Page 5 of All Mine (The All Mine #1)

‘Nope, just me.’ This time she was not frustrated by the question, because some part of her wanted him to know that she was single. That there was nobody else in the picture. He raised an eyebrow again and she felt a flush on her neck.

‘Well, there’s a good social scene in Honeybridge if you fancy it. Depends on what you’re into?’

Isabella considered for a second. A single social scene. A whole new ball game. Oh God, it wasn’t the best to be thinking about balls with this gorgeous man in front of her. He carried on.

‘The Bolthole is the best bar in town and does theme nights which are fun if you want a night out. The Lit Lounge bookshop has a book club if you like reading. The gym is always organising events if you’re into fitness. The rowing club has a monthly party. . .’

It was exactly what she’d hoped for. A vibrant, fun place to live. But not yet.

‘Sounds perfect– for when I’ve got a bit more time on my hands.’

‘How’s it going then?’ he said, indicating the front door. ‘The renovation?’

She laughed.

‘It was going well until now! But the workmen accidentally hit a water pipe and then the stopcock broke. Honestly, it’s like Niagara Falls in there.

’ She ran her hand over her cheeks, still feeling the moisture on them.

For the first time she wondered what she must look like, half her hair still up in a messy bun, no make-up, flushed from the steaming, wet from the flood.

Especially when he looked so good, like fresh laundry and just out of the shower good.

She bet he smelled good up close. God, he was distracting.

‘The kitchen’s soaked, the utility is soaked, I’m soaked. . .’

He lowered his eyes and nodded slowly.

‘Yes, I can see that. . .’ he said with another smile, raising an eyebrow. That look again. The one that made her feel undressed. Like he was looking right through her clothes.

Curious, she followed his gaze and looked down at herself.

She was drenched. Not just her face, but her clothes.

Top, jeans, the lot. She hadn’t felt it in the urgency of the situation.

And she had completely forgotten that she was wearing a thin, white T-shirt, which was now completely transparent.

Her nipples stood proud and dark through the wet material in the early autumn air, and they were the focus of Etienne’s slow smile.

She gasped, clapping her hands to her front, cupping her own breasts.

She could feel her nipples pebbled against her palms.

A commotion sounded at the restaurant door behind her as the builders piled out and leaned on the front of the building, starting to roll cigarettes and sip tea from mugs. Obviously, it was time for tea break.

‘Oh God,’ Isabella said to herself, knowing now that she looked half naked and so keeping her back to them.

Which kept her front to Etienne. He grinned and allowed himself a quiet laugh as he looked from her to the builders and back again.

Then he shook his head, regretfully, as he seemed to make a decision.

‘Here,’ he said, pulling his hoodie off over his head, flashing her a tiny glimpse of taut stomach with a trail of dark hair heading downwards as his T-shirt lifted.

He passed it to her and she grabbed it and clutched it to her front.

‘I have to say I’m enjoying the view, but I think maybe it’s not for public consumption. ’

She knew she was blushing as she pulled the hoodie over her head and covered her badly behaved nipples that seemed to be quite enjoying the attention. The rub of his sweatshirt against them almost hurt.

‘Thanks,’ she managed, and then laughed self-consciously, pulling the hoodie around her. It smelled of his cologne, deep and woody.

‘Wouldn’t have missed it for the world,’ he replied and then walked back across the square, whistling. ‘See you soon.’

She realised she was still holding his wrench in her hand as she watched him go, thinking about today’s date. Months stretching out in front of her.

The next evening, about six, when all the workmen had left for a pint and a packet of crisps, there was a ring on the doorbell.

Isabella’s first thought was that it might be him, Etienne.

She wasn’t interested or anything, but she stopped to check her teeth in the mirror and toss her curls over her shoulder as she headed to the door.

When she glanced at the Ring camera and spied two women on the doorstep, she wanted to laugh at herself.

‘Hi!’ The shorter blonde woman smiled, eyes twinkling through oversized tortoiseshell glasses as Isabella swung open the door.

‘Hello,’ the taller, more willowy redhead said simultaneously.

They both held out a bag towards Isabella.

‘Welcome to Honeybridge,’ the blonde said.

Isabella stared blankly, unsure as to whether they were a welcome party or a sales delegation. Did they want her to buy something? Sign a petition?

