Ben slapped his forehead with an exasperated sigh. ‘It’s those bloody lemon meringue tarts. It’s like they were cursed from the start.’
‘Better them than us.’ Poppy giggled. ‘Although I did wonder…’
‘I’d better go turn off the oven.’
Ben made to leave but Poppy pulled him back and wrapped her arms around his waist. ‘Kiss first.’
Ben’s lips found Poppy’s. A quick peck and the embrace was broken.
Poppy stomped her foot. ‘Really? Is this as romantic as our life’s going to get?’
‘Romance later. Stop the shop burning down now.’ Ben winked as he jogged to the kitchen.
Poppy leaned against the counter, joy pumping through her veins, lighting up every atom in her body, as she fastened the unicorn charm onto the dainty chain. ‘Love. I love you. I love you, Ben Evans. Love you, Ben. Hey Ben? I love you.’ She turned the words over, liking how they rolled off the tongue. Natural. Like it was always meant to be.
‘I like the way that sounds. All of it.’
She glanced up to see Ben in the doorway, a tray of blackened tarts in his mitted hands.
‘And I also like that you know how to crack eggs. Come do some more for me while I get another batch of pastry ready.’
‘Slave driver,’ Poppy grumbled.
‘Get used to it.’ Ben laughed.
Poppy swatted his backside as she followed him into the kitchen, loving she could do that. Loving that she loved him. And that he loved her back.
Get used to it?
She fully intended to. For the rest of their lives.
Epilogue
What little light she could make out through the soft cloth of her eye mask darkened as the air transformed from clean, fresh and kissed by the sun, to earthy and damp.
‘I know where you’re taking me, Ben.’ Poppy giggled as he tickled her waist, which he had firm hold of as he guided her towards her birthday surprise. ‘You took me here last year remember? I’m going to have to knock points off for originality. I’m just waiting to feel the squish of dirt and grass under my feet.’
‘Is that so?’ Ben’s voice was warm with good humour. ‘We’ll see about that.’ He scooped her up in his arms and hugged her close. ‘How do you know I’m not leading you astray? That it isn’t all some big elaborate trick?’
‘Because you’re not a trickster, and the only person who’s ever led us astray was me.’ Poppy wrapped her arms around his neck and nuzzled into his shoulder, relishing the muscles she felt beneath his polo shirt. Every morning without fail he was up and at the gym for his swim and weights session. She was half-tempted to join him, if only to watch those muscles flex as he worked out. Tempted, but not enough that she was willing to give up the extra hour’s sleep in his fancy giant bed. Correction. In their fancy giant bed.
The squeak of hinges as a door was pushed open told her they’d reached their destination.
‘Are you ready?’ Ben’s voice was low, and Poppy was sure she caught a hint of nerves. What was beyond the blindfold?
Her pulse raced as the anticipation built. What might he have planned that could make Ben, the least-likely-to-be-rattled man in the world, sound this nervous?
A quick tug and the blindfold fell away. Poppy blinked once, twice, and again, accustoming herself to the golden glow of the room, while at the same time trying to figure out just what she was seeing.
They weren’t at the cabin. They were at the shop. But their shop had been transformed into… well, she wasn’t quite sure what.
Fairy lights hung in rows from the walls, criss-crossing the ceiling. Surrounding the walls were the tea shop’s seats, each with a sequin cushion settled upon them. And in the corner that her plush unicorn toys usually occupied was a three-piece band.
With a tap-tap-tap of drumsticks, the band began to play. Swing music.
That’s why they seemed familiar. They were the band that played the night she and Ben had kissed at the Summer’s Night Festival.
‘Champagne?’ She spun round to see Joe, dressed in a pale-blue, Seventies-style suit, complete with ruffled shirt, holding a champagne flute in one hand and a bottle in the other.
‘Where did you get that suit?’ Poppy tugged on a ruffle as Joe poured. ‘It’s fabulous. Feel free to wear it to work.’
‘Gladly. It cost me a small fortune from the vintage clothing store up the road. I need to get all the wear out of it I can.’ Joe handed her the glass and bowed at the waist. ‘Happy birthday, boss. I hope it’s everything you’ve ever dreamed of, and more.’ Setting the bottle in an ice-filled silver bucket, which was nested in an ornate metal stand, he backed away and disappeared out the door.
