Take a Moment Read online

  Take A Moment

  Cover

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2 2 weeks later

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35 Six weeks later

  Chapter 36

  One more thing before you go…

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  Copyright

  Cover

  Table of Contents

  Start of Content

  For James and my family, who supported me through the most difficult time of my life.

  Chapter 1

  ‘Give me a bite. Stop it. You’re such a tease.’

  ‘I’ll give you a bite… if you give me a kiss.’

  ‘I’d give you a kiss anyway, monkey. You’re so damn cute.’

  ‘And you’re beautiful.’

  The nausea-inducing kissy slurping noises flood my consciousness yet again, and my patience finally combusts. Abandoning the email I’m typing, I snap the cover over my iPad screen and hastily gather my stuff. Ignoring the giggling whispers of ‘what’s her problem’ and ‘bet she’s not getting any’, I stagger down the aisle of the moving train carriage, seeking a table that isn’t occupied by the rail network’s answer to Romeo and Juliet. The train is busy, so I’m forced to walk through two carriages before I find another spot.

  As I awkwardly manoeuvre my way into another four-seater table, nodding politely at, but barely acknowledging, the man occupying the seat opposite, I lose my grip on my belongings. My iPad falls into the aisle with a loud thunk.

  ‘Allow me.’ The man slides over from his window seat, retrieves my iPad and places it on the table in front of me.

  ‘Thanks.’ I meet his gaze with an appreciative look. I’m slightly taken aback as my senses focus on him. He’s rather attractive: athletic looking, around thirty, with deep chocolate-brown eyes, mid-brown hair and a close-cut beard.

  ‘No problem. Issues with your table neighbours?’

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘Your armful of belongings suggests you’ve cut and run.’

  I survey my things, gracelessly dumped on the table in front of me, and break into an amused smile. ‘Spot on. I can zone most things out, but a pair of loud lovestruck teenagers are beyond my limit.’

  ‘I hear you.’ The man grins at me, revealing a sexy smile and a cute dimple on his left cheek. ‘I’ll keep it down, I promise.’

  ‘No need. Unless your super-delicious girl- or boyfriend is in the loo and about to return and eat your face off.’

  ‘You’re safe. I have no significant other on this train. Or at all for that matter.’

  I hesitate briefly, unsure if that disclosure of availability was intentional, or just a conversation filler.

  ‘That’s good. Two days at a conference has done horrible things to my inbox.’ I pick up my iPad and start to scroll down the sea of unread emails, searching for the highest priorities.

  ‘I’ll leave you in peace then.’ The man seems mildly disappointed.

  I immediately feel a stab of guilt, though I know I shouldn’t. Shaking it off, I tap away at the screen and start quickly firing off one response after another, my mind fixed on getting back up to speed as quickly as possible. Having the project board quarterly review first thing after my conference isn’t ideal, but I’ll be on it. Most people dread the scrutiny; I welcome the challenge.

  After about an hour immersed in my emails, I start to feel bleary-eyed: a clear sign I need a break. It was a full-on conference, so it’s not really surprising. I snap the cover over my iPad again and sit back in my seat, closing my eyes momentarily. When I open them, I catch my tablemate stealing a glance at me. Offering him a genuine smile in return, I decide there’s no harm in striking up a conversation to pass the final half-hour of the journey. After two days of seminars and professional networking, I’m craving a bit of ‘crap chat’.

  ‘Do you live in Glasgow?’ I ask him.

  ‘No,’ he replies. I can’t place his accent apart from it’s English. ‘I’m heading there for a stag weekend. Mate from uni.’

  ‘A stag weekend in Glasgow? Good luck.’

  ‘Thanks, think I’ll need it. Will be a lively one: there might just be a leopard print mankini involved.’ He gives me a wink.

  ‘Ouch.’ I wince in sympathy for the poor groom.

  ‘Not my doing, I must add. His friends from school. They’re a bit wild.’

