Page 12 of The Brit and the Bridesmaid
It was the greenery, though, that kept her attention. She loved plants. Loved them. The city had done a good job keeping things trimmed back and healthy at the park, but it could do with a few more flowering shrubs.
“Heads up!”
Abby processed the shouted warning just in time to duck out of the way of a flying soccer ball.
One of the soccer guys came hustling over. “Sorry ’bout that.”
She shrugged. “No problem.” She popped another blackberry in her mouth.
“Abby Grover?” a second male voice asked.
She froze, the berry half-chewed in her mouth. She only knew one person with an English accent. Sure enough, Matthew Carlton was coming in her direction. Abby swallowed a little too fast and choked a second on the berry. A quick swig from herwater bottle had her almost composed by the time he reached the bench.
“Playing a little soccer?” she managed to ask.
He gave her a half smile. “Iam playing football. The rest of these clowns are playing soccer.”
His friend, who had retrieved the ball, laughed and slapped him on the shoulder as he passed. “Whatever you call it, we’re still wiping the grass with you.”
Matthew stayed by the bench even after his friend rejoined the game. “Did you come for the market?”
Abby nodded. “Never miss it. Caroline was with me.”
At the look that flitted quickly across his face, she laughed out loud. Apparently Caroline hadn’t calmed down about the wedding arrangements over the couple weeks that had passed since selecting Sainsbury House.
“Don’t worry,” Abby reassured him. “The future Mr. Caroline has taken her to lunch. She won’t stress out on you today.”
He chuckled. “I wouldn’t bet on that. I’ll probably have a half-dozen emails from her waiting for me when I get in to work tomorrow.”
“It’s good of you to put up with her.”
He wiped a trickle of sweat from his forehead. “She’s actually not that bad compared to some brides I’ve had to work with.”
“Wow. I almost feel bad for you.”
Matthew grinned at that. “Almost?”
“Hey, Matt!” someone called from the soccer game. “Either quit flirting over there or bring her over here to play.”
Matthew looked a little embarrassed. There was something very odd about a sophisticated, high-class, Englishman turning even the tiniest bit red. Dirk was never embarrassed by anything. Angry, sometimes, but not ever embarrassed.
“Do you play football?” Matthew asked.
“Football? No.” Abby shook her head. “But I did play soccer in high school.”
“Really?” Matthew looked impressed. Dirk had been a field-hockey kind of guy. They’d never talked about her sports.
“We took state my senior year.”
“I don’t know what that means,” Matt said. “But it sounds impressive.”
Abby made her best superior face. “It means we were good. And I played in the city league after that. Champions three years running.”
He motioned with his head toward the game. “Would you like to come play? Show these chumps how it’s done?”
Her first thought was to turn him down. But why should she? She still liked to play. His friends had invited her first. He was being nice— not the arrogant, stuffy guy from Sainsbury House. “Sure. Why not?”
He walked with her back toward his friends. He walked with her. Dirk would have set his own pace and expected her to match it.