‘Did you have to pay Joe to stay late?’ Poppy turned to Ben who was sipping his own glass of champagne. Sipping? He’d taken a good swig from the looks of things.
‘No, he was happy to do it free. He adores you. Adores the shop. And you know, if you did want to start spreading Sparkle & Steep’s wings, he could well be the man to set up the next store. He and Sophie, both. Speaking of Sophie…’ Ben coughed into his hand and Sophie emerged from the kitchen, dressed in an elegant black cocktail dress, a makeshift bowtie around her neck, a silver tray filled with delicious looking canapés in one hand.
‘Hungry?’ She set the tray on the counter. ‘I can recommend the crab toast, and ceviche spoons.’
Ben rolled his eyes as Sophie backed away, a smirk on her lips. ‘I told her she wasn’t to sample the goods until all our guests had arrived.’
Poppy helped herself to a ceviche spoon. ‘Can’t say I blame her, these look delicious.’ Looked and tasted. She involuntarily moaned as the mix of cream and zesty lemon, along with the freshness of the tuna, melted in her mouth. ‘So good. And what do you mean by “guests”? Who are these guests you speak of?’
‘You’ll see.’ Ben raised his eyebrows, then took her by the hand. The small act sent tingles of electricity, far more delicious and far more moreish than any canapé, up Poppy’s arm, then down her spine. Would he ever stop having this effect on her? She hoped not.
With a fancy foot shuffle, he began to lead her about the room, their bodies in perfect time, just as they had been the night they’d first danced together. The night they’d first kissed.
‘I really did think you were taking me to the cabin again.’ Poppy pressed her cheek against Ben’s, breathed in his heady fresh scent. ‘I can’t believe you managed to trick me.’
‘It was surprisingly easy, actually. I had Joe shove a container of dirt under your nose as we walked closer to the shop. And Sophie held a piece of cardboard over your head in order to make it seem like trees were blocking out the sun. When I swooped you up I was able to dull the street noise when you leaned into me by cupping your other ear under the guise of stroking your hair.’
Poppy ducked her head back, hoping to catch a cheeky grin on Ben’s face that would tell her he was having her on. But there was no cheeky grin. Just an innocent pair of eyes and an air of dead seriousness. ‘You went to all that trouble to trick me?’
‘I wouldn’t want you getting bored, Poppy.’ Ben kissed the tip of her nose, then spun her out, and brought her back in so she was pressed up against him, but not facing him, as they swayed back and forth.
Poppy leaned into his touch and counted her blessings for what must have been the gazillionth time in the last year that Ben was hers. She was his. They were each other’s. ‘I’d never be bored of you. If I were going to tire of you I would have that time you insisted we weren’t to smuggle our way into the cinema because it was essentially stealing, and you wouldn’t be party to that kind of behaviour. And those were your exact words.’ She squealed in delight as Ben whirled her out unexpectedly, then brought her to a stop in front of him in perfect time with the end of the song.
She blinked when she realised he wasn’t standing in front of her, instead he was kneeling, and looking up at her with adoration in his eyes. Adoration, and that hint of nerves th
at had confused her, but had now become perfectly explainable.
Her stomach flip-flopped, tumbled, twisted and turned as a herd of unicorns ran amuck in her stomach, trampling back and forth, dipping and diving. What was going on? What was she seeing? ‘Ben.’ The word came out a whisper. ‘What are you doing?’
In the back of her mind she registered the change of tempo in the music as the band began to play the song she and Ben had slow danced to. He really had planned everything out. As always.
‘I’m hoping you’re serious when you say you’ll never tire of me,’ Ben whispered back. He let go of her hand, dove into his pocket and pulled something out.
Something delicate. Something sparkly. Something… perfect.
An oval opal, shimmering with greens and blues, pinks and yellows, surrounded by a halo of diamonds.
Poppy pinched the skin on her inner forearm to make sure she wasn’t dreaming. Was this really happening? Was Ben about to ask her to… ‘Ben, I need to check on something. This fancy ring you’ve got there, is that what I think it is? I just don’t want to find out I’m thinking something daft, and then when you realise what I’m thinking you’ll freak out and run away, and then the shops will be in disarray, and it would be all to do with one ridiculous jump to a conclusion.’
