by Rosie Green
Ethan’s face falls and I draw back, worried I’m putting him off by sounding too keen.
‘Christ, it’s Alicia.’ He’s staring past my left shoulder into the distance, his handsome face taut with worry. ‘Don’t turn round,’ he hisses, just as I’m turning around.
I catch a glimpse of a pretty, tall, dark-haired girl wearing jeans and boots and a long camel coat. She’s over by the door, glancing around, and doesn’t seem to have spotted us.
Ethan turns round so he’s facing the bar and murmurs, ‘She’s a lovely girl but she’s turned into a bit of a stalker since we broke up a few months ago.’
‘Oh, that’s awful. How long were you together?’
‘Three months.’
‘Oh.’ I look at him in surprise. I got the impression it was a lot longer than that. I’m sure he said a year when he was at the café with the cast that night. I must have misheard him.
He frowns. ‘She just can’t seem to accept our relationship is over. By the end, it was clear we weren’t compatible. Even she could see that. But no matter how many times I talk to her and tell her it was never going to work, she keeps on turning up and haranguing me to explain my feelings in detail.’
‘How did she know you’d be here?’ I whisper, even though Alicia is now nowhere in sight.
He grimaces. ‘She knows all my usual haunts from when we were together.’
‘Does she live in Sunnybrook?’
He shakes his head. ‘Mercifully, no. She has a flat in Guildford.’
I glance furtively at the door. ‘I think she might have gone.’
‘Yeah?’ Ethan’s shoulders slump with relief and my heart goes out to him. It’s never easy when an ex can’t accept its over.
I know this from reading Four Stormy Nights. In the book, which I’ve read at least three times, Rose Adair is followed everywhere by her ex-lover Josh Steel, who can’t believe she no longer loves him. Of course, when Rose is attacked by a stranger one night, Josh is naturally on hand to save her (just round the corner, lurking in a chip shop doorway), so it all ends happily (with Josh in counselling).
Ethan glances round. ‘Oh, bloody hell, she’s still here.’
I follow his gaze and see Alicia heading for the door.
Ethan leans forward and cups my face in his hands, and before I realise what’s happening, his mouth is on mine and he’s kissing me.
I freeze for roughly three seconds before instinct takes over.
Feeling like the shy but stunningly sensual Anoushka Honeytree in One Night of Passion (my go-to book when I need cheering up), I slide my hands round Ethan’s back, feeling the lovely muscles in his broad shoulders, almost falling off my stool in my desire to return his kiss with enthusiasm. Next second I feel his hands firmly around me, lifting me manfully off my perch, and then I’m stumbling the few inches towards him, my mouth still welded to his.
I break away, gasping for breath, to double check the barman hasn’t returned. He hasn’t so I plunge right back into the kiss of my dreams. My feet might be on the ground now as Ethan pulls me against him but my head is spinning away into the atmosphere, en route to another universe entirely.
I’m dimly aware that I’m being used as a shield for Ethan to hide from Alicia, but I’m enjoying the moment far too much to feel even the slightest bit offended - or ashamed of my enthusiastic response.
At last he breaks away. ‘She’s gone. Sorry about that, Fen.’
I shake my head, unable to speak for a moment because I’m desperately trying to catch my breath.
‘Don’t apologise,’ I gasp at last. ‘I’m – er – happy to help out any time.’ I laugh slightly hysterically. Having practically snogged his face off with no inhibitions at all (thank you, vodka and tonic!) I’m suddenly mortified by my forward and very uncharacteristic behaviour.
I blame Anoushka Honeytree . . .
‘I mean, what are friends for?’ I add hastily.
Ethan raises an eyebrow. ‘Friends? After that kiss I think we’re a little more than that, don’t you? And I have a bit of a confession to make.’ His eyes burn into mine. ‘I’ve been wanting to do that for quite a while now, and it definitely wasn’t a disappointment.’
I try to swallow but my throat is bone dry.
All I can do is smile as my heart gallops along with a heady mix of vodka and happy disbelief.
I wasn’t just a human shield so Ethan could avoid Alicia.
He actually wanted to kiss me . . .
