them all in,’ she said.
‘I just wanted to say sorry. And I kind of thought I needed to make a big gesture, because the words aren’t quite enough. And I know you love flowers. And...’ His voice trailed off.
‘You’re carrying an entire English cottage garden there.’ She was still hurt that he didn’t truly believe in her, but she could see how hard he was trying to start making things right. And as he stood there in the middle of all the flowers, looking completely like a fish out of water...how could she stay angry with him?
‘Let’s get these gorgeous flowers in water before they start wilting.’ She went into the kitchen and found every receptacle she had, and started filling them with water. ‘They’re lovely. Thank you. Where did you get them?’ she asked. ‘Covent Garden flower market isn’t open on Sundays.’
‘Columbia Road market,’ he said. ‘I looked up where I could get really good fresh flowers first thing on a Sunday morning.’
She thought about it. ‘So you carried all these on the tube?’
‘Uh-huh.’ He gave her a rueful smile. ‘I had to get someone to help me at the ticket barrier.’
He’d gone to a real effort for her. And he’d done something that would’ve made people stare at him—something she knew would’ve made him feel uncomfortable.
So this apology was sincerely meant. But she still needed to hear the words.
When they’d finished putting the flowers in water—including using the bowl of her kitchen sink—she said, ‘Do you want a coffee?’
‘No, thanks. I just need to talk to you,’ he said. He took a deep breath. ‘Claire, I honestly didn’t mean to hurt you. I just wanted to help. But I realise now that I handled it totally the wrong way. I interfered instead of supporting you properly and asking you what you needed me to do. I made you feel as if you were hopeless and couldn’t do anything on your own—but, Claire, I do believe in you. I knew your designs would make any of the fashion houses sit up and take notice. But the wedding show was so busy, I didn’t want to take the risk that they wouldn’t get time to see your collection and you wouldn’t get your chance. That’s the only reason I went to talk to Pia Verdi.’
His expression was serious and completely sincere. She knew he meant what he said.
And she also knew that she owed him an apology, too. They were both in the wrong.
‘I overreacted a bit as well,’ she said. ‘I’d been working flat out for weeks and, after the way everything had gone wrong from the first...well, I think it just caught me at the wrong time. Now I’ve had time to think about it, I know your heart was in the right place. You meant well. But yesterday I felt that you were being overprotective and stifling, the way Dad is, because you don’t think I can do it on my own. You think that I need looking after all the time.’
‘Claire, I’m not your father. I know you can do it on your own,’ he said softly. ‘And, for the record, I don’t think you need looking after. Actually, I think it would drive you bananas.’
‘It would.’ She took a deep breath. ‘I want an equal partnership with someone who’ll back me and who’ll let me back them.’
‘That’s what I want, too,’ Sean said.
Hope bloomed in her heart. ‘Before yesterday—before things went wrong—that’s what I thought we had,’ she said.
‘We did,’ he said. ‘We do.’
She bit her lip. ‘I’ve hurt you as much as you hurt me. I was angry and unfair and ungrateful, I pushed you away, and I’m sorry. And, if I try to think first instead of reacting first in future, do you think we could start again?’
‘So Ms Follow-Your-Heart turns into a rulebook devotee?’ Sean said. ‘No deal. Because I want a partner who thinks outside the box and stops me being regimented.’
‘You’re not regimented—well, not all the time,’ she amended.
‘Thank you. I think.’ He looked at her. ‘I can’t promise perfection and I can’t promise we won’t ever fight again, Claire.’
‘It wouldn’t be normal if we didn’t ever fight again,’ she pointed out.
‘True. I guess we just need to learn to compromise. Do things the middle way instead of both thinking that our way’s the only way.’ He opened his arms. ‘So. You and me. How about it?’
She stepped into his arms. ‘Yes.’
‘Good.’ He kissed her lingeringly. ‘And we’ll talk more in future. I promise I won’t think I know best.’
‘And I promise I won’t go super-stubborn.’
He laughed. ‘Maybe we ought to qualify that and say we’ll try.’
‘Good plan.’
He arched an eyebrow. ‘Are you going to admit that planning’s good, outside business?’
She laughed. ‘That would be a no. Most of the time. Are you going to admit that being spontaneous means you have more fun?’
He grinned. ‘Not if I’m hungry and I’ve just been drenched in a downpour.’
‘Compromise,’ she said. ‘That works for me.’
‘Me, too.’ He kissed her again. ‘And we’ll make this work. Together.’
Two months later
CLAIRE WAS WORKING on the preliminary sketches for her first collection for Pia Verdi when her phone beeped.
She glanced at the screen. Sean. Probably telling her that he was going to be late home tonight, she thought with a smile. Although they hadn’t officially moved in with each other, they’d fallen into a routine of spending weeknights at her place and weekends at his.
V and A. Thirty minutes. Be there.
Was he kidding?
Three tube changes! Takes thirty minutes PLUS walk to station, she typed back.
And of course he’d know she knew this. The Victoria and Albert Museum was her favourite place in London. She’d taken him there several times and always lingered in front of her favourite dress, a red grosgrain and chiffon dress by Chanel. She never, ever tired of seeing that dress.
Forty minutes, then.
Half a minute later, there was another text.
Make it fifty and change into your blue dress. The one with the daisies.
Why?
Tell you when you get here.
She grinned. Sean was clearly in playful mode, so this could be fun. But why did he want to meet her at the museum? And why that dress in particular?
She still didn’t have a clue when she actually got to Kensington. She texted him from the museum entrance: Where are you?
Right next to your favourite exhibit.
Easy enough, she thought, and went to find him.
He was standing next to the display case, dressed up to the nines: a beautifully cut dark suit and a white shirt, but for once he wasn’t wearing a tie. That little detail was enough to soften the whole package. Just how she liked it.
‘OK. I’m here.’ She gestured to her outfit. ‘Blue dress. Daisies. As requested, Mr Farrell.’
‘You look beautiful,’ he said.
‘Thank you. But I’m still trying to work out why you wanted to meet me here.’
‘Because I’m just