And if she kept telling herself that, eventually she’d believe it.
* * *
Over the next couple of days, Roland threw himself into work and refused to admit to himself how much he missed Grace. How empty the whole place felt without Grace around.
She thought he couldn’t move on because he was still in love with Lyn. It wasn’t true. But he’d let her go because he came with baggage and he hadn’t wanted to drag her down with it.
Had he made a mistake?
If he’d opened up to her properly, told her the whole truth instead of just parting, would she have understood? Could she have helped him start his life all over again—give him a second chance?
He shook himself. No. He was being selfish. He’d done the right thing—even though it hurt.
He tried distracting himself with a magazine. On one page, he saw a photograph of the heart-shaped brick he and Grace found in Venice. According to the paragraph beneath the photograph, Roland had got the legend completely wrong. It wasn’t about wishes coming true. Allegedly, if you pressed the brick you fell in love immediately; if you pressed it together, you’d be devoted for ever.
And he and Grace had touched the brick at the same time.
A pretty story. That was all it was. He tried to put it out of his head and started on some preliminary sketches from his latest design brief. When the point of his pencil snapped, he opened his desk drawer to grab a new lead; but there was something he didn’t recognise in the drawer. A wrapped parcel, next to a card. The handwriting on the envelope was Grace’s. When he opened it, the card showed a picture of Venice at sunset, very similar to the one they’d seen on the gondola. Inside, she’d written, Thank you for sweeping me off my feet.
The parcel contained a beautiful paperweight in shades of turquoise and blue. The sort of thing he would’ve chosen for himself. He handled the smooth glass thoughtfully. She’d thanked him for sweeping her off her feet and she’d bought him the most perfect present.
She understood him.
Would she understand if he told her the rest? And would she be prepared to take a risk on him?
There was only one way to find out. He called her. Her phone went through to voicemail, so he assumed that she was busy. ‘Grace, it’s Roland. Please call me when you get this message.’ He left his number, just in case she’d mislaid it.
And now it was up to her.
* * *
Why was Roland calling her? Grace wondered.
Maybe she’d left something behind and he’d just discovered it. Of course he wasn’t calling her to say he’d changed his mind about the terms of their deal. It was ridiculous to hope.
When she was quite sure that she wasn’t going to make a fool of herself and blurt out something inappropriate, she returned his call.
He answered on the second ring. ‘Roland Devereux.’ He sounded as cool and impassive as he’d been the first time she’d called him. When she’d mistakenly thought he was her landlord. And now...
‘It’s Grace,’ she said. ‘Returning your call.’
‘Thank you.’
‘What did you want? Did I leave something behind?’ Despite her best intentions, hope flickered in her heart.
‘Yes.’
The hope sputtered and died. ‘Sorry. Let me know when it’s convenient to come and pick it up.’
‘I’ll come over.’
‘I can’t put you to all that trouble,’ she protested.
‘It’s no trouble. I’ll be in the area anyway.’
Why? Work? But it wasn’t her place to ask. ‘OK. Thank you. Let me know when, and I’ll make sure I’m here.’
‘Now,’ he suggested.
Now? As in...right now? Then she realised he was waiting for her answer. ‘I—um, yes, sure. I guess at least this time you won’t be helping me shift furniture out of a flooded flat.’
‘Indeed. See you soon.’
It took all of ninety seconds for her to tidy the flat.
And then what? Would he stay for coffee? Was this the beginning of them becoming friends? Could they be friends, after their fling? Or would the memories always get in the way?
When the doorbell rang, her heart leapt. She took a deep breath and reminded herself to act cool, calm and collected. ‘Hello, Roland,’ she said as she opened the door. Then she noticed that he wasn’t carrying anything. She frowned. ‘I thought you said I left something behind?’
‘You did.’ He paused. ‘Me.’
‘What?’ She couldn’t quite process this. ‘I don’t understand.’