Page 47 of The Gingerbread Cafe
Lukas reciprocated by sliding a hand onto her thigh. The closeness of his bare skin to hers through the thin chiffon of her dress sent an electrical pulse through her that felt like a firework fountain.
Gretel took a deep breath. Maybe this wasn’t her kind of night out, but with Lukas by her side she was going to get through it. As she noticed him watching Marcus Spooning do the rounds like the king of the show, she wondered if Lukas was picturing himself in that starring role one day. She ought to feel proud that he had big dreams.
‘What do you think is for pudding?’ she asked him, her stomach still rumbling after the tiny morsels of food she hadn’t much liked the taste of. ‘I could kill for a huge bowl of comfort food and custard.’
‘Do you know what?’ asked Lukas, grabbing her hand. ‘I can sense you don’t feel at ease, and I doubt we’ll get anything as wholesome as custard. Shall we get out of here? I can rustle up whatever you fancy back at mine.’
‘Do you know how to make apple strudel?’ Gretel asked, trying not to sound too keen.
‘With my eyes closed,’ said Lukas, standing up and holding his arm out for her. ‘I’ll even add rum and raisins if you’re good.’
Well, who could say no to that? Gretel could barely get up quickly enough and they were soon giggling like kids on the run as Lukas bundled her fluffy coat around her shoulders. As they hotfooted it towards the exit, a voice hissed down from the mezzanine.
‘Lukassssss.’
They looked up to see Francesca Whimple, wearing a black designer-looking cocktail dress with her trademark black and gold trainers. She gave them an annoying finger wave as she peered down at them, her sleek bob swinging.
‘Didn’t see you down there. You should have said!’ The Whimple’s voice was sickly sweet, as always. ‘I could have wrangled you a place in VIP. Hang on, I’m coming down.’
Gretel heard Lukas grumble under his breath, but it was too late. The squeak of Miss Whimple’s trainers was already on its way.
‘Erm.’ Gretel tried to think of an excuse not to face the pesky Francesca. She’d had enough trouble holding her chin up tonight, without having to put up with that woman’s overzealous niceties, which she now knew were entirely artificial. ‘I need the loo. Won’t be long.’
Gretel loitered in the ladies’ for as long as she could without it seeming odd, and then reluctantly made her way back towards where Lukas and Francesca Whimple were now chatting. Gretel hung around behind a coat rack, hoping for their conversation to come to a natural end and for the Whimple to squeak back up the steps where she came from, without Gretel having to say hi. What was taking them so long?
‘This vegetarian food’s a load of shit, isn’t it?’ The Whimple was giggling. Lukas didn’t appear to be joining in. ‘I can’t wait to get out of here and grab a burger. It’s nothing like the incredible food you create.’
Lukas shot a look over his shoulder and Gretel ducked.
‘Mmm.’ Lukas’s reply seemed non-committal.
‘How much longer until probate is sorted with the café and we can arrange the sale?’ Francesca asked him.
He exhaled. ‘Not sure. At least a few months.’
Francesca put a hand on his arm. ‘I can see the place is weighing you down. I can move my tenants in early if you want. Take the pressure off you.’
Gretel held her breath.
‘I still need time to think,’ said Lukas, after what seemed like the longest pause. ‘We’re trying to turn the place around. Things are up in the air right now.’
Swingy Bob gave a little snort. ‘Oh, come on. That café will never make the kind of money your own Michelin-starred restaurant will bring. It’s not even a viable business in its current state. You’re made for bigger things.’
‘Maybe,’ he replied.
Just as Gretel was wondering why he wasn’t standing up for The Gingerbread Café, she saw Lukas shake off Miss Whimple’s hand, which had been snaking up his arm in a way that could almost have been flirty.
There. That rebuff surely meant Gretel’s hopes for the café still had a fighting chance. It was normal that he was still thinking about the restaurant he’d always wanted and it was too soon for Gretel to start pushing him about it. She wasn’t a bossy Francesca Whimple type.
As the irritating woman said her goodbyes and strode off in search of fresh meat, Gretel decided she wouldn’t mention what she’d overheard. It was weird to be hanging around behindcoat racks, and parts of the evening had been strained enough. She and Lukas had just been getting back into their usual, fun dynamic and she wasn’t going to spoil that with jealous talk. After all, they had a delicious apple strudel and custard to look forward to at Lukas’s cosy cottage, and Gretel was all but ravenous.
Chapter 39
‘Strudel. It meanswhirlpoolin German. Isn’t that fascinating? It’s because of the swirl of filling and pastry you can see when you cut a slice.’ Lukas closed the oven on his freshly made dessert and set the timer. ‘But I’m sure you know that already.’
Gretel nodded. ‘I was raised speaking German with my mother. Well, Bavarian. It’s a German dialect.’ He already knew she grew up eating strudel, and so many other warm and sweet delicacies from the festive markets where her mother had often held a craft stall, although she had more English tastes and traditions now.
‘Tonight felt like a bit of a whirlpool,’ Lukas admitted, as he looked through his cupboards for the ingredients to make hot chocolate.