CHAPTER NINE
Jaz is very excited about my ‘date’. Even though I keep telling her it’s not a date at all.
It’s eight-thirty in the morning and we’re grabbing a quick coffee and a catch-up with Ellie in the café before opening time.
I’ve been here over an hour already and the cakes of the day – chocolate fudge and cherry and coconut – are baking in the oven. My nose can scent when they’re done and it hardly ever lets me down. I’ll give them another ten minutes then I’ll go and check on them. The cheese and thyme scones, still warm from the oven, are already arranged in a basket under the glass at the counter.
We’re waiting for Ellie to come down from the flat, having helped ourselves to coffees – Jaz a hazelnut latte and me my usual cappuccino with extra chocolate sprinkles.
I haven’t mentioned my passionate bar stool encounter with Ethan. I’ve only told Jaz that he wants us to go out so we can talk some more.
My cheeks flame like a barbecue every time I recall just how uninhibited I was at that bar. I’ve never behaved like that in my life before. I felt like Annie Truelove in Breaching Her Defences, when she’s finally able to throw off years of timidity and frustration, and plunge headlong into a passionate encounter with Axel Rodd. (He of the hard muscles yet adorably soft centre.)
‘Ethan just likes talking to me. It’s not a big romance thing.’
Jaz casts me a disbelieving glance. ‘He said he wanted to take you out. You don’t couch it in those terms if it’s just a drink with a friend. Believe me, it’s a real date.’
I smile at her, my heart bumping along like crazy at the thought of a real date with Ethan.
Jaz sighs. ‘You know, I think I’m almost as excited about this as you are - probably because of the complete absence of anything even remotely romantic going on in my own love life!’
‘Still bad?’
‘I’ve almost forgotten what he looks like naked.’
‘Really?’ I gaze at her in horror.
She grins. ‘Well, no. Harry is very well worth looking at and I’m not likely to forget that body in a hurry.’
‘Too much information!’ I say, blushing instantly. ‘Especially this time of the morning.’
‘What’s this?’ asks Ellie, joining us.
‘Oh, we’re just talking about romance,’ says Jaz. ‘The absolute lack of it in my life and the promise of happy encounters for Fen with the masterful Ethan Fox.’
Ellie raises her eyebrows at me but doesn’t comment.
I shrug. ‘I guess he just wants to get to know me a bit better.’
I’m aware of Ellie studying me. ‘Be careful, Fen,’ she says.
I stare at her, feeling suddenly quite irritated. ‘Ellie, I don’t know what you mean. Do you know something I don’t? About Ethan?’
She shakes her head. ‘Just don’t get too carried away with the romance of it all. Because sometimes things don’t turn out the way you think they will. That’s all.’ She stares broodingly out of the window into the distance.
I relax slightly. So it probably isn’t Ethan as a person she’s concerned about. She just doesn’t want me to get my heart broken. Like she fears she might . . .
Jaz disappears into the studio to get ready for her yoga class and I ask Ellie about her plans for the Christmas Eve party she’s planning to throw for the villagers.
‘Is there anything you’d like me to do?’ I ask. I personally think she’s taking on far too much. But she seems determined to go ahead, so I’m ha
ppy to help any way I can.
‘There is, actually. I want a really fabulous window display that customers will talk about and bring their kids to see,’ she says, brightening up as she always does when she talks about anything to do with her beloved Little Duck Pond Café.
‘Do you mean an animated window? Like they have in the big stores at Christmas?’
She shakes her head. ‘Probably something simpler and less costly but just as eye-catching. If you could have a think, Fen, I’d be really grateful. I really need to boost business if I want to pay off the loan I took out to do the kitchen and studio extension.’
‘I’ll think of something,’ I promise her.
‘Thanks, Fen. You always have such great ideas. You’re far more creative than I am.’
There’s a knock at the door and we both turn. Ethan is peering in through the window and my heart gives a jolt.
Ellie glances at her watch, jumps up and goes to unlock the door. ‘Sorry, Ethan, we were so deep in discussion, I didn’t realise it had gone opening time.’
‘No worries.’ Ethan grins at me. ‘Just the woman I was looking for.’
I swallow, getting to my feet. ‘Me?’
