The Country Wedding by Barbara Hannay

Author:Barbara Hannay
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction
ISBN: 9781760143404
Publisher: Penguin Random House Australia

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

‘The crazy thing was that I didn’t see it coming.’

It was nearly midnight. Mitch and Flora had moved inside again and Flora was drinking hot chocolate. Conversation had been flowing easily all night, touching on a wide range of topics – favourite dogs, dream travel destinations, a deep psychoanalysis of their mutual friends – the kind of talk that can only happen late at night, after a drink or three.

Mitch had deftly avoided talking about Angie, though, and Flora had been equally careful to avoid that touchy topic. She hadn’t seemed keen to talk about her ex either. So Mitch was stunned to find himself suddenly spilling his guts about the shock of his no-show wedding day.

‘I can’t imagine how hard that must have been for you,’ Flora said gently. ‘But I hear you about not seeing it coming.’ She gave a small sigh. ‘I was the same about Oliver. I thought he was lovely until . . . he wasn’t . . .’

They were sitting opposite each other on sofas now and they shared sorry smiles.

‘So what does that make us both?’ Mitch asked. ‘Naïve, gullible dickheads?’

‘Maybe.’ Flora’s smile faded. Her expression turned serious again. ‘I suppose, when you’re in a relationship, you can be blinkered. You just see what you want to see. Maybe it’s the whole rose-coloured glasses thing. Or maybe the clues are easy to miss.’

‘Or maybe some people are just plain dishonest,’ Mitch suggested, darkly.

‘Well, yes . . . that’s true. They can be downright devious, can’t they? Saying one thing to your face and thinking something else entirely.’

‘Yeah.’ Mitch knew exactly what Flora meant. He still couldn’t believe that Angie had never once mentioned Kevin, and yet she’d probably been pining for her old boyfriend the whole time.

As he thought about Kevin now, however, he realised that he could do so tonight without the terrible gut ache that made him want to punch someone. The pain wasn’t nearly as bad as it had been all week.

Chilling out with Flora had obviously been good for him. He was relaxed around her these days. She’d grown up a lot in the past couple of years. Now they seemed to be able to tune into each other, and there was no bullshit, no trying to show off or flirt – the kind of stuff that usually happened in mixed company.

He and Flora had both been burned, of course, and no doubt that had helped. His enjoyment of Flora’s company had nothing to do with the pretty picture she made, curled on his couch, her dark hair gleaming in the lamplight, her eyes brimming with warmth, her slender, expressive hands hugging a blue pottery mug.

Now, she drained her mug and let out a yawn.

‘We should call it a night,’ Mitch said.

‘Yeah, I guess so. It’s been a lovely evening, though. Thanks, Mitch.’

‘And thanks to you, too. I’ll show you to your room. The bed’s already made up.’

It was a double bed covered by a bright cotton rug made in India that Mitch had found at a market in Cairns.

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