Page 44 of The Cornish Cream Tea Bookshop
‘It’s a relief,’ he said. ‘I feel like the pressure’s off.’
‘It is.’ Inside, she was dancing. Her cautious voice had backed off, as if it knew a lost cause when it saw one. She couldn’t sit still. ‘My round. Want another pretend gin and tonic?’
‘I’ll risk a coffee this time.’
‘Brave man.’ She stood up, intent on making her way through the festive throng to the bar.
‘Oh, and Ollie?’ She felt Max’s hand gently wrap around her wrist, and turned to look at him. ‘Back there, in the photo booth?’
‘Yes?’ She held her breath.
‘I wanted to kiss you, properly. But like everything else about that particular episode, it went disastrously wrong. I’m not giving up, but give me time to regroup?’ He looked so contrite, so hopeful, sohandsome.
‘OK,’ she said, struggling to keep her voice even. ‘I’ll give you a second chance.’
‘Great. Thank you for being so considerate.’
With another nod and smile, Ollie turned away from him and, feeling as if she had almost superhuman energy, wove her way through the crowd to go and get their drinks.
Chapter Eighteen
‘The first thing we need to do is take stock of what we’ve got on the trestle tables in front of us. And don’t forget, there are many variations of the fajita recipe. All veg, meat and fish are welcome: it’s the sauce that makes this my own, personal, very special creation.’
‘Righto!’ Lizzy waggled her fingers over the selection of peppers, onions and mushrooms on her table. Laid out next to them was a raw chicken breast, several purple tortillas, and a selection of herbs and spices.
Ollie, standing at the side of the room, couldn’t help glancing around Thea’s beautiful events space, with its sofa pushed into the corner, the bookshelves with Marcus Belrose’s cookbooks facing outwards, the tables with their little portable hobs on. Portable hobs, in a bookshop. There was one sink upstairs, in the storeroom behind the stage. The deep blue carpet was new and plush and pristine. Had this been a good idea? Now it was happening, she wasn’t sure.
The confident chef was standing in front of eight eager participants, and Ollie couldn’t fault the way he had kitted out the session. He had provided plentiful, good-quality ingredients – not to mention bringing the cooking apparatus – as part of the event fee. It was just so … so crammed in. She could hear the usual bookshop sounds downstairs: the bell pinging, customers asking Becky questions, the crackle of paper bags as purchases were made. Having Marcus here, with an array of food, the smells of a kitchen, felt wrong. But it was happening now, so she just had to get to the end without any disasters.
‘We want all the vegetables cut into strips,’ Marcus said. ‘Thin strips that retain a bit of crunch and can be properly coated in the sauce.’
‘Thin strips,’ Meredith murmured. Her head was bent, her grip strong on the knife’s handle.
Finn, at the table next to his girlfriend, seemed less dedicated. He was looking around, seeing what everyone else was doing, and hadn’t touched his own ingredients.
‘The excellent thing about this recipe,’ Marcus went on, pacing backwards and forwards on the low stage – he had chopped his vegetables in record time, which Ollie thought was a bit show-off – ‘is how versatile it is. Howquick. You have your family over just before Christmas, you want something easy, but still tasty, to satisfy them. With this, you can prepare and cook the veg, the proteins, then lay them out for your guests to help themselves, assemble their own fajitas.’
Ollie sighed. It wasn’t exactly rocket science. Why had she propositioned Marcus? She wanted to get back to the book club, to Book Wars. To happy, wholesome,book-focused events. Marcus went through the steps of creating the sauce, and she zoned out, gazing out at Port Karadow, at the rooftops dusted with sunlight. She’d opened the window before the event had started, and a fresh breeze slipped in, diluting the culinary smells.
‘Oh my God,’ Meredith said, breaking through her thoughts.
‘This is a bloody wonder,’ Lizzy added. ‘I’m going to baste my turkey in it on Christmas Day.’
‘Ilovethis sauce,’ announced a young woman called Candy, who had chosen the trestle table at the back of the room.
Even Finn was staring at his pan with awe, a spoon in his hand. Ben, Thea’s boyfriend, who had worked with Marcus and was apparently an excellent cook, was frowning at his concoction. Ollie watched him add a splash of maple syrup, then stir and taste, his face a mask of concentration.
‘This sauce will take your fajitas from bog standard to brilliant,’ Marcus said, stirring the contents of his own pot languidly. ‘Your dinner party guests will be clamouring for more. You can adjust the quantities to enhance the sourness or sweetness, just as Ben’s doing.’ Ben looked up, clearly surprised that he’d been singled out. ‘And the great thing is it works with chicken or beef, fish or halloumi. It’s great on jackfruit, if you want a vegan option.’
‘I could stand here and eat the whole pan,’ Meredith told him.
Marcus’s smile was snakelike. ‘Coat your fillings in it, and you’ll have quadruple the pleasure. Right. Now the sauce is done, we need to cook the main ingredients. This will vary depending on what you’ve chosen. Flash-fry thestrips of steak, but give chicken and halloumi a slower, steadier cook. I’ll come round and give you individual instructions, and while you’re waiting, keep tasting that sauce: get it perfect foryou. We’re all chefs, now.’
‘I don’t think I’ll ever be a chef,’ Finn said. ‘But I’m going to make these fajitas at home.’
‘Oh Marcus,’ Meredith said, ‘I could kiss you! Finn’s pancakes are the best, but after that he runs out of steam.’
‘Pancakes and fajitas are all I need in my repertoire,’ Finn replied. ‘Both crowd pleasers.’
