Which was why he’d known, from the moment he’d found her trying to climb out of that window, that tonight wouldn’t end the way he’d planned. Not that he’d honestly believed, deep down, that any pre-wedding night involving Zoey was likely to end the traditional way. Him buying David one last whisky in the bar, giving Zoey a hug and a pep talk and getting an early night, ready for the wedding first thing in the morning, had never really been on the cards. More likely sitting up drinking too late with Zoey, reassuring her that she could do this. He’d been prepared for some last-minute jitters.
He just hadn’t expected those jitters to lead to them spending the night in a dilapidated villa on a deserted island in the middle of a storm.
When was the last time they’d spent the night together, just the two of them? Had they ever?
Probably in those first days after Grace’s accident, although he didn’t remember it well if they had. Before that it had always been the three of them. And since then, well, Zoey had a very uncomfortable sofa bed in her lounge he’d slept on a few times before he sold the house he’d shared with Grace and bought a new flat, without the memories. But somehow that felt very different from tonight. Maybe that was what had prompted his brain to imagine Zoey in a bathrobe and nothing underneath...
Tonight, they’d be huddled together avoiding the storm, sharing blankets and body heat, probably. With another woman, anything could happen.
But this was Zoey. Not only was she his wife’s best friend, but she’d literally just left a longstanding serious relationship. He shouldn’t even be imagining anything like that.
Instead, he made himself remember the last time Zoey had called off an engagement at the eleventh hour. And the time before that, actually. Both times, she’d shown up at the house, looking distraught, and Grace had taken care of her. She’d listened, offered advice with no pressure to take it, tried to present different points of view, all without ever being less than one hundred per cent behind whatever Zoey decided to do next.
All Ash had needed to do was pour the wine and order the pizza.
He had a feeling that wasn’t going to cut it tonight.
She was going to need to talk about things. That was how Zoey worked. And the only person she had to talk to was him.
I hope I can live up to your standards, Grace.
Except he was fairly sure he couldn’t. In fact, he had a sinking feeling he was going to screw this up magnificently—if he hadn’t already achieved that by taking them to an abandoned villa on a stolen boat in the middle of a storm.
Ash hefted the bag up to his shoulder again and heard the whisky clank against something satisfactorily. At least he was still providing booze and food—his usual job.
As for the rest...he’d just have to wing it.
Zoey was his friend. She’d forgive him if he got it wrong. Right?
* * *
By the time Ash returned from the boat, Zoey had almost managed to make the villa habitable. Well, one small part of it, anyway.
She’d tried the lights first, but either the power was out because of the storm or it wasn’t properly connected yet, because the villa stayed resolutely dark.
Using the torch on her phone—the only thing she’d grabbed from the table to take with her when she’d run—she’d explored the whole building, but most of it seemed in a worse state than the main room and with even less furniture, so she figured the open-plan central space at the front of the villa was probably the best place for them to set up camp for the night.
She’d found a large brush and tried to clear the worst of the sawdust and rubbish from the middle of the floor, and even discovered a couple of folding chairs that the crew presumably used for breaks, so set them out too. The biggest and best discovery had been the kettle, mugs and teabags on one of the half-built kitchen counters. Zoey hated to stereotype, but she had a feeling that old Mr Carmichael might have hired his favourite British builders for this job. No wonder they weren’t in a hurry to get it finished if they got to hang out in paradise when they were done working for the day.
‘Honey, I’m home,’ Ash said drily as he shoved open the large glass doors again. Zoey turned. His voice was the only dry thing about him. Apparently the rain hadn’t let up any since they’d arrived. Now she listened for it, Zoey could hear the raindrops hammering down against the windows and walls. The sound was so familiar already she’d stopped hearing it.