Page 8 of Winter at the Cornish Garden Café
‘Really?’ His eyebrows climbed his forehead, the skin no longer smooth but lined with time.
‘Well, no, but it’s OK.’
‘You have something there…’ He peered at her and she tensed.
‘Where?’
He touched a hand to the side of his head so she did the same. ‘No, you missed it. Hold on.’ He leant forwards and his hand brushed her cheek as he took hold of something from above her left ear. When he held it out, she looked at his hand and saw that he’d found a piece of pastry all sticky with icing.
‘Looks like I’m washing my hair tonight, then.’ She got a napkin from under the counter and opened it so he could drop the pastry in it.
‘It could be sticky now.’ He nodded. ‘So… you are all right?’
How many times could one person ask that question? He must be nervous, she thought.
‘I am. Poor Ellie is baking more mince pies as we speak, though, so please try not to make a habit of it.’
He laughed, and it lit his face up, made the angst fade from his gaze and reminded her how handsome he was.
‘I promise I won’t.’
‘And how are you?’ she asked, sliding her hands into the front pocket of her apron because she had a sudden urge to reach across the counter and touch him — his hand, his arm, his face, his hair.
He shrugged. ‘I’m home to stay with Dad for a while so … Things could be better, I guess.’
‘I’m sure it will be fine.’ She wasn’t sure at all because she knew how difficult his father could be and she suspected he could be even worse now he was older.
‘Perhaps. But regardless of how I feel, he clearly needs some help.’
‘Is he not managing alone?’ she asked.
‘Not really. Not by the look of the house. I’ll try to sort things out for him while I’m ho— I mean, back in the village. I guess I could be here for Christmas.’
Thora’s heart fluttered. Lucas could be in Porthpenny for Christmas?
‘With your family?’ she asked gently.
‘Family?’ He frowned. ‘With Dad, but that’s it, really.’
‘What about your … wife or partner?’
‘No wife or partner.’ He shook his head. ‘No children either.’
‘Oh…’ She pressed her lips together, unsure what to say.
‘You?’ He rubbed the back of his neck, then folded his arms over his broad chest.
‘No husband or partner. Not anymore. But two children … well, fifteen-year-old twins. A boy and a girl.’
‘A pigeon pair, as they say.’ He frowned. ‘Where on earth did that expression come from? Who says that?’
‘It’s something our grandmothers would have said. And you’re right because it means a boy and a girl, originally used to describe twins, I believe.’
‘It’s funny what stays with us over the years.’ His arms lowered to his sides.
‘It really is.’ She held his gaze, thinking that his words were loaded with meaning, for her at least. So much had stayed with her and likely held her back from loving anyone else the way she had once loved him. But then she’d been young and first love was always more intense than subsequent relationships, surely?
‘So … twins but no partner?’ He chewed at his bottom lip.
