The Doctor's Lost-and-Found Bride by Kate Hardy Page B

granted.’
    ‘Come in. I’ll put these in some water.’
    He followed her into the flat.
    There were photographs hanging in the narrow hallway, and he’d just bet the mantelpiece in her living room was crammed with more framed photographs. There was a cork board in her kitchen with photographs and postcards pinned to it; some of the photos were clearly of work nights out, as he recognised several of their colleagues, and others were of Marina’s family. Several sheets of artwork were fastened to the fridge with magnets—abstract patterns of thick paint, liberally sprinkled with glitter, which he guessed were Phoebe’s. Pots of herbs grew on the windowsill, and there was a spice rack on the worktop that Max knew from experience was well used rather than just sitting there for decorative effect.
    Marina’s kitchen was obviously the heart of her flat, just as it had been in their home together; and suddenly he felt wistful. He could remember how it had felt to come home on days when their duties hadn’t matched; walking into a room had been like walking into her arms for a hug, even when she wasn’t there, because everywhere had felt so welcoming.
    So different from his almost-empty flat.
    And so very different from his parents’ ultra-formal house, where he felt guilty about putting a dent into a pristine cushion and wouldn’t dream of putting his feet up on the sofa.
    In Marina’s flat, he instantly felt at home. It made him realise again how much he’d missed her. How empty his life had been since he’d lost her.
    Could they give each other a second chance?
    ‘Sorry, I’m running a teensy bit behind, so dinner’s going to be another twenty minutes. Do you want a coffee, or do you want to start on the wine?’ she asked.
    ‘Coffee would be lovely,’ he said politely.
    She put the wine in the fridge and switched on the kettle. ‘Make yourself comfortable. You can go through into the living room, if you like, and I’ll bring our coffee through.’
    ‘Do you mind if I sit here?’ He indicated one of the chairs at her kitchen table.
    ‘Sure. Help yourself.’ She smiled at him and started arranging the irises in a clear-glass vase.
    ‘Anything I can do to help?’
    ‘You can get the milk out of the fridge, if you like.’ She busied herself shaking coffee grounds into a cafetière.
    He opened the fridge and blinked. ‘Your fridge is full,’ he said as he retrieved the milk and set it on the worktop.
    ‘That’s what a normal person’s fridge looks like.’ She laughed. ‘Yours isn’t normal, Dr Hubbard.’
    The only answer he could give to that was a wry smile, and a change of subject. ‘Something smells wonderful.’
    ‘Supper,’ she said, frothing the milk in a jug with a tiny whisk before adding it to the coffee and handing him a mug.
    It was typical of Marina to make proper coffee rather than instant, he thought, and to add those extra touches without making a big deal out of it.
    ‘Sorry, I haven’t had time to lay the table yet.’
    ‘I’ll do it, if you tell me where everything is,’ Max offered.
    ‘Sure. Cutlery’s in the second drawer along, place-matsare in the drawer next to them, and the glasses are on the middle shelf of the cupboard above the kettle.’
    So she still kept everything in the same places as she’d kept things in their kitchen. No wonder he felt as if he knew his way around already.
    ‘I didn’t get a chance to see Rosie today,’ he said. ‘How’s she doing?’
    ‘OK, but horribly bored,’ Marina replied. ‘Mind you, I don’t think I’d cope too well with being confined to a hospital bed.’
    Max certainly hadn’t. He’d brooded and brooded and brooded. Then again, he’d had a lot to brood about. Finding a new job, dealing with his father’s death—and then coming to terms with the bombshell his father had left. Not to mention the sea-change in his own feelings afterwards, losing his respect for his father and discovering a new sympathy towards