Free Holiday with the Best Man by Kate Hardy Page B

not to drag you along to a rom-com or a musical,’ she said. ‘Though you’re missing out. Doris Day, Gene Kelly—that kind of film is the best thing ever for cheering you up when you’ve had a bad day.’
    â€˜No. That would be going to a gig performed by one of Hugh’s pop punk bands,’ he corrected. ‘Standing right in the middle of the front row, yelling the songs along with them and letting the sound drive everything else out of your head.’
    â€˜Pop punk? I’m sure you look great wearing guy-liner,’ she teased.
    â€˜Oh, please. At thirty, I’m way too old for that.’ But he was laughing, and he held her hand all the way to the Tube station—and all the way back to Docklands.
    They walked hand in hand along the river frontage in easy silence, watching the play of lights on the water. Grace thought wistfully, if only this was real. But that wasn’t the deal, and she needed some space to stand on her own two feet again. So for now she’d just enjoy the moment. Two weeks of being swept off her feet. Wanting more was just greedy.
    â€˜I had a really good time tonight,’ Roland said.
    â€˜Even though it’s not the glamorous kind of stuff someone like you is used to?’ she asked.
    â€˜It was fun,’ he said. ‘You put a lot of thought into it and came up with something original and different that I really enjoyed. Anyway, it doesn’t have to be super-glamorous or cost a lot of money for it to be a good time—like now. There’s nothing better than walking by the river at night watching the lights on the water, and that doesn’t cost anything.’
    â€˜True,’ she said. ‘I can see why you live here.’
    â€˜Is this the sort of area where you’d live, if you had the chance?’ he asked.
    â€˜Are we talking about my dream home? That would be a pretty little Victorian terraced house, filled with the kind of curtains and cushions you hate most,’ she said. ‘If I won the lottery, I’d want a place that overlooked somewhere like Hampstead Heath, or have one of those gorgeous houses in Notting Hill that have access to a pretty garden.’
    He stopped and turned to face her. ‘Like the one in the film where the movie star kisses the ordinary guy?’
    â€˜I guess,’ she said, and she couldn’t help staring at his mouth. Except he wasn’t an ordinary guy and she wasn’t a film star.
    She only realised she’d spoken aloud when he said, ‘I’m ordinary enough,’ and leaned forward to kiss her.
    Time seemed to stop. And she was super-aware of his nearness—his clean male scent, the warmth of his skin, the way the touch of his lips made her skin tingle.
    A cat-call from a passing teenager broke the mood, and he took a step back. ‘Sorry.’
    â€˜It’s fine to kiss your date in public,’ she said, striving for cool. ‘Except maybe not as, um...’ How could she tell him that he’d made her feel feverish, without giving herself away? ‘A little cooler might be more appropriate,’ she said.
    â€˜Noted.’ But his pupils were huge. Was that because of the darkness around them, or had kissing her affected him the same way it had affected her? She was way too chicken to ask.
    And she was even more relieved when her phone pinged. ‘This might be my daily Bellagram,’ she said. ‘Oh, look—they took a cable car ride today.’ She showed him the photograph. ‘Trust Bella to hang off the running boards like Doris Day.’
    â€˜Wouldn’t you do that, too?’ he asked.
    She gave him a rueful smile. ‘I’m the sensible one. I’d be thinking of health and safety.’ And missing out on the fun.
    â€˜Nothing wrong with being sensible. Do you have plans for tomorrow?’ he asked as they headed back to his place.
    â€˜No.’ Even if they hadn’t already agreed