‘Yes, you of the world-famous apple cinnamon mince pies.’
‘Slight exaggeration.’ I smile shyly.
‘Fen, I need to talk to you,’ he murmurs, a serious look on his face.
I gaze up at him, aware of Ellie melting away into the background behind the counter, leaving us alone together. The phone in Ethan’s hand starts ringing but he ignores it.
‘I’ve got plans for you,’ he says slowly with a mysterious smile, ‘and I think you’re going to love it!’ His eyes lock onto mine and my legs turn to jelly, just like they do for all the heroines I’ve ever read about.
I wait in suspense to hear what Ethan and fate have in store for me. It feels like a dream. The sort of dream I never want to awaken from . . .
He looks at his phone and his smile slips. ‘Sorry, got to dash. Business,’ he says, not quite meeting my eye. ‘We’ll talk tomorrow, though, at the meeting?’
He winks and then he’s gone.
‘Ooh, Ethan has plans for you, Fen!’ teases Jaz, coming back into the café in her work-out gear. ‘Not that I was ear-wigging or anything.’ She plonks herself down in the chair opposite and leans forward on her folded arms. ‘Wonder what that could mean?’ She glances behind the counter. ‘What do you think, Ellie? A night out at a fabulous restaurant, maybe? Or a weekend break somewhere exotic like Marrakesh?’
But Ellie has her head in the fridge and doesn’t appear to have heard her.
Jaz and I shrug at each other.
Ellie’s probably just preoccupied, thinking about Zak and Maisie. And her plans for the business . . .
CHAPTER TEN
‘You seem in a good mood,’ says Rob when I catch up with him later in the barn back at Brambleberry Manor.
I open my mouth to tell him about Ethan having a surprise for me. But something stops me.
I get the distinct feeling that Rob dislikes, which is weird because as far as I know, they’ve only spoken once – that time on the high street.
Instead, I smile and say, ‘I’m just really looking forward to the Snow Ball.’
I mentioned to Rob the other day that Mum had put me in charge of making the entrance at the Snow Ball all beautifully Christmassy. And his response was: ‘Why not make it actually snow for once? With a snow machine?’
I was thoroughly enchanted by the idea and immediately decided to go for it. Dad’s helping me to source a machine on-line, probably rented.
‘Imagine walking round to the front in your Christmas party finery and finding that’s it’s actually snowing! How amazing will that be for the guests?’
Privately, I’m thinking it would be as romantic an entrance as it was for Ella Macdonald in A Scottish Adventure. At the very moment Ella arrived at Rory Colquhoun’s castle in the Highlands on Christmas Eve, where she was to be governess to the widower’s three young children, snow began swirling around her, so she felt like a figure in a glittery snow globe. It’s such a gorgeously romantic image, I’ve remembered it ever since.
I open my mouth to tell Rob this. But then I decide against it.
Rob is great to talk to and I feel like we’ve really bonded as friends. But confessing my passion for romance books would be an intimacy too far. I don’t want Rob thinking I’m some sad introvert who gets her thrills from make-believe and fairytale romance!
‘So what else do you need apart from a snow-making machine?’ asks Rob.
‘Not sure. Snow would be lovely but we probably need a Christmas tree or maybe fairy lights around the main entrance.’ I sigh. ‘Mum’s relying on me and she’s a stickler for perfection. I need inspiration.’
‘Inspiration,’ murmurs Rob, slotting the chair’s ladder-back onto the seat part. It fits to perfection. He pauses then says, ‘There’s a Christmas Fayre on at the weekend. In Brighton. I was thinking of going to get some inspiration for making Christmas gifts. People seem to like my hand-carved presents.’ He grins. ‘Or maybe they’re just too polite to say otherwise.’
I laugh. ‘I’m sure your gifts are lovely,’ I tell him truthfully. ‘If this gorgeous furniture is anything to go by. You’ve got an incredible talent.’
‘Thanks, Fen.’ He looks away but I can tell he’s chuffed. ‘So anyway, we could get inspired together. If you like.’
‘Definitely. As long as it isn’t Sunday afternoon. Because that’s when the - ’
‘Panto rehearsals are, I know,’ he says a little brusquely.
