Page 69 of The Cornish Cream Tea Holiday
The sun was trying to put on a good show, but the clouds had gone from small and unassuming first thing, to hulking shapes edged with grey. She didn’t think it would be too long before the blue was obliterated, and she got her first taste of Cornish rain. Anticipation bubbled low in her stomach, and that, combined with the seesaw of confusion about her feelings for Alex versus her feelings for Ben, only served to heighten her agitation.
Alex, she was sure, didn’t know how fond of him she was, but then, since being in Cornwall, she had begun to realise her affection was more about how comfortable she felt with him, along with gratitude for all the ways he’d helped her. It certainly didn’t compare to her feelings for Ben. He, of course, knew there was something between them, because those kisses hadn’t simply been to pass the time while they were stranded.
The strength of the connection between them had surprised her: she had never been kissed like that before, as if he was trying to communicate through his touch all the things he didn’t quite know how to say to her. Just thinking about his soft, hesitant smile made parts of her tingle, and it was a long time since she’d felt like that.
She was wearing jeans and a pale blue vest top, had tied her hair in a plait, and put on blusher, mascara and lip gloss. The lasagne was in the fridge, ready to cook later, and she had nothing else left to do. She quickly checked her phone, then stepped outside.
The wind pushed her back into her doorway, and she gripped the frame until the gust passed. The tumultuous weather was definitely on its way. She locked the door and walked over to Oystercatcher Cottage. She could hearbarking inside, the echo of a summer hit playing on a radio.
Before she’d lifted her hand to knock, the front door opened to reveal Ben, a picture of scruffy perfection in a paint-stained black T-shirt and grey shorts, his toolbelt low on his hips. He looked edible, and Thea clamped her lips together to stop herself licking them.
‘You know,’ he said, his body filling the door frame, ‘we could go back to yours instead, give up on the tiling.’
‘Work before play,’ she replied, sliding past him, her shoulder brushing his chest as she passed. ‘Wow.’
His living room looked like an actual building site. The only furniture was a workman’s bench and the large tool chest she’d got a glimpse of before. The rest of the space was taken up with boxes of tiles, shrink-wrapped laminate boards, cans of paint and sealant. There wasn’t even a carpet.
‘Where do you relax?’ she asked.
‘You sound horrified.’
‘No wonder you nearly fell asleep on my sofa the other day.’
‘I have a bed upstairs.’
She looked at him. ‘Good to know.’
His blush was instant, and she hid her smile. She’d never played seductress before – the idea of it generally terrified her – but there was something about the way Ben treated her, as if he understood her, and believed wholeheartedly that she could do anything she put her mind to, that gave her the confidence to tease him. She felt, in general, a lot more confident than she had done when she’d arrived in Cornwall.
‘Where’s the bathroom?’ she asked.
‘What?’ He looked flummoxed.
‘Isn’t that where we’re doing the tiling?’
‘Oh yeah. Yes. Of course.’ He ran his hands down his shorts and turned in a circle, as if he had no idea where he was or what he was supposed to do, then gave her a sheepish smile. ‘I get the feeling that it’s going to be quite hard to concentrate with you here.’
‘Why’s that?’ She grinned. ‘Because I’m hopeless at tiling?’
He shook his head, returning her smile. ‘You know why.’
‘I do,’ she said softly. ‘We could give it a try, for a little while, at least?’
Ben set her to work on the opposite side of the room to him, telling her it was for the best if they wanted to be remotely productive. The cottage was a mirror image of hers, the bathroom at the front, next to the master bedroom, and she thought it was funny, seeing the room in its rawest state, knowing what it could look like after a bit of imagination and some elbow grease had transformed it.
Music from the radio drifted up the stairs, and Thea concentrated as best she could, after Ben had showed her how much adhesive to put on the wall, how to set the tile in the right place. He’d cut them all already, so she just had to fix and move, fix and move. The grouting would come afterwards.
‘I’ve been thinking about what you said.’ Ben’s words broke the quiet.
‘Which thing I said?’ Thea was trying to move a tile that she’d put on wonkily, gripping the corners so she could pull it off again.
‘About me stalling on this place because I haven’t let go of what happened back ho—’ He stopped, and Thea glancedbehind her. Ben was staring at the wall. ‘Back up north,’ he finished.
‘You might have just proved your own point,’ she said. ‘It still feels like home?’
‘It doesn’t. It feels so distant, after only a few months. I can barely remember what my old place looked like, even though I lived there for years.’
Thea moved from kneeling to sitting cross-legged, then picked up her next tile. ‘You’re stuck in a vicious circle,’ she said. ‘You won’t feel properly at home here until this place is finished, but because it’s not you’re a bit lost, so you’re struggling to focus on it. Do you think that …’ she bit her lip. ‘Do you think talking to Allie or Damien would help? Do you feel like there’s something left to say there?’
