Page 56 of One for the Road
Why did it suddenly feel so much smaller in here?
I quickly stacked the cups back into place, waiting for the family to depart before whispering, “I don’t need any help.”
What happened to observing?
“Too bad,” he said, his voice an intimate rumble. “Boyfriend Alistair insists on it.”
It was unnerving how quickly he’d turned on this doting-boyfriend act. What happened to my serious, scowling neighbour, and how did I keep hold of this version of him?
“Lucky it’s all for show then.”
Was it my imagination, or did he hesitate?
“Exactly.” He slid behind me and as he reached for the stack of napkins; his chest dragged over my back. “And if you don’t think we always have an audience.” His breath was hot on the back of my neck. “You’ve been living in the wrong village this past year.”
A casual glance over the counter told me he was right. Gordon Murray and his wife, Victoria, ambled past, looking straight at us. Behind them, a trio of women I didn’t recognise were also looking our way, their expressions as keen as a seagull’s near a bag of chips.
When I handed the change to the final customer of the flurry, the three women were still hovering, not at all subtle as they continued to stare our way. “Friends of yours?” I asked Alistair, resting my hip on the counter.
His gaze flicked in their direction, an amused smile stretching across his face as he wiped the back of his hand over his forehead. Exertion had made him a little sweaty and, praise the lord, that curl was appearing. “You sound jealous, Lang.”
Ididsound jealous. My voice had that aggressively cheerful vibe. Suzy Homemaker who was quietly considering arson. I crossed my arms over my chest. “Girlfriend Islawouldbe jealous.”
His smile stretched into his cheeks. “Then boyfriend Alistair would tell her she has nothing to worry about. The one in the middle is Lucia, an Italian tourist who dropped by the surgery yesterday with a mild concussion. I think she was more interested in getting my number than joining my patient roster.”
I couldn’t help my snort. Of course she was. “How often does that happen to you exactly?” And what was it about taciturn men that made women weak at the knees?
Some kind of Darcy effect?
He shrugged – which I took to meanAt least once a day–and reached for a matcha cronut. “Is this baked with refined sugar?”
“Of course it is –hey,” I broke off as he bit into it. “That’s for paying customers—”
“And I’ll pay for it,” he interrupted, mouth full. “You’re more wired than usual.”
Probably the three coffees I’d had before nine a.m. Which were also likely the reason for the creeping headache I could feel coming on. “And you’re less stuck up than usual.”
He shrugged and swallowed half of the cronut in one bite. “Fuck that’s good, hanging out with you might be dangerous.” The second half disappeared just as quickly.
I was so surprised by his enthusiasm that I almost missed a woman drifting over to peruse the menu. Snapping to my senses, I made a show of trying to look politely helpful but not overbearing. Five minutes later she left with a box stuffed with cookies and filled croissants. A zing of pride shot through me.
We’d almost sold half our stock already and it wasn’t even lunchtime. If we continued this way, we might need to close up early.
I slipped the money into the cash box, pausing when I caught Alistair’s scowl. “What?” I asked.
“Isla!” a voice called from outside the van.
It wasn’t a scowl. It was a look of calculation. Cool calculation.
I followed the direction of Alistair’s pointed stare, and my blood turned cold.
Cameron. Striding across the green, a displeased expression on his face.
And just like that, my headache blasted full force.
14
Isla
