Page 55 of The Invitation

She slows her chewing of an olive. “I did.” Then pops another one into her mouth. “Last weekandon Wednesday by text.”

I scowl and check my phone. And there it is. Abbie’s message. “Shit.”

“What?” Charley asks.

I spin, grinning, and accept Ena when she off-loads her on me. “Nothing. How’s your day been?”

Charley goes to the sink, giving me a tired look as she rinses a wineglass. “Don’t try to fool me, Amelia Lazenby. You forgot his birthday.”

“I temporarily misplaced the mental note I keep in my brain,” I say, feeling terrible. I let my shoulders drop. “I’m sorry.”

“Forget about it.” Charley flicks me with water, her way of telling me we’re fine. “What I’m more interested in iswhyyou forgot.”

“Yes, why, Amelia?” Abbie chimes, her voice an irritating tone of sarcastic. “Little Miss Organised, what made you forget our precious Elijah’s birthday?”

I sigh and perch on a stool, dropping a kiss into Ena’s hair and smelling her. I might not want a baby, but I do so love how they smell. “Why are you both insisting on wasting our time? We all know.”

“Have you heard from him?” Charley asks, pouring me a wine.

I look between them as they wait with interest. I don’t tell them but instead get my phone out and open the email, handing it to Charley across the island. Abbie shoots up and joins her, reading over her shoulder. And I wait, taking a sip of wine, watching their faces, as Ena plays with a coaster, bashing it on the marble.

“Oh my,” Abbie breathes. “That’s quite the invitation.”

I flash her a look to suggest I was hoping for more than the obvious.

“I find it quite refreshing that you’re thinking of something other than work,” she adds.

“Ha. Ha,” I drone.

“Do it.”

“Wait,” Charley pipes up. “Let’s be sensible.”

“Sensible about what?” Lloyd asks as he wanders into the kitchen, yanking his tie loose. He drops his briefcase to the kitchen floor, casting his eyes around the three of us.

“About Amelia accepting a spa day from the hunk who wants to get in her knickers,” Abbie chirps.

“The hunk who owns the hotel where the spa is,” Charley adds, making Lloyd’s eyebrows shoot up. “The hunk who got all aggressive possessive when he saw Amelia chatting to another man.”

“He was my brother,” I say, exasperated. She makes it sound like I’ve got a harem of men on the go.

“The dickhead from work isn’t.” Charley passes my phone across the island.

Poor Lloyd looks overcome as he glances between us. Then he settles on his daughter on my lap and collects her up. “Ena and I are going to watch Clarkson’s Farm,” he says, dropping a kiss into my hair. “Be careful.”

I smile. “I will.”

“And love the new hair,” he adds, grabbing Elijah up off the floor and running from the kitchen with a kid under each arm. “Come on, birthday boy.”

“It’s not new hair!” I call after him, slumping back on the stool.

“Go,” Abbie says, resolute.

Charley swallows, as if she’s struggling. I know she is. “I can’t tell you what to do.”

“Damn straight you can’t,” Abbie pipes up, earning herself an elbow in the ribs.

“Just . . . be sensible, okay?”

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