‘Geez, woman, can’t you leave a tender moment alone?’ Ben shook his head, then held out his free hand to Poppy. ‘Help me up, my knee’s gone stiff.’
‘Romantic.’ Poppy matched his head shake, then pulled him up.
‘Romantic was what I was going for, although I’m not sure it’s going to plan. I’ll rectify that, shall I?’ Ben cleared his throat and held the ring up so that it sat in the space between their hearts. ‘Since that braided head of yours popped through the hedge to say hello you’ve had a place in my heart, Poppy Taylor. When you left, you left a hole that no amount of work or any other person could fill. When you returned, you filled that hole.’
‘I’m human spackle,’ Poppy muttered, then mimed zipping her lip when Ben gave her an exasperated glare. ‘Sorry,’ she mouthed.
‘It’s not just my heart you’ve filled, it’s my life, it’s my soul. It’s my everything. Because, you Poppy Taylor, are my everything. Which is why I’d love for you to do me the honour of becoming my wife.’ Ben paused, his head dipped closer as he took hold of her hand and held it in his, his thumb stroking her skin, sending zaps of happiness mixed with love spilling through her. ‘Will you marry me, Poppy?’
‘Ye…’ The word came out a croak. She turned her head and coughed into her shoulder. ‘Sorry. Too happy. Can’t talk.’ She coughed again, straightened up and pulled herself together. ‘Yes. Yes, I will. I would be honoured to marry you, Ben Evans.’
Ben took hold of Poppy’s hand, ran his fingers over her knuckles, then slid the ring on her finger.
‘Nice ring, by the way. It’s really quite unicorn-esque’ She grinned as he tugged her towards him, a delicious mix of desire and joy darkening his eyes as he leaned in and placed one of his spine-zapping, goose-bump-rippling kisses on her lips.
‘It was my grandmother’s. Mum had it tucked away for the day we came to our senses and found each other again.’
‘And I’m so glad you did. And I’m even gladder, Poppy, that you’ve said “yes”.’ Pam made her way through the kitchen door, carrying a bottle of champagne, followed by Ben’s father, flutes in hand. ‘I’m one step closer to having grandchildren.’
‘We both are.’ Poppy’s mum brought up the rear. ‘Congratulations you two. May your life together be as happy as it is long.’
‘Thanks, Mum.’ Poppy kissed her mother’s cheek.
How was it possible to have so much happiness bubbling inside and not pop? How was she lucky enough to be surrounded by people who loved her, treasured her, and who wished she and Ben the best?
‘I can’t believe this is happening.’ She turned to Ben, wrapped her arms around his neck, and began to sway to the lilting tune filling the room. ‘Mrs Poppy Evans.’ She turned the words over, liking how her future name rolled off the tongue. Natural. Like it was always meant to be. ‘I’m glad we found each other again.’
‘Truth be told, Poppy, I don’t think we ever left each other.’ His lips found hers, soft, tender, full of hope, full of the kind of future she’d never dared believe she could have.
Steeped in history. Sparkling with hope.
And built on the most solid of foundations – friendship, respect, acceptance, but most importantly… love.
And the magic of unicorns.
Acknowledgements
The first thank you has to go to the crew at my favourite eating spot, The Milk Bar. Carol, Shannon, Erin and Leigh – thank you for fueling me with your excellent coffee and nourishing me with your amazing food during the writing of this book. I don’t know that it would have happened without you! I’m honoured to be considered a piece of your fabulous cafe’s furniture.
To The Husband. Thank you for letting me bounce story and scene ideas off you, and for not minding when dinner is ‘there’s stuff in the fridge, help yourself’. Most of all, thanks for keeping me on and for believing in me.
A massive thank you to Rhys Watkinson and Sandra Pavic-Watkinson for answering all the questions about Muswell Hill that Google couldn’t. I can’t wait to visit one day and see your beautiful corner of the world.
Natalie Gillespie – I’m so grateful for the way you put me straight when I can’t figure out the English equivalent of my crazy Kiwi-isms. You rock, girlfriend!
Thank you to HQ Digital for letting me write another book for your good selves. You’ve given me the chance to follow my dream and I’m eternally grateful.
