Page 48 of A Snowy Seaside Christmas
‘Pinkie promise?’
‘Pinkie promise,’ he said, still laughing as he held out his little finger.
THIRTY
Lark and Silas had sat chatting for another half hour. She’d updated him on the situation with Buddy, telling him they were now to call him Bobby. Her father’s thoughts had echoed her own when he said Nate would’ve been gutted to hand Bobby back.
When Silas mentioned he’d thought Nate was looking tired, Lark filled him in on the backlog of work he had, and the couple from Lingthorpe who were hassling him. Her father had rubbed his chin, looking thoughtful.
‘You know, I might offer to give him a hand tomorrow before I head back to High Nedderton. I can sand pieces down, give things a lick of varnish or paint, which would free him up to focus on the other, more complicated stuff. I quite enjoy pottering about with things like that.’ He looked across the table at her. ‘Do you think he’d mind me helping out?’
‘I think he’d be chuffed to bits if you did. He told me he liked having you around when you helped him with that huge dresser a few years back.’
‘In that case, I’ll send him a text,’ Silas said decisively.
They spent the rest of the afternoon poring over their laptops at the kitchen table, searching for properties for salein the town. Lark took the opportunity to place an order for more aromatherapy oils as well as bottles and sprays to use for her own blends. She ordered more crystals too. Silas had been disappointed to find there were no houses that fitted his criteria, so ventured onto researching local history and, in particular, seeing what it would throw up regarding Betty Roberts, née Pearson.
Seashell Cottage seemed suddenly empty without her dad’s cheerful presence. He’d spent the afternoon whistling or humming to himself as he’d scrolled through the searches on his laptop, sharing bits of information he found, scribbling away in his notebook. His endeavours had thrown up a few interesting facts, the most exciting being that he appeared to have traced a relative of Betty’s who still lived in Micklewick Bay. He’d been so fired up by it, Lark had struggled to rein in his enthusiasm and stop him from calling the person in question. But it felt good to have him there in her home. Luna seemed to think so, too, since she’d abandoned the armchair in favour of curling up beside his feet.
Since Oscar’s Bistro was located in the centre of town and quite a walk away from Old Micklewick on a cold, winter’s night, it was agreed – after some persuasion, Silas not wanting to put his daughter out on a Saturday evening – that Lark would play taxi driver and ferry her dad to and from the eatery. In town, they’d take a quick detour, stopping off at Louisa’s house and scooping her up before dropping them off at Oscar’s door. The arrangement made perfect sense to Lark.
It had touched her to see that her dad had made an effort to look smart for his meal out, opting for a pair of mustard-coloured chinos, and a blue and white shirt with a dark moleskinjacket worn over the top. On his feet were his favourite chunky brogue shoes he’d polished specially for the occasion.
She was still mindful not to refer to it as a date, though she’d almost slipped up on one occasion, correcting herself just in time, grateful that he appeared not to have noticed.
Louisa had been watching for them from her living room window and hurried down the path wrapped up in a smart woollen jacket, her hair fixed in a messy “updo”, dangly earrings swinging from her ears. Frost sparkled on the hedges, creating a magical effect. Silas had jumped out of the front passenger seat, greeting her with a peck on the cheek and holding the car door open for her while she climbed in, filling the vehicle with her delicate floral perfume.
The bistro looked achingly inviting, the large, steamy windows trimmed with warm white fairy lights, with further lights wound around the sturdy olive trees that flanked the half-glazed door. As Louisa and Silas climbed out of the car, the delicious aroma of garlic and herbs flooded in. ‘Have a wonderful time and text when you’re ready for me to pick you up,’ Lark had called after them, watching as her dad guided Louisa to the door, his hand at the small of her back. Lark’s heart performed a little leap on her father’s behalf.
But now she was back at the cottage, she felt at a loss for something to do, which was unlike her. She usually enjoyed her own company and could always busy herself whether it be altering garments for her shop, mixing up aromatherapy blends, or even doing a spot of meditation. Yet this evening, she was struggling to get her mind to settle on anything and before long she found herself pacing, her thoughts flitting from her dad and Louisa to the contents of the small suitcase to Crayke’s Cottage. And to Nate.
Pushing her hair off her face, she spied her mobile on the sideboard and scooped it up. Finding the contact she was looking for, she pressed call.
It was answered after three rings.
‘Ey up, Lark, how’s things?’
‘Hi, Nate, I was wondering if you’d eaten yet?’
‘Not had time; I’m still in the workshop. Why?’
‘I don’t suppose you fancy a plate of homemade chicken shawarma, some herby smashed potatoes and fluffy flatbread, with lots of salady bits thrown in? My dad’s out gallivanting with Louisa, so there’s a portion going spare.’
She had the feeling Nate would be working well into the night and would make do with something quick to eat that wouldn’t be particularly nourishing. He might as well enjoy a hot meal.
‘Ah, man, lead me to it!’ She could hear the smile in his voice.
‘Great! Though if you’re busy, I could always drop a plate off, it’s entirely up to you.’
‘If it’s okay, I’d rather have some company than eat on my own.’
‘’Course, that’s fine.’ Though she lived alone, and regularly ate by herself, for some reason, tonight Lark felt the same.
‘I’ll just finish up what I’m doing here. Shouldn’t take long, I’m almost done on this cupboard, then I’ll get cleaned up and head straight over.’
‘Fab! I’ll pop the chicken and the potatoes in the oven, they just need a warm through so should be just about ready by the time you get here.’
‘Cool! Can’t wait.’
