by Ella Hayes
For some reason, his approval made her heart glow. She smiled. ‘It was my grandmother who gave me the idea. She hates noise and hard chairs.’
‘She’s not the only one!’ He was shaking his head. ‘Those coffee machines in Roasta Coffee literally screech. I feel sorry for the baristas!’
‘Me too.’ He was so on the same page! ‘There’s nothing to dampen the sound so it’s not even great for the customers. It’s hard to hear what anyone’s saying, so then you have to shout and that makes everything even noisier!’ She moistened her lips. ‘I think there’s a gap in the market for a something different.’
His cute dimple was creasing again. ‘So you’re going to open a peaceful café with rugs on the floor and chocolate cake on the menu, and you’re trying to find the best recipes because you like everything to be perfect?’
‘Exactly!’
He leaned in, one eyebrow arching. ‘And are you planning to blindfold your customers?’
He was milking it to the last drop, but she couldn’t not to smile. ‘I did apologise...’
‘There was no need...’ His gaze was gently searching.
Suddenly the air felt too thin. She looked away, gazing around the strange little bar which wasn’t really a bar at all. Just a room with old stone walls and shelves for the different shades of rum. Before the tasting, they’d taken the distillery tour. As the guide had shown them the furnace and talked them through the process of rum making, she’d found it impossible to stop her eyes from straying to Joel’s face, and he’d seemed to catch her every time, rewarding her with a twitch of the dimple in his left cheek, and then she’d smiled, feeling warm all over.
And when she’d been examining a stick of sugar cane and had passed it to him, his fingers had shaved so close to hers that she’d felt her breath catch. All through the tour, they’d exchanged little looks and little smiles. It had felt like being seventeen again, flirting with Tom in the college kitchen, reaching for a bowl at the same time, laughing at everything, things which weren’t even funny. She’d forgotten what it felt like...
‘Hey!’ Joel was nudging her hands with a wrapped bottle. ‘One bottle of spicy rum. Hopefully, it’ll go down a storm at the peaceful café.’
‘Thanks.’ She smiled, burying the thought she’d just had and pulling another one on top of it. ‘But the café’s a long way away. It might never happen at all...’ Especially if she didn’t pursue Tom for the money. She pushed that thought away too. ‘I was just, you know, playing with the recipes.’
He seemed to hesitate and then his gaze turned blue and clear. ‘Emilie, I have so many questions, things I want to know about you and about your life. Is that weird?’
He was inviting her to step on to a bridge, not by flirting and teasing, but with a direct, open gaze. In her mind, she leapt, gliding over the bridge, and it felt warm on his side. It felt like a place she wanted to be. She swallowed, heart trembling. ‘No, it’s not weird, or if it is, then I’m weird too because I’ve been thinking the same thing, about you.’ She felt warmth rushing into her cheeks, but it didn’t matter because there was a new kind of light shining in his eyes, a light that seemed to say that they were the same. She shrugged a little. ‘I think maybe it’s normal.’
His gaze held her for a long moment. ‘Do you feel like walking off the rum?’
She nodded, feeling as though she was answering a different question. ‘Yeah.’
CHAPTER SEVEN
‘SO YOU GOT on a plane and came to Buck Island...’ He levered up a low branch so that Emilie could pass underneath. For some reason, the delicate floral scent that lingered in her wake was fuelling the fierce ache he was feeling in his chest. How could her partner have cheated on her like that, with her best friend, right under her nose, effectively forcing her out of her own bistro? No one deserved that, especially not someone as kind and lovely as Emilie. He felt a stab of guilt. That quip he’d made about the short contract—no wonder she’d looked so uncomfortable—he’d just stirred her pain around. If only he’d kept his big mouth shut!
‘It was a no-brainer.’ She was walking slowly, waiting for him to catch up. ‘There was nothing to keep me in England. The job gave me an excuse to run away. I wanted to be too busy to think about things.’
He felt another twinge in his chest. ‘And I messed everything up. The solitary guest who didn’t even want you to make his breakfast. I’m so sorry.’
‘No, I’m sorry.’ She stopped walking. ‘If I’d been paying attention, I’d have put two and two together right away, seen that you were a full English kind of guy...’ She tilted her head. ‘Do you understand what that means?’