  ‘I hope you enjoyed knowing him.’

  ‘That’s been on my mind too.’ He chuckles and I find my eyes drawn to that cheek dimple. ‘I’ve been on a couple of nights out with them before, so I’ve an idea what he’s in for. Are you from Glasgow yourself?’

  ‘Yup. Can’t you tell?’

  ‘I didn’t want to be presumptuous.’ He takes a swig from his bottle of mineral water. ‘Not that familiar with Scottish accents.’

  There’s a short silence between us. I fiddle with my phone, while the man thumbs the pages of the book in front of him. Not quite the flowing ‘crap chat’ I was hoping for. More like the tongue-tiedness of a first date.

  ‘You said you were at a conference. Anything interesting?’ he asks eventually.

  ‘Interesting to me, but job-related. So maybe not interesting to you.’

  ‘What does that mean? Do I gather you enjoy your job?’

  ‘Possibly more so than the average person would consider healthy. Anyhow, if you’re not from Glasgow, where are you from?’

  ‘I’m a Brummie. From Birmingham, born and bred.’

  I pick up my phone and google the term. ‘Ah, I see. A colloquial name for Birmingham or the Birmingham dialect. It’s also a Portuguese surname, according to Wikipedia. Did you know that?’

  ‘I did not.’ He raises an eyebrow at me. ‘And I’m not sure I’m any better off now I do. Do you verify everything you’re told through your phone? Or is it just to make sure total strangers don’t feed you false info?’

  I replace my phone on the table. ‘I’d say it’s more of a bad habit.’

  There’s another slightly awkward silence, then he asks, ‘Was the conference in Birmingham, then?’

  I nod.

  ‘What did you think of it? Had you been before this trip?’

  ‘Yes, but not for years. I liked it. It’s really changed.’

  The man nods. ‘It has. Birmingham’s never been seen as a place to visit, but I reckon the city centre regeneration is putting it on the map.’

  ‘It certainly appealed to me. In some ways, I preferred it to Glasgow. Didn’t see as much as I’d hoped, but I loved the openness of it, like the coloured fountains at that plaza near the conference centre.’

  ‘Centenary Square.’

  ‘That’s it. The canals are awesome too. I had drinks by the waterside with a few of the conference delegates I met.’

  ‘You do seem to have enjoyed it.’

  ‘I did.’ I pause reflectively. �
�Think if I ever had to go south for work, I’d certainly consider moving there.’

  Though we haven’t even introduced ourselves, we continue to chat. By the time the train is pulling into the platform at Glasgow Central, we’re fairly well acquainted; as we’re alighting from the train, we’re at the stage of having a proper ‘goodbye’.

  ‘It was nice chatting to you.’ I gather my stuff and get to my feet.

  ‘You too. Good luck with the career.’

  ‘And good luck with the stag do. Hope the groom makes it down the aisle in one piece.’

  ‘Me too.’

  We step down onto the platform separately, which acts as a natural opportunity for us to go our separate ways. But as I make my way towards the ticket barriers, I feel a hand touch my shoulder lightly. I turn and find myself looking once again into his unsettlingly attractive dark eyes. My stomach swirls in response to this.

  ‘Don’t suppose you’ve time for a quick drink?’ he asks uncertainly. ‘I don’t need to be anywhere til this evening.’

  I’m caught off guard by this advance. ‘Oh, I err… sorry. I’m… engaged.’

  His face falls and his eyes flicker to my left hand. ‘Right. Shit. Sorry, I didn’t mean to—’

  ‘Don’t be sorry’ – the fingers of my right hand instinctively go to my ring finger protectively – ‘you weren’t to know. I’m flattered, honestly.’

  ‘And I’m embarrassed. Think I’ll just… head.’

