Page 5 of The Brit and the Bridesmaid (Sweet Treat Novellas #1)

“ M atthew asked about you.”

Abby examined the apples laid out at the produce stand, pretending her sister’s comment hadn’t made her breath catch. “Matthew Carlton?” she asked as though it didn’t matter.

“Who else?”

“I do know more than one person named Matthew.” Actually, she wasn’t sure she did. “What did he have to say?”

“Only that you helped with a fungus or something in the roses and that he thought it was nice of you.”

She felt a stab of disappointment. He hadn’t really asked about her, then. He’d simply mentioned her. Abby and Caroline moved to the next booth at the farmer’s market.

“The bushes had a little black rot,” Abby explained. She bought a small bushel of blackberries from the farmer running the booth.

“Black rot?” Caroline sounded absolutely horrified. “That will be gone before the wedding, won’t it?”

“The roses will be gorgeous. I promise.”

They walked along. Abby usually enjoyed the Sunday farmers’ markets, but Caroline was killing the joy.

“And the flowers for the bouquets—”

Abby jumped in before Caroline could ask the question she’d posed a thousand times in the months since Gregory proposed. “Emily is reliable and talented. You saw her work. I promise you, the bouquets will be amazing.”

“How was your last fitting?” Caroline asked.

Abby moaned. “The dress fits fine; it just looks ridiculous.”

“It’s a perfect reproduction of World War I-era dress. It’s perfect.”

Perfect was not the word Abby would have used. She would much rather spend her days dressed like she was then, in a comfy t-shirt and running shorts, wearing her worn-out running shoes. “That dress makes me look like a history nerd getting ready for Halloween.”

Caroline threaded her arm through Abby’s. “It’ll be beautiful.”

Abby shook her head at her sister’s romanticism. “Gregory must really like you.”

Caroline’s eyes turned dreamy. “He does.”

“Speaking of which.” Abby motioned ahead with her chin. “There he is. It must be noon.”

“Isn’t he the cutest?” Caroline squealed a little.

“Go ahead. I’m going to walk around the market for a while.”

Caroline didn’t need more encouragement; she was off like a bolt of lightning.

Abby watched her go with every bit as much amusement as envy.

Though she’d never been the hopeless romantic her sister was, she did sometimes catch herself daydreaming about finding someone she could be that perfect with and for.

Those daydreams eventually came to an abrupt end.

Dirk the Jerk saw to that. He’d appeared in her life like a hero in a cliché romance novel.

He was the wealthy, suave, dreamy hero who somehow decided to be interested in the plain, poor, awkward heroine.

Except he turned out to be a complete jerk.

She’d been blind about it for a while, but she’d finally realized how he saw her: never quite good enough.

That was a year ago. Quit thinking about it.

She sat on a bench overlooking the sprawling green fields of the park where the farmer’s market was held.

The blackberries she’d bought worked well as comfort food.

By the time she’d finished off half of the little basket of berries, Dirk the Jerk had almost completely left her thoughts.

The park was peaceful, one of the things she liked most about coming to the markets.

Children played on a nearby playground. People jogged the running paths.

A disorganized soccer match covered a field to the left.

To the right, people tossed balls back and forth.

It was the greenery, though, that kept her attention. She loved plants. Loved them. The city had done a good job keeping things trimmed back and healthy at the park, but it could do with a few more flowering shrubs.

“Heads up!”

Abby processed the shouted warning just in time to duck out of the way of a flying soccer ball.

One of the soccer guys came hustling over. “Sorry ’bout that.”

She shrugged. “No problem.” She popped another blackberry in her mouth.

“Abby Grover?” a second male voice asked.

She froze, the berry half-chewed in her mouth.

She only knew one person with an English accent.

Sure enough, Matthew Carlton was coming in her direction.

Abby swallowed a little too fast and choked a second on the berry.

A quick swig from her water bottle had her almost composed by the time he reached the bench.

“Playing a little soccer?” she managed to ask.

He gave her a half smile. “ I am playing football. The rest of these clowns are playing soccer.”

His friend, who had retrieved the ball, laughed and slapped him on the shoulder as he passed. “Whatever you call it, we’re still wiping the grass with you.”

Matthew stayed by the bench even after his friend rejoined the game. “Did you come for the market?”

Abby nodded. “Never miss it. Caroline was with me.”

At the look that flitted quickly across his face, she laughed out loud. Apparently Caroline hadn’t calmed down about the wedding arrangements over the couple weeks that had passed since selecting Sainsbury House.

