When she didn’t pull back, he seemed to take her quiescence as permission to kiss her again. A firmer contact which he stepped into and she tilted her head unconsciously to give him better access. Apparently satisfied with the angle, he settled in, fluttering tiny kisses at the corners of her mouth, teasing her lower lip with just the tip of his tongue, withdrawing every time she tried to chase the contact.
A corner of her mind urged her to stop, that there were a million reasons she shouldn’t be letting Sam kiss her, but those objections were cancelled out by the warmth spreading through her, turning her veins to honey, curling her toes and scrambling her brains with the sheer rightness of his lips on hers.
The years fell away, and she was back on the promenade, the wind whipping her hair around her face, giddy from the fresh air and the warm promise of Samuel Barnes stealing the air from her lungs. Letting the bundle of clothes drop to the floor, she wriggled her arms free from between them and threw them around his neck, her fingers diving into the thick, unruly hair at his nape.
A soft groan escaped his throat and he tugged her closer until their bodies were pressed together from shoulder to knee. His hand slid from her back to gather the thick length of her ponytail as he tilted her back, the press of his mouth turning from a request to a demand. She couldn’t think, couldn’t do anything other than whisper his name as she opened for him and his tongue swept in. Her own grip shifted down to his shoulders and she clung to the broad strength in them, her knees threatening to give way.
Breaking for air, Sam’s hot breath ghosted against her cheek. His lips followed, tracing a path to the sensitive skin beneath her ear, sending goose bumps shivering over her skin. ‘Beth?’ The way he said her name was a caress in itself.
‘Yes.’ She didn’t care what he was asking, couldn’t think beyond the racing of her heart, the pulse of need echoing in lower parts of her body.
‘Beth?’ The husky note of seduction was gone, replaced by something closer to disbelief. No, no, no, no, no. His hands released her hair, her hip and the entire front of her body felt a sudden chill as he stepped away. ‘Oh hell, Beth, I’m sorry.’
He looked so shocked, she had to laugh even as she battled against a wave of disappointment and the tingling aftermath of the best kiss of her life. ‘It’s not as though you took advantage of me, Sam. I was right there with you.’
A smile quirked the corner of his mouth. ‘Yeah, you sure were.’
Heat flooded through her at the appreciation in his tone, but he was already turning away from her as he adjusted the belt knotted around the waist of the bathrobe. Spotting his clothes in a heap on the floor, she swept them up and offered them to him when he glanced back at her.
He stretched his arm out to take them, as though he didn’t trust himself to get too close to her again. ‘I…I should probably get dressed.’
‘Okay.’ She spent the time whilst he was in the bathroom giving herself a pep talk. Yes, it had been an amazing kiss, but getting involved with Sam was a singularly bad idea. The emporium needed all of her focus, and if he decided to go forward with the idea to convert the skittle alley, he’d be flat-out as well. They’d never have time to see each other, and if things didn’t work out, or if one or other of them decided against staying in the bay then there was just too much potential fallout. His folks…Eliza, their lives were too intertwined.
Sam rapped his knuckles on the door frame. ‘I’m going to head home, I left Mum on her own behind the bar.’
Drying her hands on a tea towel, she crossed the kitchen to face him. ‘Hey, are we okay?’
He reached out to hook a strand of hair behind her ear. ‘Absolutely.’ His fingers lingered on her cheek. ‘It’s terrible timing—’
Beth pressed a finger against his lips to cut him off. ‘The worst.’
Capturing her hand, he pressed a kiss to her palm. ‘If things were different…’
‘But they’re not.’
‘No, they’re not.’
He was still holding her hand, his thumb tracing distracting circles in her palm. She tugged it free, before she did something stupid. They were doing the right thing, the sensible thing. If she kept telling herself that, she might even believe it. ‘So, are you going to talk to your dad about the skittle alley?’
‘Definitely. Once I’ve had a chance to think it through. I don’t want to rush into it and screw it up. I need to do some costings, maybe give my old boss a call and see what he thinks about it, talk to the bank.’ He sounded hopefully, and whatever regrets she might have about this afternoon, she was thrilled to have been able to give him something to aim for.
