Page 107 of The Cornish Cream Tea Holiday
Chapter Twenty-Nine
The September light in Cornwall had a different quality to the June sunshine.
Thea stood outside the Old Post House, revelling in the gentle warmth and the way the sun seemed to polish the houses. She felt a sense of peace descend on her, at the fact that the back and forth of the last few months was over, that she could call herself a resident of Port Karadow, finally. If she was honest, the relief was entirely secondary to the excitement, the thrill of all that lay ahead of her, even if a lot of it would involve uncertainty and brain-ache and hard, hard work. At the end of it, there would be a bookshop.Herbookshop and, if she did it well enough, the town’s, too.
That was what she wanted more than anything, for her business to be embraced by the town, just as the post office had been when Eric and Sylvia were running it. She wanted her bookshop to be as integral: as loved, and as visited. After all, what better way of earning chips, ice cream or asausage roll from Sea Brew than by walking up the hill to buy a book first? There would be so many benefits to visiting it, and she was going to make sure people were aware of all of them. Already, the Old Post House looked completely different to how it had done in June. Most of the changes were structural, on the inside, but now the honeyed stone was hidden by scaffolding rather than ivy.
An engine noise assaulted her senses, and she wondered if this would be the team the council had hired, or her very own, personal builder. Neither outcome would be horrible, though one was a lot more preferable than the other. Her smile widened when she saw that she’d hit the jackpot, the blue Ford van coming to a stop in front of the Old Post House.
Ben got out, Scooter following close on his heels, and they both greeted her warmly – the dog with a bark and a lick, Ben with a hug and a kiss – even though it had only been a few hours since they’d seen each other.
‘So,’ Ben said, his smile easily reaching his eyes, ‘it’s looking good, right?’
‘So good,’ Thea agreed. ‘They’ve already done a wonderful job. I can’t believe it’s nearly ready for me to start work on the interior.’
‘I could have done this, you know. Foreman of a larger team. I wouldn’t have let you down.’
‘I know you wouldn’t have,’ Thea said, her tone gentle, because they’d been over this already, ‘but it wasn’t up to me. The council already had contractors they worked with, and anyway, I didn’t want you here, working so hard throughout the summer. Also, you really didn’t need another thing distracting you from your home renovation. And nowyou’ve got enough other work to be going on with, with Mel’s holiday properties and the extension on Finn’s aunt’s place, it’s not like you need it.’
‘I guess not,’ he said. ‘And listed buildings can be a nightmare.’
Thea nodded. There had definitely been a few of those so far, but the team were great, and Anish had been practical and unflappable throughout. ‘Anyway,’ she went on, ‘now that I’m here for good, I want you at home in the evenings, to spend time with you at weekends. I don’t want to upset our equilibrium.’
Ben grinned. ‘We’ve got an equilibrium already, even though you’ve officially been living in Cornwall for three days?’
‘I think we have. Don’t you?’
Ben’s eyes turned serious. ‘I do. Oystercatcher Cottage already feels a lot better with you in it.’
Thea smiled. ‘Well, I love being there. And it’s funny, isn’t it, how many of the little touches – the built-in bookshelves, the art deco reading lights either side of the bed, which issosolid, by the way, and that atmospheric photo of the abandoned lighthouse in the front room – are exactly what I would have put there.’
Ben rolled his eyes and pulled her close, bending to kiss the spot just below her ear. ‘I know you’re pleased about that,’ he murmured, ‘but you can’t embarrass me. I’ll give tours if you want, telling anyone who’ll listen that I designed it all with you in mind.’
Thea closed her eyes, overwhelmed all over again at his thoughtfulness, his commitment to what they had; at knowing he saw a future for them, just like she did.
Since she’d gone back to Bristol at the end of June, they’d spoken daily, and without planning it properly, somehow set up a schedule whereby every two weeks, either she travelled back to Cornwall – usually tacking on a Friday or Monday, or both, so she could meet with Anisha and the construction team, or the bat man, or the historical buildings conveyancer – or Ben came to Bristol.
The three out of four weekends that he stayed in Port Karadow, Ben joined Marcus Belrose in his food truck on the beach, and for one of those three, Thea was there, often with Meredith and Finn, eating his incredible food and catching up with her friends. Thea spent time up here at the site, seeing how the work was progressing, and Anisha kept her updated when she wasn’t in Cornwall. When Ben came to Bristol, they spent lazy hours in her flat, talking about the future while she methodically packed up her life, or they went into town, sometimes just the two of them, sometimes with Esme and Alex.
Two months of only spending time together every other weekend might have seemed like an unsteady foundation for Thea to move in with Ben, but he’d suggested it early on, saying it was practical more than anything: he had a house, he had the room, and it would allow Thea to hold onto more of her savings while she was setting up the bookshop and had no income. She could see the sense in it, but she was also reluctant to move too fast too soon, to mess up something that seemed so perfect.
But as July became August, as Thea’s notice period at the library neared its end, and as her thoughts turned more towards Cornwall, Ben’s argument became a lot more personal: he wanted to be with her, and there was no pointin them living separately when they could be together. Then, a couple of weeks ago, when she was in Port Karadow at the end of August, had come the point of no return.
They’d been walking back to Oystercatcher Cottage after a night spent with Meredith and Finn at the Happy Shack, the sun flickering like a flame above the horizon, the stars and moon already so bright that they barely needed a torch to find their way back, when Ben had stopped, turned Thea to face him on the clifftop path, and kissed her.
‘What was that for?’ Thea had asked, high enough on their wonderful night without his touch sending her into the stratosphere.
‘Because I can’t quite get over that you’re here, and that you’ll soon be here for good. And also because I love you, Thea Rushwood. Move into Oystercatcher Cottage with me. Please?’
Her lingering doubts had already been trailing far, far behind her by that point, and she’d been wondering when to say those three, short words to him. With Ben’s admission, his eyes looking green in the moonlight, his face more serious than she’d seen it in a long time, those last, lingering doubts had fizzled to nothing.
‘Yes please,’ she’d said, exhaling. ‘I would love to move in with you. Not only because you do a mean house renovation, Ben Senhouse, but also because I can’t think of anywhere I would rather be when I move here, and because I love you, too. Very, very much.’ His smile had competed with the moon, his kiss had tasted of the Happy Shack’s divine chocolate pudding, and when they’d got back to thenewly-finished bedroom at Oystercatcher Cottage, their focus hadn’t been on sleeping.
But despite all that, it wasn’t until she’d brought her suitcase and a couple of boxes, being uncharacteristically ruthless about which books to hold onto and which to donate to other readers, because this house was Ben’s, first, (though theirs to share equally, he’d assured her on multiple occasions) that he’d admitted his secret.
They’d been sitting at the breakfast bar, eating a pile of Ben’s creamy mash topped with Cajun-spiced chicken that Thea was already addicted to, when she’d asked him outright: what about the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves in the living room, the vanity mirror in the bedroom with dressing-room lights around it, the Velvetiser in the kitchen for making perfect hot chocolates? These all seemed like Thea-shaped touches, not things she would have imagined Ben thinking about or wanting for himself.
He’d glanced at his plate, a smile denting his cheeks, and when he’d looked up she’d sensed no shyness or embarrassment. ‘Ever since that weekend, when you got trapped in your bookshop, and we …’
