the evening, so a bag that’s big enough to take her phone, credit card, keys and a coin purse is perfect. And this particular designer does seriously cute bags.’
‘That little Scottie dog on the front looks just like her new puppy. She probably showed you the latest pictures yesterday.’ Gio shook his head in amazement. ‘See, this is why I needed you with me. You understand girl stuff. I’d never have thought of this.’
‘Don’t flannel me. You normally text them at the last minute and ask them for a list of ideas and exactly where to buy them, don’t you?’ she asked.
Was he that predictable? Or was she just really, really good at reading people? But he loved the way she teased him. ‘It means they get what they really want. But this year, I wanted it to be different. So I told them all I was going to get them a surprise.’
‘And if I’d refused to come and help you?’
‘Then I’d have given them vouchers for a pamper day at their favourite spa,’ he admitted. ‘But I prefer giving presents to unwrap. Ones that people really like.’
‘So all you have to do is notice the details.’
‘I do notice details,’ he protested as he paid for the bag. ‘And because we did all the shopping in about three minutes flat, we have time for lunch.’
Though what he wanted for lunch definitely wasn’t on the menu.
She pantomimed horror. ‘Tut, tut. Should we not be heading to a branch of Giovanni’s?’
‘The nearest one’s at Charlotte Street. Which means I’d feel forced to go back to the office—and aren’t you joining my family’s campaign to make me take more time off?’
She laughed, but let him lead her into a nearby café.
‘I meant it about noticing details,’ Gio said when he brought their tray to their table.
‘Such as?’
‘You, for example.’The way her mouth was so full and lush and sexy when she’d just been kissed. Not that he was stupid enough to say that out loud. ‘Your eyes are the most beautiful colour—the same as the sky at about ten o’clock on an August evening.’
‘Flannel.’ She looked away.
‘Fran?’ He reached over and squeezed her hand. ‘I apologise for embarrassing you.’
‘I’m not embarrassed.’
The bright pink of her cheeks said otherwise. ‘I’ll take it away from the personal, then,’ he said softly ‘The only jewellery you wear is a watch, and it’s precisely eight minutes fast—which I’d guess is the amount of time it would take to sort out a voiceover studio between slots.’
‘Well deduced, Holmes.’
‘Why, thank you, Watson,’ he teased back.
But he managed to keep the conversation light and impersonal, and didn’t try to persuade her to take a longer lunch break when she said it was time to go back to work.
On Wednesday morning, just as Gio was about to leave his flat, his mobile phone rang.
He checked the display before answering: the Holborn branch. ‘Hi, Amy. What’s up?’
‘You know I was having problems with the steam wand the other day, and you sorted it out? It’s gone funny again. I’m trying to get it to work, but could you pop in on your way to Charlotte Street?’
‘Yeah, sure. I’ll get Sal to open up here. Be with you in a few minutes.’
By the time he’d got to Holborn, the steam wand was working perfectly again.
‘I feel really guilty, dragging you out here over nothing,’ Amy said. ‘But as you’re here, I was wondering if we could have a chat about something? There’s a writers’ group who’d like to meet here on Wednesday evenings and they asked me if we could open late. I know we don’t normally do evenings, but I’ve got a business plan. It’ll only take me ten minutes to talk you through…’
More like half an hour, but Gio knew the Charlotte Street branch was safe in Sally’s hands—not to mention Fran being in the office if there was a problem elsewhere.
He didn’t think anything of it until he was walking down Charlotte Street and noticed something odd about the exterior of the café.
Red balloons tied to the door, he saw as he got nearer.
Balloons that said ‘Happy Birthday’.
And when he walked into the café, spread across the back of the bar was a huge banner that said ‘Happy 29th birthday, Gio’, surrounded by balloons.
Before he had the chance to take it in, his mother, father and grandmother stepped out of the office, together with Fran. Fran counted them in, and they started singing ‘Happy Birthday to You’ to him, along with Ian and Sally.
Even the customers joined in.
He’d barely registered that today was his birthday—the post hadn’t arrived before he left, and he never really bothered making a fuss over the day anyway.
‘I don’t know what to say,’ he said. ‘Balloons?’
‘There are twenty-nine—one for every year of your age,’ Fran told him with a grin. ‘Count them, if you like. Now sit down and I’ll make you a coffee.’
His eyes narrowed. ‘When did you do all this?’ Then the penny dropped. ‘That call this morning from Amy—you set it up, didn’t you?’
She nodded. ‘I needed you out of the way until we’d put up the balloons and banner. But she was going to talk to you about the writing-group thing anyway.’
‘You know about that?’ At her raised eyebrow, he sighed. ‘You did the business plan, didn’t you?’
‘It was a joint effort with Amy, but, yes,’ she admitted.
She made an espresso, then heated the milk. And Gio watched, open-mouthed, as Fran made him a latte and free-poured a perfect rosetta on the top. ‘Happy birthday, honey,’ she said with a smile.
He stared at the mug, and then at her. ‘You made me a rosetta.’
‘Mmm. I should’ve made it a cake and a candle, really. But that would mean using a needle and cocoa, and I thought you might like this a little bit more.’ Her eyes glittered with mischief. ‘Not to mention a little wager we had—which had a deadline of this Friday, I believe.’
He groaned. ‘Oh, no. You’ve been practising, haven’t you?’
‘Yup.’
‘Which means you win the chocolates.’
She spread her hands. ‘Don’t blame me. You’re the one who set high stakes. Which were, and I quote, “I’ll take you to Fortnum’s and buy you the biggest box of chocolates of your choice.”’
He