‘I don’t have any expertise to offer, but I’m happy to act as a sounding board any time you want.’
Sam tucked his hands into the front pockets of his jeans and took a step back into the hallway. ‘You’ll be bored to death by the time I’m finished.’
‘Never, and besides, I’ll get my own back by talking to you about the qualities of souvenir tea towels.’ They both laughed, and she was relieved to find it was easy between them again. This was what she needed, a shoulder to lean on, a friend to support her who she could support in return. And if she found herself feeling lonely, she could take her old teddy bear to bed.
Chapter Nine
Sam spent every night for the next week tossing and turning. When he wasn’t thinking about ideas for the skittle alley, he was haunted by images of Beth blinking up at him, her brown eyes blurred with passion, her lips plump from the force of his kisses. Stop it. He’d deliberately avoiding going anywhere near the emporium, a few more days of distance and he’d have everything back under control.
The more he thought about creating a restaurant in the skittle alley beneath the pub, the more excited he was about it. He’d always wanted a place of his own, initially in London, because that’s where most of the top-flight chefs made their mark. Working for Tim Bray had shown him there were other options. Tim’s restaurant had turned the small town of Alderstone into one of the most popular places in Suffolk. What if Sam could do the same for Lavender Bay?
At first glance, the alley wasn’t the most inviting of spaces, but he could turn that to his advantage. The lack of windows would allow him to design the perfect lighting system, which together with the right décor would create an other-worldly atmosphere. He wasn’t in the market for a run-of-the-mill eatery, he wanted it to be a totally immersive experience, something people would talk about for days afterwards.
And it wouldn’t be all style and no substance. The food itself would have to be exquisite. The very best of local ingredients, including lavender straight from Gilbert’s Farm. A lavender and lemon sorbet to refresh and cleanse the palate between courses, or some delicate lavender shortbread bites served with coffee at the end of the meal. Though he loved all types of cooking, desserts were what truly made his heart sing. His training in Paris had included a placement at one of the top patisseries where he’d been taught to craft tiny morsels of perfection. The rest of the menu would be traditional dishes with a unique twist.
With hard work, and a dollop of good luck, he might even create a venue to catch the eye of the Michelin judges.
Dragging himself out of bed, he made a quick pass through the bathroom to brush his teeth, and his hair before dragging on his gym kit. Contrary to his best efforts, his mind was still fixated on Beth as he jogged downstairs ready to start his morning run. It was early, so she’d probably still be in bed. He bet she was a pillow-drooler, or a quilt-hog, or even worst of the worst, one of those women with permanently cold feet who insisted on sticking them against a man’s back. He’d never been in the market for a serious relationship; after long hours at work the last thing he’d wanted was to go out to dinner, or make a fancy meal which too many girls expected when dating a chef. He definitely wasn’t going to start now.
‘What are you smirking at?’ His mum asked as she met him at the bottom of the stairs. Something had obviously woken her up because her hair
was completely flat on one side and sticking up on the other. She tugged the belt of her dressing gown more firmly around her and he couldn’t help but grin more.
‘Why are you up?’ She’d still been in the kitchen prepping lunches for today when he’d staggered upstairs after closing the bar the previous night.
She glanced towards the door, then swallowed hard. ‘Your dad’s in the yard.’
His good humour vanished. ‘Doing what?’
‘He said he wanted to tidy up, was fed up of it being a mess out there.’
‘For God’s sake, why didn’t you stop him?’
‘Watch your tone, young man, he’s still your father.’ Annie tugged on her belt like she was considering removing it and throttling him with it. He’d seen her quell more than one potential fight with a steely-eyed glare and a strategically twisted ear, but he couldn’t help his frustration.
He leaned down to brush a kiss on her cheek. ‘I’m sorry. I’ll go and see what he’s up to and see if he’ll let me help him.’
His mum nibbled her bottom lip, worry written large on her face. ‘Be gentle, darling.’
‘I promise.’
