The Florist on Seablossom Lane: A heartwarming small town romance (Love in Porthglen Book 6) by Tamsin Bracknell

Author:Tamsin Bracknell [Bracknell, Tamsin]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: April Showers Publishing
Published: 2023-01-11T23:00:00+00:00

Chapter Seven

Sabor

At 5.45, after ordering the flowers for the gala and saying goodbye to Yijun, I slipped into the park’s public toilets and got changed out of my casual clothes into a floor-length blue dress, black jacket and heels. It wasn’t the ideal setting, tripping over my own legs to stop my clothes touching the dirty floor, but as I applied lipstick in the shatterproof mirror, I was quite pleased with the transformation.

My hair was still a little damp from the rain, but I looked good.

I let my shoulders fall, satisfied with my efforts, and headed out of the bathroom towards the high street, where Sabor stood nestled between the old Post Office and a clothes shop.

I stood at the bar, waiting to be seated, looking around for Hugo anxiously. The restaurant was lit with glowy orange sconces, the walls draped with red and orange patterned tapestries, giving the feel of a cosy lounge bar.

I ordered a mocktail and took a seat on a bar stool, tapping my fingernail on the edge of the glass to the beat of the background salsa music, resisting the urge to check my phone for a text from Hugo. The clock behind the bar read barely a few minutes past 6; he wasn’t exactly late.

“Your table is ready,” the waitress said to me a few minutes later, gesturing to a table for two in a nook in the corner.

“My date isn’t here yet,” I shrugged, feeling my face colour. “Can I just wait a few more minutes?”

“Yes, no problem,” she smiled. “Should I bring you the menu to look through while you wait?”

I nodded awkwardly. At least I would look busy when he arrived if I had the menu.

But I could hardly concentrate on the selection of food. My eyes kept glancing up to the clock. 6.05. 6.10. 6.15.

As the big hand swung around to twenty past, I let the waitress seat me at the table and ordered a few dishes, contemplating how long I should wait before leaving.

I wouldn’t have usually had any qualms with eating alone, but I didn’t want him to waltz in an hour late and see me finishing off a meal. That would be even more tragic than getting up and leaving alone.

The waitress eyed me apologetically as I made vague excuses for his lateness and ordered another mocktail, glad I hadn’t gone for any alcohol; the last thing I needed was to go home drunk and alone.

She came back less than five minutes later with a plate of flatbreads, a bowl of olives, a vegetable stew and a rice dish.

“Would you like a sharing plate?” She asked tentatively.

“No,” I said. “In fact, I might pack it up to go instead.”

“Okay, I’ll just get some containers,” she smiled, the pity in her eyes cutting right through me.

I leaned forward on the table, putting my head in my hands and groaned.

“That all looks delicious, as do you.”

Hugo.

I looked up, not sure whether to smile or glare at him.

He didn’t seem

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