Page 53 of One for the Road
Wasn’t that the dream of every baker? A small patisserie overlooking the sea, full creative control and customers who were never rude and left promptly at closing time?
After quickly ringing Mac’s croissant and coffee through the till app on my cracked phone, I turned to the small coffee machine, unable to stop my eyes pinging to Alistair’s, where he . . .hovereddidn’t feel like the right word. Quietly loomed in the van’s only free corner? His ever-noticeable presence sucking up every scrap of fresh air.
Despite merely observing, he was wearing a Brown’s apron. It felt like a crime for the old, frayed denim to cover the well-fitted jumper I’d spent half the morning ogling.
As I ground the beans, our elbows brushed. “Sorry,” I swallowed, snapping my arm back.
Even with our ground rules, I was failing at this fake act.
I blamed the shower – the entire morning, in fact. It had left me shaken. The revelation that Alistairmightsecretly be a gentleman. And if so, why was he working so hard to hide it?
After we’d picked up the food van from Jess’s house, he’d driven his Land Rover over the bumpy surface of the village green, easily steering around the smattering of tents and food trucks already setting up for the day. I had a vision of a reporter shoving a microphone in my face.What is Alistair Macabe really like, Miss Lang? TheKinleith Gazettehas a right to know.
Well, you see . . . he glared at me, fixed all my problems, forced me to use his shower and then smiled crookedly at my daughter across the kitchen table.
And what a grin it had been. One side slightly higher than the other so a dimple formed in only one cheek.
Teddy was just as struck by him, because his name had been coming out of her mouth ever since.
Ali, why does it take a year to go around the sun?
Ali, who’s the tallest man you’ve ever seen?
Ali, who do you think could run faster, a dog or a rabbit?
Ali, Ali, Ali.
He’d pondered every one of her questions, giving each one a thoughtful response. Like he was in a board meeting and not listening to the inner monologue of a seven-year-old.
He’d spoken all of ten words to me since we stepped out my front door.
Five of which were, “You’re not driving that thing,” when I’d attempted to climb into Daisy’s driver’s seat. Then a few more undiscernible ones as he’d watched me pull Teddy’sold booster seat, which was basically glued to the upholstery, from the back of the car.
Oh, well. The pastries fit better in the back of his Land Rover anyway. I’d still given Daisy a loving pat on the bonnet before we’d driven away.
“How’s the summer treating you, Theodora?” Mac asked teasingly. Knowing she hated the use of her full name.
“Great. Last week I found a frog in the garden, but Mummy wouldn’t let me keep her.”
“Hoptimus Prime had a family to go back to,” I said gently, slipping the lid on the to-go cup.
She’d cried actual tears as we released it. Something told me they were less about the frog than the fact we hadn’t heard from Cameron since he’d cancelled last Saturday’s visit.
“You know Alistair Macabe, right?” I asked, handing over his coffee. “He’s the new doctor up at the surgery,” I threw in . . . because wasn’t this the entire point of this scheme? To get people to like him.
Mac’s gaze turned to the man now at my side, shrewd. “Aye, I do.”
“Nice to meet you,” Alistair said, and I could tell he was trying to be personable, because his voice sounded at least five degrees warmer than usual.
“Mac is a bit of an outlander like me. He’s from the Borders originally,” I explained to Alistair. If there were ever a person to win over, it was him. Mac wouldn’t care about village gossip. “I don’t think a slice of pizza has passed Alistair’s lips in at least a decade. We’ll have to drag him over to Auld Lang Slice at lunchtime.”
“Mac makes the best pizza in the whole world,” Teddy declared, sitting now.
Mac laughed, showing a gold tooth hidden at the back of his mouth. “I think you lasses are sweet-talking me, and I don’t hate it.” He leaned his elbows on the counter, eyes twinkling with mirth. “This boy treatin’ you right, Isla?”
To his credit, Alistair turned to me, waiting for my answer.
“He’s spending his Saturday morning in a sweaty food van, so I’d say so.”