Taking a deep, calming breath, Sam swung open the back door and stepped out into the yard. A stack of empty barrels stood against one wall, waiting to be returned to the brewery. There were some wooden pallets nearby, scavenged by Sam because his mum had talked about adding some planters to the front of the pub and he’d had some idea he might be able to make them himself. A couple of broken chairs waited a trip to the local dump along with some other bits and pieces of rubbish. Not spotless, but nothing that anyone needed to worry about on a chilly morning.
Sam zipped up the neck of his tracksuit top and wandered over to where his dad was poking around in the junk pile. ‘You’re up early, Dad,’ he said with his best smile.
Straightening up, Paul eyed him as though waiting for him to start fussing, but when Sam remained silent, he nudged the pile with his foot. ‘Got fed up of looking at this crap, and waiting for you to do something about it.’
Okay then. Propping one heel against the wall behind him, Sam folded his arms across his chest. ‘This has to stop, Dad. You can’t bitch at me for doing stuff without running every tiny detail past you then blame me if something doesn’t get done on my own initiative.’
His dad snorted in disgust. ‘You don’t have to ask me if it’s okay to make a trip to the dump.’
‘Are you sure about that?’ Sam closed his eyes for a second and reined in his flash of temper. ‘I want to help you, Dad, that’s the only reason I came back home—to help you.’
‘I didn’t ask you to do that! I didn’t ask you to walk away from everything you’ve worked so hard for to end up behind the bar of some no-mark, backwater pub…’ His dad trailed off into a fit of coughing, and Sam hurried over to offer him his arm to lean on.
When he was waved off, he reached instead for the pocket in his dad’s sweatshirt and pulled out his inhaler. ‘Here, use this.’
He backed off again, turning his attention to the pile of rubbish so his dad couldn’t see him wincing at every harsh rack and sputter. The tension in his shoulders eased at the familiar puff of the inhaler and the ragged indrawn breath behind him. As he waited for his dad’s breathing to settle down, he mulled over those angry, bitter words. Dad had always loved The Siren, had taken over the place from Pops with the delight of a man who was exactly where he wanted to be. To hear him denigrate the place broke Sam’s heart and gave him a fresh insight into the problem between them.
Keeping his back turned, he traced the rough surface of the red-brick wall. ‘I came home because I wanted to, Dad. Because I love you and Mum, and you needed some help.’
‘You shouldn’t have had to, though.’ A familiar weight settled on his shoulder, and he reached up to pat the hand his dad placed on his shoulder.
Unable to bear the guilt in those words, Sam turned to face his dad. ‘Shit happens. Life happens, and it’s beyond our control. The only thing we can control, is how we deal with it.’
His dad shook his head. ‘You put me to shame, lad.’
‘Not really. I should have talked to you about this before instead of letting things fester like a prat.’
‘I hear it runs in the family.’ They both looked over to find Sam’s mum standing on the back step shaking her head. ‘If you’ve finished making a fool of yourself, Paul Barnes, perhaps you can apologise to our son and the two of you can come inside and talk things through properly.’
His dad laughed, not in the least bit offended, and slung his arm around Sam’s shoulders. ‘The boss has spoken, best we obey.’
They followed Annie back inside, but when his dad would have turned left to go upstairs, Sam stopped him. ‘Can I show you something?’
‘Of course.’
Sam led them through the bar to the side door leading down to the skittle alley. Flipping the lights on as he descended, he tried to keep a lid on the excitement bubbling inside him. After making his way to the centre of the narrow room, he turned in a circle arms raised to his sides. ‘Welcome to Subterranean.’
The discussion with his dad about the restaurant couldn’t have gone much better and he ran it over and over in his mind as his feet pounded out the regular route of his morning run. In his excitement over the potential new venture, Sam had forgotten all about his early morning thoughts of Beth until he was almost back at his doorstep and found her leaning against the shop doorway with a steaming cup in her hands. She looked better than the last time he’d seen her—the dark circles under her eyes had faded to soft smudges, and although her hair was pulled back, it was glossy in the morning sunlight. Full of exhilaration, he couldn’t help but tease her. ‘Waiting for me?’