The redhead saw her confusion.

‘Sorry, I’m Wren.’

‘And I’m Rosie.’ The blonde nodded.

‘We own The Lit Lounge.’

‘The bookshop.’

‘And we wanted to welcome you to the neighbourhood.’

‘So we bought you this.’ Rosie, the blonde, pulled out a tourist information guide to Honeybridge from her bag.

‘And this,’ the redhead, Wren, said, pulling a bottle of white wine from her bag, followed by a bottle of rosé.

‘We didn’t know what you drink!’ They both laughed.

‘Both!’ Isabella opened the door wide and welcomed them in.

Within ten minutes, one of the bottles was open, Isabella had found a family bag of crisps to share, and Wren and Rosie were sitting on the sofa, feet tucked up under them, like they had been there a thousand times before.

‘So, what’s your story?’ Rosie asked.

‘Sorry?’ Isabella said.

‘Don’t worry about her,’ Wren said. ‘To her, everything is a story. She’s the biggest book nerd I’ve ever met. That’s why we run a bookshop.’

‘I can’t help it,’ Rosie said. ‘I find it fascinating– the stories of people’s lives.’ Both women focused their full attention on her.

‘Well. . .’ Isabella wasn’t sure where to start. Primary school? Going to uni? How far back did they want her to go? She cleared her throat but nothing came out.

‘What brought you here?’ Rosie asked. Her eyes were wide and interested behind her huge glasses, which she pushed up her nose with amazing frequency.

‘I got divorced,’ Isabella said, which made Wren sit forward and Rosie look like she was going to start taking notes.

‘Sorry to hear that,’ Wren said.

‘That’s a shame,’ said Rosie.

Isabella took a second, shrugged, then sighed.

‘Turns out he’d been having an affair for a couple of years.’

‘Bastard!’ muttered Rosie and Wren together.

‘So I kind of feel like I’m the mug.’

‘Never.’ Both women rolled their eyes.

‘I didn’t see it coming,’ she went on.

‘He hid it well then?’ Rosie rested her elbows on her knees like she was watching a gripping film.

‘I thought we were happy,’ Isabella said. ‘We’d just booked a holiday when I found out.’

‘Unbelievable!’ Wren chipped in.

‘And once I saw the text message, he still tried to deny it.’

‘Arsehole,’ they said together and collapsed back on the sofa.

Isabella laughed. They were right. And in the time it had taken to drink half a glass of wine together she felt like she’d found new friends.

‘So why are you here, though?’

Isabella took a deep breath, topped up their glasses and started to talk.

Telling Wren and Rosie the abbreviated version of her marriage, her divorce, her hopes and dreams. As she talked, Rosie tucked herself casually against Wren, who laid an arm behind her on the sofa, and Isabella realised their double act was more, much more, than a working relationship.

The way that they touched, finished each other’s sentences and frequently shared smiles reminded her of how she and Daniel were a million years ago.

The memory stabbed at her with a second of loss.

But that thought led to wondering how many times he’d sat next to her on the sofa with his phone in his pocket, waiting to feel the thrilling vibration of his lover’s text message.

Or how many times he’d arrived home with flowers ‘just because’ when he meant they were ‘just because I’ve been shagging my work colleague over the photocopier all evening’.

‘Anyway, so now Honeybridge is my home and this restaurant is my future.’ She finished her glass of wine in one gulp and went to refill but the white was empty. She crossed to the fridge and pulled out the rosé, holding it up towards them in question.

‘Why not?’

‘Definitely.’

She already loved their enthusiasm for stories and now it seemed they shared a passion for wine too. Things couldn’t be better.

‘We don’t normally drink in the week,’ Wren said as she held out her glass for a top-up.

‘But it’s our night off,’ Rosie finished, waiting her turn with the pour.

‘Riley goes to her daddy on a Wednesday night.’

‘Riley is our daughter.’ Rosie flashed her phone screen towards Isabella, and there was a grinning three-year-old with the same shade of red hair as Wren, wearing a baseball cap on backwards and a smudge of dirt up her cheek.

‘She looks like a handful,’ Isabella said, laughing.

‘You’re not wrong,’ Rosie said, looking at the image herself before putting the phone away.

‘She’s a character all right.’

