“I think I’ll have the plaice goujons with saffron aioli, and we’d like the Provençal vegetable platter for the table,” one of the Segrave sisters says.
“A quinoa burger with chips for me, please,” the other one says.
I turn my head just in time to see Felix Segrave ask a waiter: “And what’s the shortcrust pie of the day?”
“Venison, stilton, and rosemary,” the waiter replies.
“One of those, please,” Felix says.
They are approximately ten feet away from me, at a table near the garden doors. It’s oriented so none of them are facing me. They have no idea I’m here.
My food hasn’t arrived yet, so I can’t leave. And even if I tried, I’d have to walk past them on my way out. My options are to sit here and hope they don’t notice me or go say hello.
I think of the question my mom asked me last Christmas.What would you do if you could throw off your worries and responsibilities and do exactly what you wanted?
I get up and walk over to the Segraves’ table.
Pear sees me first. She claps a hand over her mouth.
“What is it?” Prue asks with alarm.
“Hope!” Pear says, standing up. “Oh my God, darling. Felix, look who it is!”
He turns around.
Our eyes meet.
And his face crinkles into the most beautiful smile I’ve ever seen.
Felix
I’m at the tavern in town, half-listening to my sisters’ chatter and counting down the minutes until lunch arrives, because as soon as we get back to the hotel, I am going to call Hope, and it’s all I can think about.
But I don’t get the chance.
Because here she is, in this tiny village in Devon, standing in front of me like a vision my heart has conjured.
I leap up. “Hope,” I say. “My God.”
I can’t get anything else out. I don’t know what to do. Should I hug her? Kiss her? Propose?
She clearly doesn’t know what to do either.
So I stand up, kiss her cheek, and when she doesn’t pull away, wrap her in a hug and squeeze her for much longer than is normal.
I know I’m being weird. I can’t let go. And when I glance down at her face, she’s looking up at me, grinning.
There are no assurances in life, of course. But that smile tells me she’s happy to see me. And that’s enough for this moment.
“Hi,” I say into her ear.
“Hi,” she whispers back.
“What brings you to the hinterlands of England, Hope?” Prue asks, either not clocking that I’m having a moment or hoping to break my moment because the way I am holding Hope is not socially acceptable for a family restaurant.
“I’m here for the summer,” Hope says, turning to her. “I’m staying nearby, in Torbay.”
“Felix, you didn’t tell us Hope was here!” Pear says.