He felt his mood lifting. ‘Bacon, eggs, sausage, mushrooms, grilled tomato, fried bread...’ Her eyes were widening comically. He laughed. ‘My mother’s half-English.’
‘Ahh!’ She was giving him snake eyes. ‘That explains the scrambled egg and toast.’
‘You’re a food detective!’
‘I might be good with evidence, but I need to hone my intuition.’
‘Hey! We squared it away.’ Why did she take so much on to herself? He nudged her shoulder. ‘Stop beating yourself up.’
She shot him a little smile then carried on walking. ‘So, two older brothers and two younger sisters...?’ He’d given her a brief anatomy of his family after she’d told him about her sisters—older, and twins—and her parents, who were living in Abu Dhabi. ‘What was that like?’
‘Hell on earth.’
‘You’re joking, right...?’ She was looking at him suspiciously.
Was he joking? Suddenly, he felt uncomfortable. He’d never had to answer a question like this before. Astrid had been a part of his family for so long that he’d never had to articulate his feelings to her.
When he was growing up, he’d mostly thought about escaping, about getting away from the non-stop clattering of feet on the stairs, from the clamouring voices over dinner as dishes were passed hand to hand, from all the bright-eyed teasing and the endless bragging, and from his father, Lars, the hub of the wheel, stirring it round, over-winding it like a clock. Did he want to get into all that with Emilie? No! He reached a hand to the back of his neck, mustering a smile. ‘Of course I’m joking. It was noisy, too noisy at times, but it was fun.’
Her eyebrows flickered. ‘You don’t sound so enthusiastic.’
‘Don’t I?’ He pictured sledging with Johan and Stefan, tumbling off, cold handfuls of snow being thrust down his back, the yelling, the jostling. He masked a shudder with a shrug. ‘Look, I love my brothers and sisters.’ Johan... ‘They’re good people, but I’m different to them. I’m the quiet one.’
She was smiling, warming him all the way through. ‘You really are the perfect customer for my café!’
‘You have no idea!’ He pushed a large leaf aside for her. It felt nice talking to Emilie. Easy! ‘My family owns an island north-east of Stockholm. When we were there, I used to go off sailing for hours.’ He caught her eye. ‘I’d take great big English-style sandwiches and a bottle of water. When I was tired, I’d stop, drop the sails and drift. It was heaven, floating on the sea by myself. I guess I’ve always been a lone wolf, wanting to do my own thing.’ He felt a knot tightening in his stomach, a quick beat of indecision, then he pushed on. ‘Much to my father’s displeasure I didn’t go into the family business.’
Emilie turned slightly. ‘What’s the family business?’
‘Larsson Lüning Construction. Large-scale projects all over the world. I’m the only Larsson sibling who isn’t on the Board—my choice.’ Why was he doing this, emptying all the drawers?
She went quiet for a moment and then her eyes settled on his. ‘But still, your father must be proud of you? I mean, hello, it’s not like you haven’t achieved anything.’
He swallowed hard, picturing his father’s smile, the way it always seemed to stop short. ‘Lars li
kes success, so he is proud that I’ve done well, but he’s disappointed in me because he thinks I haven’t been loyal.’
Emilie was frowning. ‘Your father thinks you’re disloyal because you built your own business?’
‘Lars likes to get his own way.’ He felt a sour taste gathering at the back of his mouth. ‘He’s determined. Single-minded. He’s probably just pissed that he’s failed to bend my will to his, annoyed that I haven’t put my shoulder to the Larsson Lüning wheel. I’ve probably injured his damn pride or something.’ He could hear the bitterness on his voice, see Emilie’s eyes growing wider. He needed to rein it in.
‘You’re determined too, though.’ Her gaze was direct. ‘I mean, going off like that, on your own, sailing all day, when you were how old...?’
He shrugged. ‘I don’t know, eight, nine, ten.’
She was shaking her head. ‘I could never have done anything like that. Just the thought of it...being alone on the sea, for hours.’ She shuddered. ‘Maybe you and Lars are actually the same. Maybe you intimidate him—’
‘No way!’ His pulse was banging. ‘My father is loud, pushy, bullish. He can be amusing at times, but—’ he felt a shudder travelling up his spine ‘—I’m not like him. Not at all!’