I glance up at him. Perhaps he’s bored hearing me talk about the am dram club. But he shrugs and says, ‘Saturday after your baking shift at the café is fine by me.’
‘Okay. It’s a date!’ I say, pleased. Rob’s so easy to be with and it will be great to have his opinion on lights and so forth.
‘A date, eh?’ he teases and I blush the colour of a letterbox.
‘You know what I mean.’
He gives me an oddly rueful smile. ‘Yes, Fen, I know what you mean.’
I watch him as he runs his hand along the back of the chair, engrossed for a moment in his work.
I’m drawn to men with strong arms and hands. I’ve always thought Rob has lovely hands. They’re big and capable-looking, a little roughened by the job he does, but his nails are always clipped and surprisingly clean. It’s active work, and even in winter, he wears T-shirts, so his arms are always lightly tanned and finely muscled from constantly handling the wood and coaxing it into shape.
‘Rob, can I ask you a question?’
He looks up in surprise, wiping the back of his hand across his brow. ‘Of course. Shoot.’
‘Do you think I look better in jeans or a skirt?’
As soon as I’ve said it, I feel slightly silly. Rob probably hasn’t even noticed what I wear – and now I’ve put him on the spot! I just thought it might be good to get the male viewpoint . . .
‘It’s okay.’ I shake my head. ‘Stupid question.’
He frowns. ‘No it’s not.’ He crosses his arms and assesses me seriously for a moment. ‘I’d say you look really good in slim-fitting jeans and tops. And in the right dress – like that red one you wore when we went out to the pub that time – your figure is stunning.’
‘Oh.’ I stare at him, taken aback. ‘Thank you, Rob.’
He shrugs a little awkwardly, as if he’s said too much, and turns back to his lathe.
To say I’m surprised at Rob’s reply would be an understatement. I’d felt good in the red dress I borrowed from Jaz – it was more flattering on me than I thought it would be - but I’d never in a million years have thought it looked stunning.
‘Are you planning a night out?’ he asks, still turned away from me, concentrating on the wood. He bends to smooth an edge of the chair with sandpaper but drops it.
‘Er, not really,’ I mutter, blushing at the lie, even though he’s
not even looking at me. ‘I was just wondering, that’s all.’
He picks up the sandpaper. ‘The am dram lot seem quite a sociable group from what you’ve told me,’ he says, running his thumb absently over the rough side of the sandpaper. ‘Ethan Fox seems a good guy.’
‘Er, yes. Yes, he is.’
He looks at me, at last, with an intensity that makes me feel suddenly strangely self-conscious. For a moment, I wonder if he’s guessed that I’ve fallen for Ethan. But no, how could he have? I’ve never said anything to him.
In the silence, he reaches across. ‘You’ve got . . . a speck of sawdust . . .’ His fingers brush against my hair as he gently removes it and my heart gives a funny little flutter at the intimacy of the gesture. My hair swings forward, released from its mooring behind my ear and the scent of my favourite shampoo rises up.
I see his nose react. ‘Nice smell.’
‘Coconut,’ I murmur, noticing while Rob’s this close that his eyes are a lovely shade of brown. They remind me of the salted caramel sauce I make to pour over the café’s individual sticky toffee puddings.
My favourite dessert sauce ever . . .
‘Rob, can I ask you another question?’
He grins. ‘I’m beginning to feel like a murder suspect. Go on, then.’
I hesitate. Even though I know he’ll realise I’m asking him as a friend, I’m still quite nervous about inviting him to be my partner at the Snow Ball.
‘I . . . I was wondering if you’d like – ’
His mobile shrills into our ears. He glances at the name on the screen. ‘Sorry,’ he says, frowning an apology. ‘I really must take this.’
And my opportunity vanishes . . .
*****
I’m a bag of nerves that night, wondering what Ethan’s going to tell me at the meeting the next day. And next morning, I’m even worse.
I’ve never been very bothered about my appearance. I’m always clean and tidy but as for style, Victoria Beckham I most definitely am not. But searching through my wardrobe that morning, I find myself wishing I could look as effortlessly chic as Cressida. Or Karen. In fact, most of the girls in the am dram group have a great sense of style . . .