Hannah Smith. You. Are. A. Legend. Your honesty, humour, insight and guidance have made working on this book with you an absolute pleasure. I count myself lucky to be one of your writers. Bring on the next one!
Read on for a sneak peek at Cosy Coffee Shop of Promises…
Chapter 1
‘Wine. Now. And don’t get mouthy with me.’
Mel watched Tony’s sea-blue eyes light up as his lips parted slightly…
‘What’s got your knick…’
‘I’m serious,’ she cut in, before he had a chance to be the second person to grind her gears that day. ‘I’m in no mood for your cheek. And I can tell by that twitchy jaw of yours that you’re contemplating still trying to give me some.’ Mel took off her navy peacoat and shuddered as wintry air wrapped its way around her thin form. She promptly buttoned up again and tugged her scarf tighter around her neck. ‘All I want from you is for you to do your job, pour me a glass of pinot gris and leave me to drink it, alone, and in peace. And why is it so cold in here? It’s freezing out. It shouldn’t be freezing in.’ She shook her head. ‘No matter. I don’t care. The wine will warm me up.’
‘Bu…’
‘No. No buts. No whys. No questions.’ She pointed to the glass-doored fridge. ‘Just get the bottle, get a glass, and pour.’ Mel gave Tony her best glare, hoping to get past his notoriously thick skin.
She watched the muscles in his jaw continue to work, as if debating whether to ignore her order to be left in peace or do that clichéd ‘had a bad day, tell me about it’ barman patter. Sensibility must have won, because he turned and bent over to grab a bottle of pinot gris from the chiller, giving her a fantastic view of his toned and rounded rear. A view she’d usually take a moment to appreciate, but not right now, not after the unexpected, and not in a good way, phone call she’d just received from her mother.
Tony sloshed the wine into a tired-looking, age-speckled glass, pushed it in her direction, then punched at the card machine. ‘Here you go,’ he said, proffering the handset.
Mel squinted at the numbers on the screen. ‘Tony, um, that’s not right. You’ve overcharged me.’
‘No, that’s the price.’ Tony nodded, but kept his eyes firmly on the bar. ‘Since the beginning of this week.’
‘Really? You can’t tell me a
bottle of wine rose in price by almost double in the space of seven days?’
‘You’re right, it hasn’t.’ He glanced up. ‘But the hole in my muffler is yelling at me to put the prices up. And I haven’t in years, so…’
‘Oh. Okay. Sorry.’ Mel handed over her bank card, embarrassed to have questioned the price rise. She’d heard the village gossip. Tony’s business wasn’t doing so well. Apparently hadn’t been for years, but had got worse since his dad passed away the year before. Not that she knew much about that. She’d been new to town, and didn’t want to get a reputation as a gossip, so had only heard the odd conversation here and there over the coffee cups in her café, nothing more.
‘So, are you going to just stare into that glass of wine or are you going to drink it? Because I don’t have a funnel to pour it back into the bottle. Although reselling it would make my mechanic happier faster. And if you buy two glasses I might even be able to afford to put the heating on.’
Mel shot Tony a grateful smile. Despite his infamous reputation as a ladies’ man, he was also known about the small farming town of Rabbits Leap as being something of a gentleman and had quite the knack of making you feel at ease, which, considering her current heightened state of irritation, was quite a feat.
‘You’re still not taking a sip, or a slug. And, well, it sounds like you needed a slug.’
Mel narrowed her eyes at Tony, hoping to scare him into shutting up with a stern look. ‘What did I say about getting mouthy? And teasing for that matter?’
‘I’m not teasing. You look pale. Paler than usual, and you know you’re pretty pale, so you’re almost translucent right now. Even the bright streaks of pink in your hair are looking a little less hot.’
‘You pay attention to my hair colour?’ Mel’s hand unconsciously went to her hair and tucked a stray lock behind her ears. Tony looked at her hair? Since when? She’d always assumed he’d seen her as nothing more than a regular customer, a friendly acquaintance, not someone to take notice of. Sure, they got along well enough, would chat for a moment or two if they passed each other on the street, or if it was quiet in the pub, but that was the extent of their relationship.
The Little Unicorn Gift Shop Page 23