‘Except for being amusing at times...’ She was arching an eyebrow, a gentle irresistible warmth in her eyes.
He felt his tension melting away, a smile tugging at his lips. How could she do that, bring him back with just one look?
They were coming out of the forest now, walking into a bright blaze of sunshine. He looked ahead, scanning the line of the path which ran upwards, climbing gradually through the cane fields to a lookout point. The distillery guide had said there was a café up there, a great view over the bay. He turned. ‘Do you want to keep going?’
She was standing a few yards back, rooting around in her bag. ‘I’d love to, but I’m worrying about the time.’ She pulled out her phone. ‘Erris is picking me up from the marina at four.’
‘Oh!’ It felt too soon. He liked being with her, just walking and talking, even about his family. Lars. It was liberating, letting off steam to someone who...his breath snagged on the thought...someone who had no connection. He ran his tongue over his lip. Maybe that was why the bitterness he hadn’t fully known was there had seeped out. He blinked. And Emilie had been so gentle with him, so non-judgemental. He drew in a slow breath. She was squinting at her phone, silk billowing around her legs, bag hanging off her smooth bare shoulder. He felt heat flooding into his belly, into his groin.
All through the distillery tour he’d felt static shuttling between them. Every look, every smile. In the bar, it had taken all his willpower not to step in and pull her close. When he’d thought she was meeting someone, he’d burned with jealousy and now he was burning with longing, but what could really happen between them? A fling? No strings? That was all it could ever be because she was broken and vulnerable, and he was confused, still probing the numb black space inside himself, trying to find the bleeding wound that Astrid and Johan had inflicted.
He inhaled slowly, stepping back in his head. He wasn’t a fling kind of guy, but at the same time, when Emilie had said she wanted to get to know him, he’d felt a spark of pure joy, a little upward boost as if an elevator had whipped him up a floor. And now he was on that floor, he wanted to stay, wanted her to stay. Would she? He moistened his lips. ‘Come back with me...’
She looked up, smiling a thin smile. ‘I wish I could, but unfortunately this—’ she tugged at her dress ‘—is not a sailing outfit.’
Maybe fate was on his side after all. He grinned. ‘I’ve got the powerboat today.’
‘Oh!’ Her eyes lit with a smile. ‘How perfect is that? This dress loves a powerboat.’
A bubble of happiness exploded in his chest. ‘Well, that settles it. What the dress wants, the dress gets.’
* * *
‘Here! Let me help you...’ Joel was on the jetty, holding out his hand. A smile hung about his lips, but his eyes looked cool. Maybe it was just the glow of twilight bouncing off the pale hull of the boat.
She shouldered her bag and slipped her hand into his. It felt warm and strong. Dependable! She leaned into it, letting him guide her out of the boat and then she smiled. ‘I had a nice time today.’
‘Me too.’ His fingers flexed around hers and then he stepped back, busying himself with the mooring ropes.
She felt the air trickling from her lungs. He seemed preoccupied. Maybe he was like her, wondering how they were going to say goodnight. She felt her belly trembling and turned, looking back across the sea to the winking lights on Tortola. If she’d come back with Erris there’d have been none of this awkwardness...but there’d have been none of the joy either, none of the soaring happiness she’d felt when Joel had said he’d got the powerboat.
After she’d phoned Erris, they’d walked to the café overlooking the bay, parking themselves outside, drinking iced tea, and then maybe because Joel had opened up a little bit about his family, she’d opened up too, filling in the thumbnail sketch she’d given him earlier, telling the full story of how Tom had persuaded her to leave Le Perroquet so they could strike out on their own and about how Rachel had stepped in to help. She’d told him how Tom had shifted the goalposts, about the scathing review and about how she’d tried to make things work, but she didn’t tell him about Tom and Rachel’s baby. That was too raw, too hard to talk about.
She’d hoped he’d tell her about Astrid in return, but on the walk back to the distillery he’d seemed intent on telling her about his youthful sailing escapades. He’d made her laugh, mimicking countless body blows from the swinging boom, but then guilt had started pooling around her ankles because she was supposed to have been on Buck Island, cooking for him. He’d picked up on her fretting, brushing her worries aside with a twinkly smile. He’d said there was a great street food place in Road Town she’d like—Clara’s Kitchen—and that he wasn’t taking no for an answer.
