23
Cooper
Friday was the kind of day Cooper had dreamed of when he wondered about marrying Emma. A dozen outdoor tables and ten times as many chairs had been delivered from a local event-hire company along with a giant bouncy-castle assault course. Emma and her sisters would be spending the day picking up drinks and other extras like jam and cream for the afternoon teas from the wholesaler. They’d then load up Emma’s van with crockery, glasses and cutlery along with varying mismatched teapots and the giant coffee urn from Sofia’s church, before finally fetching cake stands, more decorations and anything else they’d need from the Cakery.
In the meantime, that left Cooper, Greg and Moses to pop up the pop-up, using yet another one of Emma’s lists to provide instructions.
Gabriella was busy in the farmhouse cleaning, because, ‘you never know which of those sticky-beak women are going to be peeking and poking through my windows, making up excuses to mysteriously end up in my kitchen. “Oh, Gabriella, I was looking for a baby changing table and must have missed the clearly signed bathroom right inside the back door and somehow ended up in your bedroom instead!” That Mrs Windermere. I’m giving her not one single reason to be spreading gossip about my skirting boards this year.’
Even better, Paolo was manning Donovan’s DIY, so that he could take the day off on Saturday. Not that Cooper had any reason to mind Paolo being there. It might have been a good thing, a chance to hang out together without Bridget complicating things. To show Paolo he had nothing to worry about, no reason to hold a grudge.
Instead, he had a whole day of scrubbing, sweeping, setting out chairs and standing on stepladders hanging bunting with men who had no issue with him, who seemed as if they might consider enjoying a couple of pints together to not be totally out of the question.
‘How’s it going?’ Moses asked as they settled on a bench for a tea break while inspecting Emma’s diagram to ensure the table layout matched it to the inch.
‘Yeah. Not bad, thanks.’
‘Not bad?’ Moses winced. ‘I’d be hoping for something a little more positive for someone, what, a month into their marriage.’
Cooper plucked a piece of grass off his jeans. ‘No. Yeah, it’s been… a big adjustment. Obviously. We’re still early days. But this week’s been good.’
‘Sofia said you’ve been helping in the kitchen.’
Cooper nodded. ‘Yeah, it was a change, weighing out flour instead of chemical compounds. Swapping a lab coat for an apron. I enjoyed it. Seeing a different side of Emma. I kind of get now why her sisters say she’s bossy.’ What was it about Moses that made him talk about this stuff? ‘In a good way. Bossy as in like a boss. But watching how hard she’s worked, bringing all this together – on top of spending most of her evenings sorting wedding prep at Bridget’s – it’s impressive.’
‘Glad you’ve had a good week.’
Cooper thought about that. It had been better than good. Working all hours at the Cakery with whoever happened to be free to pitch in, starting to get to grips with the in-jokes and the ebb and flow between family members. Seeing Emma in her element had definitely been a good thing. He felt a wave of something – Guilt? Fear? Relief? – at the realisation that not seeing Bridget all week had been a good thing, too. Although, spending those evenings in alone, he couldn’t help wondering if Emma had chosen to go to Bridget’s on purpose, if she’d felt at all threatened by his friendship with her sister. Or whether she’d been missing her old life, and it was a relief to escape this new and uncertain life for a while.
Yes, lots of Emma and no Bridget, keeping busy and spending every day at the heart of the Donovan family, had made for a great week, when he thought about it.
What he tried not to dwell on was whether the decision not to take things more physical with Emma was one of the reasons things had been so much easier between them.
Should there be some sense of anticipation building?
He’d considered it, of course. Thought about what Emma would look like, how her skin would feel against his.
How it would be.
How it would beafterwards.
But he knew what it was like to long to touch a woman. Press his lips against her collarbone and breathe in the scent of her. To dream of a woman. To yearn for the freedom to unashamedly study every inch of her face and the shape of her neck and the flow of her curves and, yes, everywhere else. And not to have to conceal his love with a friendly smile or a throwaway comment. But to be able to pour all of it out, to show her with his gaze and his words that she was the reason for everything.
To be naked, and without shame.
But was that love, or obsession? A messed-up kid’s infatuation?
Was he wrong to wish he could feel that longing for Emma? For his wife? Or should he be grateful for respect, admiration, the fondness that felt closer to love every day?
Was it a pointless, hopeless fantasy? The patina of lust that soon wore off with bill-paying and dishwasher-emptying and all the other million minute tasks that made up real life.
He was certain that he needed to find a way to be able to think about Emma without circling back to the time when he’d felt that for someone else.
Those feelings were nothing. A past illusion.
This, today, was real. This was what mattered. Belonging. Family. Being part of a bigger picture that wasn’t all about him and what he wanted.
In the meantime, he had over a hundred chairs needing to fit a very precise diagram…
