Page 18 of The Cornish Cream Tea Holiday
‘In February?’
‘Right. After that, I gave it a couple of months to … at the beginning, I didn’t really feel like it.’ He turned away from her, separating bacon rashers, checking the sausages that were already under the grill. ‘Then, when I did, I thought I could do it all at once, as quickly as possible. But I know that’s not how it works: I’m a bloody builder!’
‘What kind of builder?’
‘Small-scale projects. Fitting kitchens, tiling, floors. I’ve done a few home renovations like I’m doing now, and I just assumed that without the added complication of having actual customers, who change their minds all the time and get overly protective about the smallest thing,’ he gave her a look that made her feel included in his exasperation, ‘that it would be a piece of …’
‘Cake?’ Thea finished.
He nodded. ‘The point is, I was stupid. Now it’s taking up every waking hour, the whole house is a nightmare, and I should be there right now, trying to make sense of it, but trips to the beach with Finn and Meredith, cooking breakfast for you, they’re always going to be more appealing.’ He whisked the eggs, his biceps flexing, and Thea turned her gaze to the window.
‘So I’m a distraction?’ she said.
‘An excellent one,’ he admitted, and when she glanced at him, his half-smile was back. It sent a shiver through her, and made her say something entirely out of character.
‘So, what you’re suggesting is that, if I were a good person, I would tell you that I didn’t want to go on a walk with you, so that you would be forced to go back to your place and get on with your tiling or floor laying, or whatever it is you need to do?’
His smile widened. ‘I’m hoping that, on this occasion, you’re going to choose to be bad.’
Their eyes held, and it was such a flirtatious moment that Thea didn’t know what to do with herself.
Usually, she would run from men like Ben, and that was partly because they didn’t ever go for women like her. He might have a string of Cornish surfer girlfriends texting him every few minutes, or a boyfriend whose house he escaped to when his renovation project got too much. She knew so little about him, but she thought of what Esme had said, the mention of holiday romances, and wondered if she could lean into it.
She thought of her Elly Griffiths book on the bedside table, the hours she’d planned to spend reading it today. But she didn’t want her lasting memories of the coastal path to be bad, and if she let them linger, they might dampen the holiday, and her impression of a place she hoped would be part of her future. Besides, it was clear Ben wanted this distraction: he was cooking her a breakfast that her local greasy spoon in Bristol could only dream of producing. Surely it was only fair, after all he’d done for her, that she help him out too?
‘I did have a pretty rough night,’ she said. ‘What with broken bed frames and neighbours making inhospitable noises until late.’
‘Which means?’
‘I might well decide to be bad today.’ She ran her hand slowly over the pine countertop, and then, when that seemed like a step too far, quickly added, ‘Ready for coffee number three?’
‘Always,’ Ben said.
They moved around each other in a companionable way until the breakfast and coffee were ready, Scooter had been given a couple of sausages, and they were sitting side by side at the breakfast bar. Thea didn’t know which she was more impressed with: the view, her breakfast, or the man next to her, slicing into a home-made hash brown with focused determination.
Already, this holiday was a completely different shape to how she’d imagined it. She knew things never turned out the way she anticipated them – that was just the nature of expectation versus reality – but it was already so far removed from her preconceptions. The hash browns, for example, were like nothing she’d ever tasted before.
‘Wow, Ben,’ she said, when she’d eaten a mouthful, then shovelled some of the golden, buttery scrambled eggs onto her fork. ‘If cooking’s only a hobby, then I’m excited to see your building work.’
‘I’ve hidden it under the mattress.’
‘Not the bed frame: your house.’
‘My house is a tip, which is why I’m here.’
‘Do you do this with all Mel’s holidayers?’
He glanced at her. ‘Do what?’
‘Befriend them so you can use Sunfish Cottage as a refuge?’
He chuckled. ‘No, this is the first time I’ve been inside. It’s giving me some ideas, actually. She’s kitted it out really nicely. Besides, you were the one who knocked on my door, remember?’
‘I was.’ She scooped up some baked beans. Despite the supposed chaos at his house, he’d brought around little pots to put them in, so they were kept separate on the plate. Was that just the way he did things, or had he remembered the details when she’d described her perfect breakfast earlier? ‘And suddenly, you’re doing everything for me. Bed fixing, breakfast making, walk chaperoning.’
‘Only if you want to,’ he repeated. ‘This is your holiday, after all.’
She nodded, and there was a pause while they focused on the food. Scooter had finished his sausages within seconds, and was lying beneath their stools, his pale, handsome body stretched to its full length. Thea thought the tiled floor was probably a cool place for him.