  Before I can say anything more, he offers me a cringing smile and a half-wave and disappears into the moving crowd of travellers. I chuckle out loud and give myself a little shake as I try to digest what just happened: in particular, the notably inappropriate feeling of disappointment that’s hanging around me. What the hell is that about? It’s not like I’m never going to find other men attractive now I’m getting married. But I’ve got Dom – the most amazing man in the world – and I’m completely besotted with him. And I’ve missed him something rotten while I’ve been away at the conference.

  Carrying on through the ticket barriers, I make my way outside and hurry across the road to the prearranged pickup point I agreed with Dom. I quickly throw my case in the car boot and jump into the passenger seat so he can take off before a traffic warden books him, but he seems more concerned with greeting me.

  ‘Hi, kitten. How was your journey?’ His piercing blue eyes search mine.

  ‘Long but fine.’

  ‘I know it was only two nights but I missed you.’

  He pulls me into a tender kiss, which I melt into welcomingly, enjoying the familiar citrusy scent of his eau de toilette, and the minty taste from the gum he’s been chewing. Then he puts the car into gear and pulls out into the road. I gaze out of the window, watching the citizens of Glasgow going about their business as we zoom past them.

  ‘Guess what?’ I say suddenly. ‘I just got asked out by the guy sitting across from me on the train. How crazy is that?’

  ‘You did? I trust you politely declined.’ Dom chuckles.

  ‘I considered his offer, but I think I’ll stick with you.’

  ‘Cheeky. Sooner we get that engagement ring back on your finger the better. Don’t want some other bloke stealing you away from me.’

  ‘Like that would happen. The jeweller called, by the way. It’s ready for collection – and apparently, it’s now a perfect size match to my wedding ring. Can’t believe how close our big day is getting.’

  ‘I know, Lex.’ He reaches across and squeezes my hand affectionately. ‘Just five months to go. I can’t wait for you to become Mrs Dominic Lauder.’

  ‘Me neither.’ I gaze at him adoringly, the man from the train already forgotten, as I look forward to an evening relaxing with Dom.

  Chapter 2

  2 weeks later

  ‘Dom? Have you seen my keys? I’m going to be late for work.’

  Dom’s handsome bearded face appears round the edge of the bathroom door, having just emerged from the shower, his wet brown hair slicked back. ‘When did you last have them?’

  ‘Hmmm… don’t know.’ I try to persuade my sluggish Monday morning brain to recount my movements over the last twenty-four hours.

  ‘What were you wearing yesterday? Think I unlocked the door when we got back from the supermarket.’

  I have a thought, then rush to the wooden chair in the bedroom. Pouncing on my fleece, I let out a triumphant whoop as I hear the familiar jangle come from the pocket. ‘Thanks, lover. You’re the best. Don’t know what I’d do without you.’

  ‘You’re welcome,’ he yells from behind the now closed bathroom door. ‘Have a good day, kitten.’

  I blow a little kiss towards the bathroom, despite the fact I know Dom can’t see me, then sprint out the door of our tenement apartment.

  * * *

  A few hours later, I’m hunched over, gasping for breath. My regular lunchtime run is not going to plan today.

  ‘Are you OK?’ My best friend, Sasha, doubles back and jogs on the spot in front of me, concern etched across her face. ‘Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea to skip lunch.’

  ‘I’m fine. Think I may have a cold coming on. Been a bit off the last few days.’ I’m panting like a tired dog, feeling the burn in my lungs, my muscles, and on my weatherbeaten cheeks.

  ‘Maybe you should take a break from running?’ Sasha suggests as she continues to bob up and down in front of me, Glasgow’s Kelvingrove Park with its colourful explosion of spring flowers providing an appealing backdrop behind her. ‘You shouldn’t work out if you’re sick. A week won’t make a difference. Your wedding’s still four and a half months away.’

  As my breathing begins to settle, I straighten up, piercing Sasha with my well-practised are-we-seriously-having-this-conversation look: the one I generally save for my mother when she harps on about irrelevant or unnecessary stuff. ‘Sasha, how long have you known me?’