She’d more than liked it! Bare bulb strings looped around the canopied dining area, the rustic tables, the sizzling platters, all the spicy, smoky aromas. And she’d loved the look on Joel’s face, the glow of the sunset on his skin, the way his eyes had been shining. She felt her heart twisting slowly. The light in Joel’s eyes pushed everything into the shadows, but Tom had dazzled her like that once, blinding her. She felt a dry edge in her throat. Had she been walking blind for all this time...? Something to think about, but this wasn’t the time or the place.
She turned. Joel was bent to one of the mooring posts, tying off a rope, tugging it tight. Did he feel trapped in awkwardness too, or were her own jitters skewing her intuition? It had been a long day, tiring. No wonder her edges were blurring. She took a step. ‘Joel, it’s getting late. I’m going to go...’
He straightened. ‘I’ll walk you.’
‘Oh!’ Her heart dipped. That would only be postponing the goodnight bit. ‘That’s very chivalrous of you but, really, there’s no need. It’s a two-minute walk—’
He smiled. ‘I think I can spare two minutes.’
‘Oh, okay.’ She smiled back. ‘Thanks.’ She started along the jetty, butterflies raging in her belly as he fell in beside her. With every in-breath she could smell the faint musk of his cologne, could feel it spiralling through her veins. They should have come back before the light had started fading, then things wouldn’t have felt quite so...loaded. She glanced at him. He seemed preoccupied again. She needed to say something—anything—to break the silence. She licked her lips. ‘It’s a long time since anyone walked me home.’
Something flickered behind his eyes. ‘It’s a long time since I walked anyone home.’
Oh, God! Had he used to walk Astrid home? Was he thinking about Astrid at that very moment? Maybe that was why he was subdued. She glanced at him again. His jaw looked tight, his mouth firm, as though he was biting on
a bullet. If he’d opened up to her about Astrid, then she’d have been better equipped...but now wasn’t the right time for asking.
She looked ahead. The small solar lights which edged the forest path were crawling with moths and tiny bugs, and the air was alive with the chirrups and the sleepy calls of roosting birds. When the breeze rippled, a burst of heady scent filled her nostrils. She heard Joel breathing it in. She smiled. ‘It’s lovely, isn’t it?’
‘Yes, it is.’ He blinked and then his gaze settled. ‘What is it?’
‘It’s the Jamaican Caper.’ There was a bush at the side of the path. She went to it, pointing out the white flowers, the sprays of long stamens. ‘See, it blooms at night.’
His lips twitched. ‘It looks like a sparkler.’
‘It does!’ She smiled. ‘It’s so beautiful.’
‘It is beautiful.’ Her heart thumped. He wasn’t looking at the flowers. His eyes were fastened on hers. He swallowed slowly. ‘It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen...’
What was he saying? She felt the path tilting, a rush of dizziness. His cologne was in her lungs and his gaze was soft...hypnotic... She was drifting, looking at his mouth, wanting... No! She turned away, glimpsed pale clapboard through the trees. ‘Look!’ Somehow, her feet were moving, carrying her quickly and then she was dashing on, calling back, ‘We’re here.’
At the cottage door she stopped, heart drumming. What was she running from? That fond, magnetic light in his eyes or her own fear? Fear of being blinded again, scared of getting caught in a rip tide, of being dragged under and dashed on the rocks... Joel had said she made him feel normal, but what they’d been sharing all day had overshot normal by miles. It had felt special. Joel had made her feel special: jumping to his feet at The Roost with delighted eyes; lining up the rums for her to taste at the distillery; listening so attentively as she’d talked about food and flavours at Clara’s Kitchen...
She dropped her bag, then leaned, pressing her forehead to the door, guilt curling in her toes. She hadn’t had to cook anything to get Joel’s attention. He’d made her feel important, wanted, for simply being herself. Then, gentleman that he was, he’d insisted on walking her home and what had she done? Left him on the path feeling...what? Bewildered? Hurt? She felt tears stinging her eyes. It was all Tom’s fault. He’d made her like this, not Joel. Joel had treated her like a precious thing. For all she knew, getting closer to Joel might actually be the cure, the way to push Tom’s hurt into the shadows, but it was too late now. He was probably already striding back to the house—
