Page 18 of All We Want for Christmas
‘Good. I’m still sorry we didn’t warn you before he turned up, but I’m glad it’s working out well.’
With a cheery nod for an answer, and hoping that her employers would be able to properly relax at last, Lara left them, thinking of her praise for Flynn.
On her way back to her office, she kept thinking that Flynn was working out almosttoowell. He had taken charge very quickly and seemed extremely competent. As for her reaction to him, it alarmed her how much she was looking forward to spending a few hours with him at the coffee shop.
It must not turn into anything even resembling a date. It was more important than ever to do a good job with the Winter Spectacular, because, she reasoned, the more indispensable she became, the more likely the Penhaligons would be to forgive her.
CHAPTER NINE
Flynn had considered offering Lara a lift to the Waterwheel Café on the Harley but was pretty sure she’d have said no. In the end she asked him to meet her there, as she had some shopping to do beforehand.
The village of Thorndale was about two miles from the gates of the castle. In summer, so he’d been told, there was a lovely walk to it across footpaths, but on a soggy late November day, Flynn didn’t fancy getting soaked. There wasn’t much to see anyway, with the fells hidden beneath low clouds as he rode to the café.
Newquay felt like a capital city compared to Thorndale, whose slate-roofed cottages were clustered around a tiny village green. At its heart lay the church, shop and pub, with the café situated on the road out of the village towards the dramatic lake and mountains of Wast Water.
As its name implied, the café had clearly once been a watermill, and its wheel was still in place over the beck, which tumbled down the valley. Flynn thought it was all very picturesque as he carried his helmet into the café. He hadn’t spotted Lara’s vintage Land Rover in the car park so didn’t expect to see her yet.
He was greeted inside by a young server with red streaks in her hair.
‘Just me and a friend,’ he said, when she asked how many the table was for.
‘OK. Table for two. Can I get you a drink while you wait?’
‘Thanks. I’ll have a cappuccino, please.’
‘No problem.’
The place was half-full and Flynn took out his phone to check there were no urgent messages. He noticed a couple of the waiting staff steal a look at him when they thought he wasn’t watching. Some people seemed to regard bikers as a threat and it amused him to think of their reaction if they knew he had a responsible position in the employ of the local aristocrats.
The waitress with the red streaks brought his coffee. ‘Here you go.’
‘Thanks.’
She didn’t leave. ‘I – er – saw your bike outside.’
‘You did?’
‘Yeah. Actually, I heard it before I saw it. My cousin has a Harley. Used to take me on the back of it sometimes.’
Now Flynn knew the reason for her interest in him. She wasn’t wary of him, she was interested in his bike, which was much more palatable.
‘Ever thought of learning to ride yourself?’ he asked.
She snorted. ‘Me? No way. I don’t have the cash to buy a bike or pay for the lessons even if I wanted to.’
‘Molly.’ An older woman, who seemed to be in charge,had appeared at the table. ‘Do you mind helping out at the door? We have customers waiting for a table.’
‘Sorry,’ Molly said with a grimace. ‘Coming.’
One of those customers proved to be Lara. She waved at Flynn and his heart gave a schoolboyish skip of pleasure. He heard her explain to Molly that her friend was already in the café before making her way over.
‘It’s warm in here,’ Lara said, with a nod to the wood burner in the corner of the café.
‘Very cosy,’ Flynn replied, while she unwound a scarf from her neck and took off a puffa jacket. Her cheeks were tinged rose pink, either from the cold or from rushing about doing her errands. Her neck was lovely too – had he ever admired a neck before? And her eyes were beautiful. What was happening?
Oblivious to the desire surging through him, she sat down and nodded at his cup. ‘How long have you been here?’
‘Um. Only five minutes.’ He snatched up a menu. ‘Would you like a coffee? Or one of the hundred other fancy hot drinks they seem to offer?’ he joked, to hide his discomfiture.