  ‘Oh, Lex, don’t start—’

  ‘If you don’t want me to start, then why play surrogate mother? I already have a real one who melts my head every chance she gets.’ I place my left hand on my hip to punctuate my remark, while allowing just the hint of a cheeky grin to sneak through.

  ‘OK, I hear you. You’ve a lot going on right now. I’m just… concerned.’

  ‘Well, don’t be. I’m fine. I may have a lot on, but it’s stuff that’s really important to me: great career, great man – soon to be my husband. I’m planning the wedding of my dreams, Sash. And I love running – plus it’s good for me. That’s all good stress. One little cold is hardly going to floor me.’

  ‘I know. I get all that.’ Sasha comes to a standstill. She chews her lip, uncertain whether to risk another ear-bashing or take the easy option and play ball. She opts for the former. ‘I’m just saying planning a wedding is one of the most stressful things you can do, even if it is good stress as you say – and you’re only a few months into your new job. If you’re getting sick, it can all add up.’

  I study my friend’s concerned face and smile at her affectionately. Sash and Lex. Joined at the hip since ninety-three. Her, the hesitant worrier. Me, the impulsive go-getter. Such opposites. But together, a perfect harmony.

  ‘Sash, I’m fine. I promise.’ My tone is gentler than before. ‘But that’s reminded me, we need to talk wedding stuff. So, maybe we can walk the rest of the way back to the office.’

  ‘Fabulous idea.’

  Sasha zips up her hooded top to protect her from the chill of the spring breeze. She links arms with me and we start to amble along the tarmacked path, breathing in the delicate scent from the flowering cherry blossom trees.

  ‘How’s the entertainment side of things going, by the way?’ she asks. ‘Did Dom cave on the karaoke?’

  ‘Of course he did.’ I crack a sly smile. ‘He knows what’s good for him. Karaoke will be straight after the buffet – when everyone’s loosened up enough to have a go. Then the band will finish off the night with the classics.’

  ‘Is “Loch L
omond” going to be your big finale? I love that song so much.’

  ‘Yup.’

  ‘Oh, I can’t wait! It will be totally amazing. And seeing you sing in your wedding dress, with that incredible voice. You’re going to blow everyone away.’ She starts to flap her free hand in front of her face as her eyes redden and the emotion threatens to spill over.

  ‘Calm yourself. I’m hardly Leona Lewis.’

  ‘I know that.’ Sasha dabs at the corners of her eyes with her sleeves. ‘But you’re way better than you realise. What are you going to sing? Have you had any thoughts?’

  ‘I’ve been plotting.’ I grin mischievously. ‘It’s a surprise though.’

  ‘Oh, come on. You can tell me.’

  ‘Nope. This one is between me and the karaoke compère. You’ll have to wait.’

  ‘Bah humbug.’ Sasha pouts at me, but I know she’s grudgingly respecting my silence on this.

  I decide a swift change of subject is needed. ‘So, other stuff. We need some shoes to go with that stunning dress of yours.’

  My diversion works a treat.

  ‘I can’t wait to try on my bridesmaid dress again. It’s just sooo gorgeous,’ Sasha gushes. ‘What were you thinking? I wondered about strappy silver, bit of bling as a contrast to the teal?’

  ‘And that’s why I love you.’ I pull her in for a sideways hug, trying to ignore the fact that my body feels like a lead weight. ‘Exactly what I was thinking.’

  * * *

  Back at our Anderston-based office, after a quick shower and change we head in opposite directions, an afternoon of wedding shoe shopping synced in our smartphone calendars for the coming weekend.

  As I hurry along the fourth-floor corridor to my project meeting, I pass a few colleagues from the marketing department where Sasha works, and offer polite greetings as I go. My legs feel heavy, my muscles still complaining, making me wonder if Sasha’s right. Maybe I should take a short break from running – just for a week, til I’m over my cold. Don’t want to risk putting myself out of the game even longer by being stubborn. That would get in the way of me reaching my goal weight for my big day.