well as the cake she’d fallen in love with. She rattled off guest numbers and seating arrangements in one breath and told her about the world-class photographer she was hoping to book in the next. Oh, and then there was the string quartet that was apparently ‘divine’.
She bounced from favours and bouquets to napkins and place settings along with a million other things that Mia hastily jotted down, but the one thing she didn’t mention was the bridal party. At one point Mia opened her mouth to ask, but behind his sister’s back Dylan surreptitiously shook his head and Mia closed it again.
Maybe Carla hadn’t decided on her attendants yet. Mia suspected that the politics surrounding bridesmaid hierarchy could be fraught. Especially for a big society wedding.
Only it wasn’t going to be big. It was going to be a very select and exclusive group of fifty guests. Which might mean that Carla didn’t want a large bridal party.
Every now and again, though, Carla would falter. She’d glance at her brother and without fail Dylan would step in and smooth whatever wrinkle had brought Carla up short, and then off she would go again.
Beneath Carla’s manic excitement Mia sensed a lurking vulnerability, and she couldn’t prevent a sense of protectiveness from welling through her. She’d warmed to Carly—Carla—the moment she’d met her. For all her natural warmth and enthusiasm she had seemed a little lost, and it had soothed something inside Mia to chat to her about the programmes Plum Pines ran, to talk to her about the animals and their daily routines.
As a rule, Mia did her best not to warm towards people. She did her best not to let them warm towards her either. But to remain coolly professional and aloof with Carla—the way she’d tried to be with Dylan—somehow seemed akin to kicking a puppy.
While many of her work colleagues thought her a cold and unfeeling witch, Mia didn’t kick puppies. She didn’t kick anyone. Except herself—mentally—on a regular basis.
‘Can I come back with Thierry tomorrow and go over all this again?’
Why hadn’t the groom-to-be been here today?
‘Yes, of course.’
Hopefully tomorrow Nora would be back to take over and Mia would be safely ensconced on the reserve’s eastern boundary, communing with weeds.
Carla glanced at her watch. ‘I promised Thierry I’d meet him for lunch. I have to run.’ She turned to her brother. ‘Dylan...?’ Her voice held a note of warning.
He raised his hands, palms outwards. ‘I’ll sort everything—I promise. Mia and I will go back to the office and thrash it all out.’
Mia’s chest clenched. Thrash what out? She didn’t have the authority to thrash anything out.
She must have looked crestfallen, because Dylan laughed. ‘Buck up, Mia. It’ll be fun.’ He waggled his eyebrows.
Mia rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t crush the anticipation that flitted through her.
‘I’ll buy you a cup of coffee and a blueberry muffin.’
His grin could melt an ice queen.
Lucky, then, that she was made of sterner stuff than ice.
‘You’ll do no such thing.’ She stowed her notepad in her back pocket as they headed back towards the main concourse. ‘Gordon Coulter would be scandalised. All refreshments will be courtesy of Plum Pines.’
During the last two hours they’d moved from the lily pond back to the office, to pore over brochures, and then outside again to a vacant picnic table, where Carla had declared she wanted to drink in the serenity. Now, with many grateful thanks, Carla moved towards the car park while Mia led Dylan to the Pine Plum’s café.
He grinned at the cashier, and Mia didn’t blame the woman for blinking as if she’d been temporarily blinded.
‘We’ll have two large cappuccinos and two of those.’ He pointed at the cupcakes sitting beneath a large glass dome before Mia had a chance to speak.
‘You mean to eat two cupcakes and drink two mugs of coffee?’ She tried to keep the acerbity out of her voice.
‘No.’ He spoke slowly as if to a child. ‘One coffee and one cake are yours.’
Mia glanced at the cashier. ‘Make that one large cappuccino, one pot of tea and one cupcake, thank you. It’s to go on Nora’s events account.’
Without further ado she led him to a table with an outlook over the duck pond.
‘You’re not hungry?’ he asked.
She was ravenous, but she’d brought her lunch to work, expecting to be stranded on the eastern boundary, and she hated waste. ‘I’m not hungry,’ she said. It was easier than explaining that in Gordon Coulter’s eyes the events account didn’t extend to buying her any food. ‘Besides, I don’t have much of a sweet tooth.’
She frowned, unsure why she’d added that last bit.
For a moment he looked as if he were waging an internal battle with himself, but then he folded his arms on the table and leaned towards her, his eyes dancing. ‘Are you telling me, Mia...?’
She swallowed at the way he crooned her name, as if it were the sweetest of sweet things.
‘...that you don’t like cake?’
He said it with wide eyes, as if the very idea was scandalous. He was teasing her again. She resisted the almost alien urge to tease him back.
‘I didn’t say I didn’t like it. It’s just not something I ever find myself craving.’
His mouth kinked at one corner. Mia did her best to look away.
‘Now I have to discover what it is you do crave.’
How could he make that sound so suggestive?
‘Cheesecake? Ice cream?’
She narrowed her eyes. ‘Why do I get the feeling you’re trying to find something to use as a bribe?’
‘Chocolate?’
Oh. He had her there. ‘Chocolate is in a class of its own.’
He laughed, and something inside her shifted. No shifting! She had to remain on her guard around this man. He’d called her beautiful and something in her world had tilted. She had no intention of letting that happen again.
‘You made my sister very happy today. From the bottom of my heart, thank you.’
It was the last thing she’d expected him to say. ‘I... I was just doing my job.’
‘It was more than that, and we both know it.’
She didn’t want it to be more. This was just a job like any other. ‘Naturally Carla is excited. I enjoyed discussing her plans with her.’
To her surprise, she realised she was speaking nothing less than the truth.
Their
