District in the end, and we had a flat there.”

“So, you managed their hotel when you grew up? Not that I’ve seen any major sign of you having grown up yet.”

He laughs. “No fear of that happening. My sister actually got the manager job. She’s older than me and was already doing it when I left school. Besides, I fancied branching out, so I got a job at a hotel in Devon.”

“I bet you were good at it.”

He shoots me a surprised look. “Really? You seem to think I’m rather disorganised.”

“In your private life. Not in your job. I’ve seen you in action.”

“In all ways,” he says flirtatiously, and I roll my eyes and gesture to him to continue.

“Well, it was good fun to start with, but it was all a bit too familiar because my entire family live and breathe hotels. And then one weekend a wedding was booked, and I met Jed.” He smiles fondly.

I stiffen. Who is Jed to him? Are they lovers? A shocking burst of jealousy makes my head reel. What the fuck? Why am I bothered? We’re not exclusive. We’re not really dating. I actually don’t know what we’re doing, but I’m avoiding addressing the question in case it makes me lose this effervescent young man.

“So—” I clear my throat. “So, Jed is your boss, yes?”

I see the moment he realises that I’m jealous. Pleasure and surprise vie for supremacy in his eyes, but he just shrugs. “He is, and nothing more.” I sag a little, and he kindly pretends not to notice. “Don’t get me wrong—he’s fit for an older bloke.” I glare and he chuckles. “But he doesn’t get involved with his staff.”

I nod, unsure what to say to that declaration. Luckily, he doesn’t seem to expect a reply.

“Confetti Hitched was actually his husband’s business,” he says. “Jed took over after…”

“After what?” I prompt.

“His husband died.”

“Oh no. That’s very sad.”

“It was. By all accounts he was a lovely bloke. Very funny and incredibly kind. Jed took over after he died. He was a copper before that.”

I blink. “Bit of a change from the wedding business.”

“Not so much as you’d think.”

I laugh. “So how did you end up in the business?”

“The whole weekend was a catalogue of disasters, and I put out so many fires I should have been wearing a very fetching outfit and sliding down a pole.”

“I do like your hose.”

He snorts. “Jed got talking to me at the bar after the wedding. We were like the weary survivors of some famous battle by that point. He said I was admirably suited for the wedding business, as I had nerves of steel and a high tolerance for bullshit. He offered me a job that night, and I’ve never looked back.” He balls up his sandwich wrapper and throws it into the bin. “So, what about you?”

I shift position. “What about me?”

“Don’t you feel you should tell me about yourself?”

His eyes are very blue and intent, and I run my finger under my collar, feeling suddenly under a spotlight. “Well, not much to tell,” I mumble.

He eyes me for a long second and I wonder what he sees. A man who doesn’t want to tell him personal details because he’s shit-scared of intimacy.

He pats me on the hand and stands up. “Come on.”

I stand up too. Part of me is relieved that he isn’t questioning me. The other part knows I’ve missed an opportunity, and it’s likely to come back and bite me on my arse. I shake my head and follow him as he meanders out of the park. Catching him up, I check his face to see if he’s mad, but he looks his usual serene and charming self.

“Okay?” I ask awkwardly, and I’m relieved at his surprise.