‘I’m Harriet,’ I thrust my hand out as my hair whipped over my face. Great. That played out better in my head.

‘Christian.’ 

I flapped my hair out of the way just in time to catch his smirk. I’m sure he’d moved even closer to me. The bench felt so much smaller. The night was drawing in. The rain fell gently, but the dark sky warned it would soon pour. However, neither of us made any intimation that we wanted to part. The space between us held the promise of a conversation that could continue for years. The bridge grew heavier with traffic, and the sea bashed against the concrete blocks holding it up. 

‘It’s a shame my dad and your aunt never met all those years ago,’ I mused. 

‘Well, if you hadn’t come over, I don’t think we would have,’ he said, almost as a thank you. 

‘My dad always kept to himself. And I guess getting that peace and quiet every Friday overrode his courage to go over to her.’

‘Rosie always thought he needed his space. She’d say, “That grumpy man skimmed a few stones this afternoon. Looked like he was skimming something more than stones, though.”’ Christian laughed.

The sea sloshed over the rocks, and the rain fell faster and harder. Christian glanced at his watch, the soft glow highlighting the contours of his face. 

 My heart sank as I asked, ‘Have you got to be somewhere?’ Please say you don’t.

His coffee-bean eyes locked on mine. They stirred with curiosity. 

‘What?’ I asked, my cheeks burning. 

‘You know they say it’s never too late?’ 

‘Yeah.’ I narrowed my eyes at his thoughtful expression.

‘Would your dad be up for a visitor tomorrow morning?’

My heart leapt. ‘We could be the bridge!’ I clapped my hand to my mouth. ‘I didn’t mean to say that out loud.’

 He grinned, then winced at the rain. ‘Shall we grab a coffee at that café and make a plan?’

‘I thought you’d never ask.’

*

Christian stood at the entrance of Spring Field Care Home, looking even more dashing under the canopy of sunshine against the old Oak. Rosie was in a wheelchair, her oval face as serious and beautiful as Dad had described. Her eyes scanned the care home, and she fiddled with a charm bracelet on her petite wrist. I wondered if Christian had bought it for her or if she once had a husband.

‘Hello,’ I greeted them, butterflies flapping in my stomach, my chest, everywhere.

‘Ah, Harriet, hi.’ Christian pursed his lips, looking as nervous as me. He wore a charcoal T-shirt that looked ironed, and his sandy hair was charmingly tousled.

‘Dad’s waiting in the garden round the back.’ I smiled at them. ‘Sorry. Rosie, it’s so nice to meet you.’ I shook her hand, and her expression warmed as if the sun had just found it.

 ‘Thank you,’ she said slowly, giving attention to every syllable. ‘This means a lot.’

‘He’s looking forward to meeting you. He remembers his Friday afternoons well.’

‘Is he less grumpy these days?’ Her playful smile echoed the one on Christian’s lips yesterday. 

I laughed softly. ‘It depends on the company.’

Christian wheeled her around the back. Dad stood tall by the raised flowerbed next to a table laid out neatly with a teapot, cups, and saucers. The scent of chamomile wafted in the air, mingling with the aroma of freshly cut grass. I felt a glow of pride.

‘I thought it was time to say hello,’ Rosie said with a stern approach, but one that went down well with Dad as his face lit up.

‘I’m glad you did,’ he finally said. ‘I’m Richard.’

‘Rosie.’

He strode over to take her hand. He bent down and kissed it. ‘Would you take tea with me?’

Rosie smiled, then lifted her eyebrows at me and Christian to scarper.

‘We’ll leave you to it,’ Christian said, allowing Dad to wheel Rosie to their first date.

Christian and I walked away, both stealing glances behind us. 

Dad poured the tea shakily while Rosie’s lips didn’t stop moving.

‘Do you think they’ll be okay?’ I whispered, worried about how Dad would find it and how Rosie would find him.

‘That woman is keeping an eye out, look.’

‘Yeah, Joy, she’s so wonderful with Dad. He does seem to remember those Fridays well.’

‘They’ll be fine,’ he assured me. ‘And we won’t go far.’

‘Okay.’ I took a breath and let my worry drop. ‘What do you want to do now?’ I asked, feeling more vulnerable in the light without Dad and Rosie.

‘I wondered if you would like to take tea with me?’ Christian led me to his car, opened his boot, and got out a picnic basket. ‘They said we could just this once. I mean, the tea is in a flask, and it’s not china cups and saucers or anything, but…’ 

I smiled. ‘A flask is perfect.’

As we shared sips of tea under the shade of the old Oak, I couldn’t help but feel that in this small moment, we were building bridges – connecting past and present, worries and hopes, and, just maybe, starting something new.