‘So, you used a donor?’ Isabella asked Wren. ‘To get pregnant?’ She settled back in her chair, intrigued to now hear their own story.

‘Oh, I didn’t get pregnant!’ Wren said. ‘Everyone assumes that. Because of Riley’s hair. And they’re not wrong– she is my child. But I didn’t carry her.’

Isabella frowned, slightly confused and not wanting to say the wrong thing.

‘I did,’ Rosie said proudly and Wren pulled her in close for a squeeze before explaining.

‘My egg– fertilised by our friend Toby– was implanted into Rosie. She carried the pregnancy and gave birth to Riley.’

It made perfect sense. The couple that finished each other’s sentences, why wouldn’t they also finish each other’s pregnancies?

‘So, you’re her biological mother’– she nodded to Wren– ‘and you’re her birth mother’– and she tipped her chin to Rosie.

They both grinned.

‘Bingo.’

‘And the dad?’

‘Our old friend Toby, who has been the most wonderful man through all of this, although I think he’s a bit disappointed Riley’s not interested in letting him play hairdresser.’

‘Yes, she hasn’t got time to sit still for that sort of thing.’ Rosie’s smile was soft.

‘But he has her every Wednesday night without fail and every other weekend too.’

‘Which means we get wine and grown-up time, if you know what I mean.’ Wren was grinning at Isabella, but the look that she flashed at Rosie was something else entirely.

A glint in her eye told Isabella everything she needed to know about what the girls would be up to later. And it didn’t include Scrabble.

‘I know what you mean,’ she agreed with a sigh and a glug of wine. ‘But I’m definitely not getting any of that.’ She stretched her arms above her head and let them fall to her sides.

Rosie and Wren straightened up again, flirting on the back burner till later.

‘Why on earth not?’

‘You’re stunning. I’m sure the men are falling over each other for a chance with you.’

‘It’s not so much them as me.’ Isabella took a gulp of her wine and told them about her self-imposed sex ban. Rosie’s eyes grew wider and rounder behind her glasses, until she looked like a beautiful blonde owl.

‘A whole year?’ Wren exploded. ‘I mean, I get your reasoning, I do, your last partner was a lying no-good cheat, but a whole year without sex?’

‘I’ve done over nine months already. . .’ Isabella said. ‘Only two months and twenty-three days to go.’

‘Not that you’re counting!’

‘I guess it’s like a palate cleanser between courses?’ Rosie suggested. ‘Give yourself a bit of time to get over the bad taste left by the last one?’

Isabella laughed and shrugged.

‘It’s that and it’s the fact I want to prove to him that I can do this on my own. I can be single and successful. I don’t need anyone else.’

‘But I guess you own a good vibrator.’ Wren wasn’t asking a question. It was a statement of fact.

‘Several,’ Isabella agreed and all three women nodded.

‘So, have you not seen anything to tempt you since you got here?’ Wren asked, still in disbelief.

Isabella thought of the way she’d felt as Etienne’s eyes burned into her yesterday.

‘No.’ She shook her head. ‘But I’ve hardly had time to venture past the supermarket and the DIY store.’

‘Well, you never know, you might find some of the men in Honeybridge are irresistible.’

‘No, thank you. Not until after my year is up and this restaurant is open.’

‘We’ll see,’ Wren said, lifting herself off the sofa and helping Rosie up afterwards. ‘We’d better be off.’

‘Now that we’ve drunk all your wine! Sorry about that!’ Rosie said, not looking sorry in the slightest. In fact, looking happy and mildly drunk.

Wren handed her phone over. ‘Pop your number in for me. I’ll set up a WhatsApp group.’

Rosie hiccupped. ‘And you’ll love our friend Amber. She only moved here a year or so ago too. We normally go to The Bolthole every few weeks if you fancy it?’

Isabella did.

After the front door had closed, Isabella picked up her phone.

Mia Famiglia WhatsApp group

Isabella : I made some new friends!

Papà : Great! Who?

Isabella : Rosie and Wren. They run the local bookshop.

Papà : Other local businesswomen! A great start.

Isabella : They wrought bine with them.

Mamma : Do you mean brought wine?

Isabella : Yes. They’re lovely!

Mamma : Drink some water, Isabella. Have you eaten?

Isabella : Don’t worry, Mamma.

She licked the empty packet of crisps as she went to bed.