Page 8 of The Cornish Cream Tea Bookshop
‘Going to …’ she cleared her throat. ‘Going to get a tea in Sea Brew.’
‘Oh lovely! Say hello to Max for me.’ She put her hands on her hips and turned in a slow circle. ‘I’d better start thinking about what I’m going to do with all these Halloween decorations when they arrive.’
‘Put themallin Adrian’s office,’ Ollie said with a grin, and Meredith laughed. ‘Lovely to catch up. Hopefully see you again soon?’
‘We could go and get a drink sometime, if you’d like?’
‘I’dlove,’ Ollie said. ‘Let’s do it!’ She said goodbye to Meredith, then pushed open the door and stepped onto the street. ‘Say hello to Max for me,’ she whispered, repeating the other woman’s words.
She shouldn’t even be going inside. She should stay well away from the temptation she had already told herself she couldn’t give into. She needed to give herself time to properly get over Guy: she needed to be on her own for a bit. But the reckless part of her, the part that so often overruled her more sensible side, was already in charge of her feet. The sensible side gave a tiny shrug, putting up the barest minimum of fights before giving up, and Ollie turned towards the quaint, unassuming but very popular café only a few steps away.
Chapter Five
Sea Brew was charming in every way. It didn’t try to be fancy or different; it didn’t serve coffee in jam jars or have exclusively vegan pastries – though it did cater to everyone, from what Ollie had seen. It was an attractive café with gingham tablecloths and prints of Cornish seascapes on the white walls, and the guarantee of a friendly welcome.
When Ollie walked in, she was hit by the rich smells of coffee and butter, the salty, warming scent of pastry. The sound of grinding coffee beans filled the air, the low thrum of a pop song on the radio a background beat. Usually, there would be a young woman or man behind the counter – Ollie had been served by three different staff members so far – but today, she could only see Max.
Max, who – Meredith had told her – owned Sea Brew, and who Ollie had noticed, immediately and intensely, the very first time she’d been here, in the same way you notice a gleaming red Ferrari in a row of hatchbacks; the way asingle blooming wild rose sticks out in a dense green hedgerow.
Ollie found that she was hovering in the doorway, unable to move further in or back out. It was so unlike her: it wasn’t in her nature to be shy, but perhaps the logical part of her brain, the one that remembered how badly she had misjudged Guy, was telling her to proceed with caution.
Max had his back to her because she’d taken the open door from a leaving customer, and it hadn’t closed properly and been given a chance to ding when she opened it again.
His hair was a tangle of curls, so dark brown they looked almost black, and his shoulders were wide, his navy T-shirt pulled tight across them. He was at least six foot tall, she thought. She couldn’t see his face but she could picture it: the thick eyebrows, unusual green eyes beneath, the strong jawline that was sometimes smooth, sometimes stubbled. The dimple that appeared in his left cheek when he smiled.
She wondered if he’d noticed her: if he’d registered that she had been here almost every morning over the last ten days – usually with Henry – and chatted with his staff, exchanging a brief hello with him while he busied himself behind the counter. She didn’t think, right now, that she could say a single word. It was such an alien feeling.
She heard steps behind her and turned to see a rosy-cheeked woman, her face framed by tendrils of strawberry blonde hair, wearing a waxed jacket and wellies. Ollie stepped to the side.
‘You going in or coming out?’ the woman asked in a broad Cornish accent.
Ollie moved further into the café, backing up against a table. ‘Go ahead.’
‘All right, lass,’ the woman said jovially, and walked past her. ‘Max, be a love and pop a sausage roll in the oven – if you’ve got any left this late in the day.’
Max turned, and there it was: the face that had stayed in Ollie’s mind’s eye long after she’d walked out of the café on every occasion. It wasn’t just that he was handsome, but that he radiated warmth. His ready smile and green, crinkle-edged eyes were like open arms, compelling her forwards. His chest was partially hidden behind a black-and-white chequered apron which emphasised his tapered torso, and the short sleeves of the navy T-shirt showed off his sculpted arms. He was solid, strong-looking, but not bulky. He was—
‘No problem, Lizzy,’ he said. He smiled at the woman, then his gaze flickered to Ollie and his lips flattened. She couldn’t blame him: what must she look like, standing against a table, frozen and mute? ‘Do you want one heated up, too?’ He paused for a beat, then added, ‘I thought I’d get ahead of the game. No pressure, though. You might not be after any food.’
It took Ollie a second to realise he was talking to her, not Lizzy. His deep voice was mesmerising, the edges of his words softened by the hint of a Cornish accent.
‘Oh – Uh. I … I am … that is to say that I would like, uhm …’ She watched his brows draw together, his lips twitch.For fuck’s sake.‘I’d love a heated-up sausage roll,’ she managed, almost shouting to compensate for her stumbling. ‘Thank you,’ she added. Internally, every one of her organs shrivelled up in embarrassment.
‘Good-oh.’ Max leaned into the display cabinet, his tongs outstretched. ‘People say they’re the best around here.’
‘That’s because Beryan makes them,’ Lizzy said, turning to Ollie. ‘She’s who Max commissions to make his cakes and pastries. She’s a baking superstar, and he somehow zeroed in on her skills before anyone else, got this exclusive arrangement.’
‘You don’t make them yourself?’ Ollie had just assumed he did.
He looked up, his gaze finding hers. ‘No, baking’s not a skill of mine. The business side of things is fine, and what I like most is being here, talking to customers.’
‘Spending all day shooting the shit,’ Lizzy said, and Max laughed.
‘There are worse ways to make a living.’ He stood up straight, two of the huge sausage rolls on a cardboard tray. ‘And Beryan and I have a great partnership.’ His smile was gentle, far from anything approaching cocky.
‘I don’t even know if he pays her.’ Lizzy leaned against the counter as if she was as familiar with the café as her own kitchen. ‘Or if it’s all just charm.’
‘Come on now,’ Max said, opening the door of a compact oven built into the wall, sliding the sausage rolls onto a metal tray inside. ‘You know I’m above board. This whole charm thing is wearing thin.’
