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Chapter Eight

As soon as her two favourite helpers — Summer and Sarah — were settled in the guinea garden, and Ruby had been reassured that Tilly was far too polite and well-behaved a dog to attack her, Angela caught her friend’s arm. ‘Can I get your opinion quickly on something indoors please?’

‘Of course.’ Evelyn turned to the girls. ‘Summer, can you keep an eye on your cousin please? We’ll only be a few minutes.’

‘Yeah, Mum.’

‘It’s OK, Auntie Evie, I’ll be good,’ the little girl promised solemnly.

‘Auntie Evie?’ Angela asked as her friend followed her into the main house.

‘I know, adorable, right? She decided she didn’t want to wait until after the wedding to call me that.’

‘Precious.’

‘Precocious, more like, but she’s such a sweetheart. And Summer takes her role of “big cousin” so seriously, and she’s so good at it . . .’ Something in her friend’s tone grabbed Angela’s attention, distracting her from her inner turmoil.

‘Are you telling me you’re bringing the wedding forward, shotgun style?’

‘No, no, I’m not pregnant.’ Evelyn laughed. ‘But, between you and me, it might not be something Jake and I have ruled out completely. He’s such a wonderful father to Summer, but I sometimes can’t help picturing him with a baby in his arms.’

‘Oh, you’re a gonna.’ Angela was thrilled for Evelyn.

‘You don’t think I’m crazy, do you? Or too old?’

‘No, not at all. And I really hope it happens for you.’ She squeezed her friend’s hand tightly, meaning every word. ‘You’re one of the best mums I know, and you, Summer and Jake, you deserve every bit of happiness in the world.’

‘Thank you.’ Evelyn smiled back. ‘So, what is it you wanted my opinion on?’

‘I have a date this afternoon, and I don’t know what to wear!’

‘That’s unlike you. You don’t usually worry about things like this.’

Angela knew her friend was right, but that didn’t stop the tornado of butterflies quickstepping around her stomach. ‘This feels different.’

‘Really? Who is it? Someone you met on an app?’

‘No. Not an app.’ She picked up the three outfits she’d brought down for consideration. ‘This is what I’ve narrowed it down to.’

Evelyn studied the choices. ‘What type of date is this?’

‘Just a late Sunday lunch.’

‘Well these are all lovely, but do you think they might be a little . . . dressy for Brockle’s Retreat?’

‘It’s not the Retreat. It’s some country hotel. And I get the impression it definitely isn’t a jeans type of place.’

‘Really? That’s an impressive-sounding first date.’

‘What makes you think it’s a first date?’ She held up an outfit.

‘Hmm. Don’t love that one.’ Evelyn wrinkled her nose. ‘I just didn’t expect you to be worried about a date that wasn’t a first one. Plus, you hadn’t mentioned seeing anyone.’

‘How about this?’

‘That could work.’ Evelyn nodded. ‘But don’t think I’ve noticed you ignoring my other question.’

Fiddlesticks and sugar-plum fairies. Angela had really hoped that had slid past Evelyn. ‘It’s Rick.’ She winced.