“Don’t worry,” Abby reassured him. “The future Mr. Caroline has taken her to lunch. She won’t stress out on you today.”

He chuckled. “I wouldn’t bet on that. I’ll probably have a half-dozen emails from her waiting for me when I get in to work tomorrow.”

“It’s good of you to put up with her.”

He wiped a trickle of sweat from his forehead. “She’s actually not that bad compared to some brides I’ve had to work with.”

“Wow. I almost feel bad for you.”

Matthew grinned at that. “Almost?”

“Hey, Matt!” someone called from the soccer game. “Either quit flirting over there or bring her over here to play.”

Matthew looked a little embarrassed. There was something very odd about a sophisticated, high-class, Englishman turning even the tiniest bit red. Dirk was never embarrassed by anything. Angry, sometimes, but not ever embarrassed.

“Do you play football?” Matthew asked.

“Football? No.” Abby shook her head. “But I did play soccer in high school.”

“Really?” Matthew looked impressed. Dirk had been a field-hockey kind of guy. They’d never talked about her sports.

“We took state my senior year.”

“I don’t know what that means,” Matt said. “But it sounds impressive.”

Abby made her best superior face. “It means we were good. And I played in the city league after that. Champions three years running.”

He motioned with his head toward the game. “Would you like to come play? Show these chumps how it’s done?”

Her first thought was to turn him down. But why should she? She still liked to play. His friends had invited her first. He was being nice— not the arrogant, stuffy guy from Sainsbury House. “Sure. Why not?”

He walked with her back toward his friends. He walked with her. Dirk would have set his own pace and expected her to match it.

“Hey, boys!” Matthew called out. “We’ve one more.”

She was welcomed heartily. Any concerns she might have had about butting in were quickly put to rest. She was immediately part of the game, treated like one of the guys, though they weren’t nearly as rough with her as they were with each other.

It was great to play again. She’d stopped while Dirk was in her life, and, though she couldn’t say why, hadn’t taken it back up again.

Matthew, she discovered, could smack talk with the best of them.

And he was funny. Hilarious. She’d seen hints of that during their walk around Sainsbury House the day she’d gone there on Caroline’s orders.

But during their lunch among the roses a few days later, he’d been quiet and distant.

She’d assumed he didn’t want to be there, or he wasn’t enjoying her company.

The two of them, who had ended up on the same team, both as forward, trounced the other team. The game wasn’t anything official, just a bunch of people trying to score against a bunch of other people, with little regard for rules.

The players began trickling off as the afternoon wore on. The game finally broke up, with the others declaring that Matthew had brought in a secret weapon, that he’d been planning to bring her in all along.

Abby couldn’t remember the last time she’d grinned so wide.

“We’re good,” Matthew declared, smiling at her.

“ We’re ? I didn’t think you were allowed to use contractions.”

He laughed lightly. “Away from work, I can use them all I want.” Matthew dribbled his soccer ball as they walked away from the field. “Speaking of work, thanks again for helping Larry with the roses. He was having trouble clearing up the fungus you two were working on.”

She knew how persistent black rot could be. “No problem.”

Matthew opened his mouth like he meant to say something, but then stopped.

“What?”

He slowed their pace. “I have a neighbor, an older man, who is an avid gardener. He has an acre’s worth of plants on his tiny little balcony.”

Abby could easily picture it.

“He has been particularly distraught lately about spots on his tomato plants.”

“On the tomatoes or the leaves?”

“I’m not sure.” He shrugged. “Do you think... would you be willing to take a look? Give him some advice?”

She hadn’t expected this. It was almost as if he valued her expertise. She didn’t think the lord of the manor usually talked plants with the gardening staff.

“Do you think your neighbor would welcome the advice?”

He nodded without hesitation. “And you’d like Barney. He’s fantastic.”

She kept her expression serious. “I prefer unfantastic people, actually.”

Matthew smiled at her. Somehow over the course of their soccer match, she’d forgotten how devastating that smile could be. Her heart pounded a bit before she managed to get it under control again.

“If you have a little time now, I’m just up the road a bit,” Matthew said. Again, a hint of uncertainty hung in his tone, like he was afraid he might be wearing out his welcome.

“If Barney doesn’t mind a dirty, sweaty gardener, I’m game.”

Matthew gave her a grateful look and even thanked her for it.

Which Matthew was the real one? The personable, humble, joking Matthew? Or the stuffy, arrogant one? And why was it that men were so hard to figure out?