She laughed. ‘Only if you’re in the mood for stock taking.’
Sam lifted his heel back to stretch his calf before his muscles cooled too much, ‘Are you trying to lure me into the back room with you, Miss Reynolds?’ God, he shouldn’t be flirting with her, but it was too much fun watching the colour rise in her cheeks.
‘I only want you for your body, Mr Barnes.’ Losing grip on his raised leg, he almost toppled over in shock. Beth shook her head. ‘Don’t get excited, there are some boxes on the top shelves which I can’t lift down. Goodness only knows how Eleanor got them up there in the first place.’
‘So, I’m to be a beast of burden, is that it?’ Sam grimaced, pretending to be disappointed. Or maybe he was only pretending to be pretending, he didn’t know anymore.
Beth nodded. ‘Pretty much.’ She raised her mug and drained the contents. ‘Oh, and bring me something tasty, while you’re at it, those macarons are long gone. Don’t take long, there’s a lot to get through.’ On that imperious instruction, she turned on her heel and marched back into the emporium without a backwards glance.
‘Cheeky cow.’ Sam said to the empty spot in the doorway, a grin splitting his face from ear to ear. Feeling incredibly buoyant after such a great start to his day, he headed back to the pub for a quick shower. Her timing was perfect, he’d be able to lend her a hand and tell her all about his latest plans.
Showered, changed and bearing a new Tupperware box containing half a dozen chocolate truffles and the same amount of peppermint fudge bites he’d made as sample ideas for petit fours, Sam cupped his hand to his eyes to peer inside the emporium window. Spotting Beth behind the counter, he tapped on the glass and she hurried over to let him in with a smile. ‘I’ve been trying to make sense of the order books. I didn’t get involved with a lot of that side of things when I worked for Eleanor, and her system is best described as unique.’
She locked the door behind him, then led the way back to the counter which was covered in a variety of ledgers, supplier catalogues and a couple of ring-binders. ‘I want to convert everything to an electronic database, so I think I’m going to have to start from scratch and do a full stock count. I’ve started a spreadsheet so I can link everything to a supplier and make sure
I have their correct stock reference codes.’
Sam pointed at the laptop, and when she nodded he pulled it closer to study the rows and columns she’d set up. ‘Dad uses a software package the accountant recommended. It’s probably geared up more towards the licensing trade, but she can probably point you in the direction of an off-the-shelf system that could work for you.’
‘Thanks. It’s on my list of things to look into, but I need to gather the raw data together in a way that makes sense to me.’ Her hand waved over the open books and folders. ‘I definitely need to get some professional advice on where things stand with the business though.’ She sighed. ‘I assumed I would be able to walk in and figure it out, told myself it couldn’t possibly be more complicated than what I’ve been used to doing. Running a place like this single-handed is a lot tougher than I realised. I feel like I owe Eleanor an apology.’
‘I know what you mean. It was a real eye-opener when I understood everything that went into running the pub. My folks always made it look so easy.’ He chucked her under the chin. ‘Don’t be so hard on yourself, Beth. It’s a steep learning curve, but nothing you won’t be able to handle.’
‘There you go again, finding exactly the right thing to say.’
Sam grinned. ‘Let me try to go two-for-two, where’re these boxes you want shifting?’
When they trooped into the stockroom, it was clear she’d been hard at work already. Boxes were stacked in neat piles with an A4 sheet detailing the contents of those she’d checked and counted stuck to the top of each one. She pointed out those she wanted help with, and Sam could only be relieved she hadn’t tried to move them herself when she carried over a rickety looking stepladder. ‘Is that all you’ve got?’
She nodded. ‘It’s the only thing I could find. There used to be a little set of steps we could wheel around, but I can’t find them anywhere.’
Testing the ladder, he found it more stable than appearances might suggest and risked climbing up another couple of steps. The shelves weren’t too high for his six-foot frame, and he could reach the boxes with a rung to spare. He glanced down into Beth’s anxious eyes. ‘Just brace the bottom for me, will you? I want to see if any of these are heavy before we try and do anything with them.’
Spring at Lavender Bay Page 10
