Page 11 of Date Knight (Roll for Romance #2)

“Wait, what am I missing?” Mum asked, looking back and forth between Jack and me. Jack finally met my gaze and gave me a guilty look, and then the twat scarpered off towards the truck with Mum’s discarded greenhouse pole.

“Nothing,” I said quickly. “Jack doesn’t know what he’s talking about.” But I might as well not have said anything.

Mum gasped. “Are you and Philip together, darling?” Her hands were clenched in fists just below her face like an excited kid. “Is this finally happening?”

“It’s really not,” I said, just as my traitor brother came back.

“Come on, Ames. I know you were keeping it low-key, but you can’t hide it forever. It’s not like he needs to meet the parents or anything.”

I took a deep breath and decided that, no matter how fun it was to pretend the kiss had meant something, I had to set the record straight once and for all.

“Phil will not be coming to dinner,” I insisted, “because he’s not my boyfriend. And even if he were, it would be no one’s business. I would like to eat whatever is easiest for you to make, Mum, and I’d like you all to back off, please.”

I turned on my heels to walk inside, passing Dad, but he put a hand out in front of me before I could make it to the step.

“Amelia Celeste,” he said in his patented dad voice.

“What?” I knew I sounded huffy, but I couldn’t help it. I could have run Jack straight through with that greenhouse pole.

“Try again.”

I swallowed every ounce of my pride and softened my voice, turning towards him but not quite meeting his gaze. “Yes, Dad?”

“Please don’t speak to your mother that way.”

“I’m sor?—”

“—but…” He spoke low enough now that Mum and Jack couldn’t hear. In fact, they seemed to have gone back into the garden. “Are you really dating Phil Owen? Because if so, I suppose I owe you an apology.”

I frowned. “How’s that?” I racked my brain for any time Dad had shown an interest in my dating life, but naturally I drew a blank. It was Mum who was constantly on my case about putting myself out there.

“I’ve been assuming you were on your way out. That moving home was just a pit stop for you. But if you’re putting down roots, I’ve clearly misjudged the situation.”

I felt instantly conflicted. My resolve to correct their misunderstanding dissolved in the face of a rare apology from Dad, especially if there was a chance it would get me what I wanted.

“I’m not planning an escape, I promise.” That was true, at least. I didn’t have anywhere else to go, and I did like the work I was doing for Dad.

I liked the idea of working for him, and of carrying on the family business, in a way Jack never had.

Was I completely, irrevocably committed to living in my hometown forever?

No. I had nothing else holding me here, which I suppose was his point.

But what twenty-five-year-old did feel that level of certainty?

“Then let’s try it,” he said with a decisive nod. “Twenty-five hours a week, like you said. For three months. If it works, we can discuss something more permanent. Save the big ideas for then. You need to show me you can get stuck in first.”

Despite how it had come about, I couldn’t help but smile. It was what I’d been asking for all along. Just a chance to show that I did want to be here, and I could make a difference at the company.

“Deal,” I said, holding up my right hand. Dad actually cracked a smile as he shook it, and I tried not to wince when he gripped a bit too hard.

“Oh, Amy,” Mum called as she and Jack came through the gate with their next load of rubbish: another massive panel for Jack, and two smaller poles this time for Mum. “You’ve got post. Something fancy.” She reached into her dungaree pocket on her chest and pulled out a white envelope.

I frowned as I looked it over; it didn’t have a stamp, meaning it must have been delivered in person. But once I saw the blue biro addition to the address, I understood. I tore through the custom “N&C” wax seal and pulled out the contents.

Mr & Mrs Declan Kelly

Request the pleasure of your company

At the marriage of their daughter

Niamh Orla Kelly

To

Christopher Henry Arden III

Son of Mr & Mrs Christopher Arden Jnr

on the seventh of September, two thousand twenty-four at two o’clock in the afternoon

The Arden Estate, Manchester

* * *

By the next afternoon, things had escalated.

I got a text from Chloe asking me if I’d ever planned on telling her Phil and I had gotten together, and I knew Jack had taken that conversation with Mum as permission to spread the news to the rest of the group.

Which was a problem, first of all because it wasn’t true, and second of all because the other person involved was completely unaware of how bad it had gotten.

And when I went downstairs to work at the kitchen island to start on the Kenchester job quote, I heard Mum on the phone with Ethel, and I knew we’d reached DEFCON one.

I pulled out my phone to text Phil, unable to avoid it anymore.

AMY

I’m so sorry. This wasn’t me, I promise. Jack can’t keep his mouth shut. Can we talk?

I knew Phil might still be at the art centre with Ethel like every Monday– I may have memorised her schedule from the binder over the course of our Saturdays together– but I hoped I’d get to him before the others, and before Ethel said something.

The reply came just a few moments later:

PHIL

Free whenever you are.

“Mum, I’m taking the car for a bit!” I yelled, running so quickly that my socks slipped on the kitchen tiles and I nearly slid into the front hall.

I didn’t even listen for a response as I pulled on my trainers and grabbed the car keys off the hall table, doubling back only to grab the discarded wedding invitation aswell.