Confetti Hearts (Confetti Hitched, #1)(55)

“I’m sorry,” he says in a low voice. “That was way too flirty.”

“No such thing,” I say lightly, pulling my hand away from his with regret. My skin already feels cold.

“There is, Lachlan. I shouldn’t say things like that when we’re not together.”

And never will be, are his unspoken words.

I flinch inside like he’s punched me. I’ve missed him so much since he walked away. Every day has been grey and grim without his wide smile to light them. The only word to describe me is “bereft”.

But Joe seems fine. Laughing and as full of joy as ever. If he knew just how much I schemed and plotted to get to this wedding, his smile would soon fade. For a second, I waver, doubting my plans. But then I remember the determination that got me on a plane to Scotland at the last minute.

I need one last chance with him. Just one chance to make him see we belong together. I’ve signed those fucking divorce papers because that is his choice, but I will throw everything at getting him back because it’s my fault I lost him in the first place. And the universe has backed me by snowing us in together. I won’t waste my chance, but I know that if at the end of these couple of days he says he still wants a divorce then I will give him that. I would give him anything he asked for.

Becoming aware that he’s staring anxiously at me I make myself smile. “You’re a bigger flirt than Babs Windsor in the Carry On films.”

“Hope not. I’d never have been able to carry off those pigtails.”

We’re quiet for a few moments, and from the nearby reception room comes the sounds of “Fernando” being played enthusiastically but rather badly.

“God, that’s terrible,” Joe says. “I think I’d rather have taken part in the Spanish Civil War than listened to this.”

“Do you want to go back to the party?” I ask dubiously.

“No fear. I’ve done enough. I just want to get my PJs on and watch TV.”

I smile at him, happy at the thought. Many were the times I found him curled up watching Real Housewives or something equally incomprehensible. I’d always pulled myself away from him and forced myself to rally friends and go out. Anything to prove that I wasn’t as gone for him as I knew I was. It makes me sad to think now of all the times I could have been with him rather than bored rigid at a club or bar with a bunch of people who weren’t Joe.

“Okay. Let’s get your stuff together.” I pause. “I’ll go and make you a plate of food from the buffet first though. They set it up while you were outside doing a stunt driver impersonation.”

“You don’t have to,” he protests.

Yes, I do. “You’ve hardly eaten anything.”

“And how do you know that?”

I wink. “I watch you occasionally.”

An intrigued look crosses his face that fills me with a sudden shaft of hope.

“I’ll be back in a second.”

I duck into the reception room. Most of the wedding party have migrated into the bar. Now there are just a few people loudly and drunkenly talking by the big table groaning with food.

After filling a plate with all the things he likes, I make my way quickly back to him. I don’t know where this feeling of urgency is coming from, but I have to be near him.

I stop dead at the entrance to the foyer. Joe’s talking to a handsome man with red hair and blue eyes. I grit my teeth as he laughs up at him.

Then Joe catches sight of me, and a huge welcoming smile crosses his face. “Lachlan, did you meet Dougal the manager?”

My shoulders immediately relax, and I join them. “I did see you around earlier, yes.”

“Nice to meet you,” he says.

My gaze travels over his features. “You don’t look too good.” He’s pale, with two bright spots of colour on his cheeks, and his eyes are fever bright.

“I just said that,” Joe says, looking at me as if we’re a team. It’s extraordinarily nice.

“I’m okay,” Dougal says. “I feel like I might have a cold coming on, but I’ll be fine.”

“Can’t you go to bed?” Joe asks.

It’s one of his nicest characteristics—his caring about other people. We balance each other out well in that respect, as I don’t give a shit.

“No. We’re on a small staff now.” Dougal essays a crooked smile. “I got the rest of the staff home a few hours ago.”

Joe nods. “I wish I’d done the same.”

I don’t. I wisely keep my thoughts to myself.

“We’re used to it here,” Dougal says. “Drifts frequently cover the lane. It’s a good job you didn’t make it off the forecourt. It can get a bit dicey farther down, especially in the dark.”

I shudder at the thought. He could have been trapped in his car and caught hypothermia, with no one the wiser. Luckily, I’d come looking for him, drawn by a feeling that he wasn’t coming back.

I edge close to him needing to feel his warm body against mine, and Joe looks up at me in astonishment, but Dougal offers me a weak grin as if he understands.

“So, who have you got left?” Joe asks. He’s incurably nosy which is one reason he’s so good at his job. He never met a question he couldn’t ask, and everyone seems to fall over themselves to give him the answers.