Chapter 9
A fter Lucas had left the café, Clem made herself another cup of tea – she’d head home after this.
It was only when she finished the dregs from her teacup and cast her eyes over the main room that she noticed something small, black and square-shaped over by the window.
Thomas was curled up beside it, his big ginger body reminding her of a fuzzy children’s toy.
She crossed the room. It was Lucas’s wallet – he’d forgotten it. Thomas was half-sleeping on it; she tugged it from beneath him. The cat looked up, giving her a chirpy mew , and she tickled him behind the ears.
Would he come back for it? But if he was driving to Muddy Paws Café, he probably wouldn’t notice until he arrived; he’d be too occupied on the roads.
‘Guess I’ll have to find some way to contact him, Tom-Tom,’ she told the cat, giving him a pat on the head and retrieving her own phone from her pocket. She googled the café and found a number, dialling it.
Someone picked up on the third ring. ‘Muddy Paws Café?’ It sounded like Dwayne. She hadn’t expected anyone to answer.
‘Hi, is that Dwayne? It’s Clem—’
‘Clem! Hey. What can I do for you?’
‘Lucas left his wallet here at Catpurrcino,’ she explained.
‘Ah, shoot, he’s not here,’ said Dwayne. ‘Went over to see his folks. They live over in Keswick. He could probably swing your way again on his way home. Let me give you his number; you can text him.’
‘Oh, okay . . .’ Clem had anticipated Dwayne contacting Lucas himself, but then again, he was probably busy, and if Lucas would be driving this way again anyway, it was easier.
Dwayne rattled off Lucas’s number – she put him on speaker so she could add it to her contacts – and Clem said goodbye and hung up.
Something was stirring in her again, like bubbles rising in a fizzy drink.
She had Lucas’s number. Thomas had gone to sleep on the window seat, his head tipped to the side, exposing a smiley mouth.
Taking a deep breath, Clem tapped out a message to Lucas so he’d come to collect the wallet.
*
Lucas did swing by to pick up his wallet, meeting her in the car park at the back of Catpurrcino.
He was out of breath by the time he jogged over to her from his car, his dark hair poking up at all angles, making him appear windswept and beyond handsome.
The surge of giddiness she felt at the sight of him with his dark hair askew in the breeze was hard to tamp down.
‘Here’s your wallet,’ she said, holding it out for him.
‘I can’t believe I left that here,’ he said. When he took it, their fingers made contact, sending vibrations up her arms and into her core. Lucas tucked the wallet into his pocket and shoved his hair away from his forehead. ‘Thanks for finding it.’
‘Dwayne gave me your number,’ she explained, feeling winded. She could smell his cologne, fresh and masculine with notes of cedarwood, wisping towards her on the wind. ‘I don’t know if you mind. I can delete it—’
‘Keep it,’ he interrupted, with a shrug. ‘You never know.’
Never know what? she wanted to ask, but he was already talking again.
‘I better get off,’ he said. ‘Dwayne is probably sick of babysitting Reina. I’ll be seeing you.’
‘Okay . . . bye.’
He raised a hand, turned, and hurried back to his car, leaving her with a faint sense of disappointment that he didn’t stay – and curiosity about what he meant by You never know .
*
By the following week, Clem was feeling like a nervous wreck, waiting to find out if she’d made it through the auditions.
She alternated between desperately wanting to be selected – because she could put the money towards building her own baking business, and to moving out – and wanting nothing more than to not be chosen, and to spend the rest of the summer months hiding in the garden with her cat.
She wasn’t sure she could handle another incident like the one with Reina, and at least that one hadn’t been shared with Whisked Away ’s audience.
How would she cope if she made it through auditions and had to be filmed regularly, uploaded in high-definition for the world to see?
It was a bright sunny day in May, the sky a stretch of eggshell blue, and she was sitting in the Cat Lounge on her lunch break at Catpurrcino, absently munching at an egg and cress sandwich.
Her phone dinged, and an email notification flashed up.
She usually kept her email app disabled on her phone, but she’d turned it on so she’d know right away if something happened with Whisked Away .
Clem snatched up the phone from a patch of sunlight, putting her sandwich down and placing a plastic cover down over her plate so hard Baron looked up, startled, from the seat opposite hers.
He’d been sitting there watching her eating her sandwich intently, hoping for a morsel, and he now offered her a disgruntled look, his fuzzy ears leaning back.
‘Sorry, boy,’ she said softly, giving him a blink – the friendly gesture all cats knew. The long-haired cat blinked his green eyes once, slowly, and started licking his paws and rubbing at his head, cleaning behind his ears.
With quaking fingers, Clem unlocked her phone screen – the email was from Whisked Away and the subject line read congratulations!
It was as though a dozen marbles were cascading through her body, clacking into one another.
She’d got through – and the Catpurrcino Cat Café would be in the contest, officially.
She raked over the email, skipping from one line to the next, skimming it.
Congratulations, the Catpurrcino Cat Café has been selected .
. . Ronan and the other judges were impressed by your baking and the attention to detail .
. . Attached are further details of the next stages of the competition . . . Dates are final . . .
Clem jolted to her feet, caught between excitement and immense anxiety, and had to force herself to walk slowly as she took her food and half-empty mug behind the counter. Jess danced around her ankles, hoping for her leftovers, her black tail high in the air.
Had Lucas received one of these emails, too?
A sudden, horrible thought occurred to Clem.
Was this really down to her baking skills, or what had happened, and how he’d comforted her in front of everyone – on camera?
Did Whisked Away simply think that together, they made good TV?
Ronan had mentioned the importance of screen presence.
If he’d got through as well, maybe that would be why . . .
Even though she’d just consumed half a mug of tea, she was parched.
Faye, who was steaming milk – the noise of the machine whooshing and hissing – glanced up at her and frowned. ‘Something wrong, Clem?’ she asked.
Clem shoved her way behind the counter, throwing away the rest of her sandwich. Her appetite had gone. ‘Where’s Sylvie?’ she squeaked, bouncing on the balls of her feet.
‘In the staffroom.’ Faye finished up with frothing the milk and hovered there, uncertain. ‘What is it?’
‘The contest . . . we got through.’
‘You did?!’ Faye shrilled. A few of the customers at the nearest table to the counter looked over curiously, distracted from playing with Eric, whose bobbed tail was wiggling with excitement as he studied the feather toy hanging above him.
‘Oh my God – that’s amazing!’ Faye continued, breaking into a huge smile.
‘You have to tell Sylvie – she’s doing finance, I think—’
Clem nodded and disappeared before Faye could finish, depositing her mug and plate into the sink on her way by the kitchen, and hurrying into the staffroom, almost tripping over her own feet in her haste down the corridor.
Even though she was apprehensive, worried about the true reason she’d got into the contest, she couldn’t help the smile that formed on her face.
She found Sylvie where Faye said she would be, sitting at a plastic chair in the staffroom, her laptop in front of her and a bulging planner open on the table.
‘Oh, hi, Clem,’ said Sylvie, glancing up. She looked surprised to see the smile on Clem’s face, and sat up straighter. ‘What is it?’
Stepping further into the room, Clem brought up the email on her phone again and held it out to Sylvie. ‘Look!’
‘That’s . . .’ Sylvie stood up, taking the phone from her and scanning over the contents of the email, as Clem had. ‘This is wonderful!’ she cried, grabbing Clem’s hand. ‘I knew you could do it, Clem!’
Clem could feel the smile slipping from her face. Had she done it, though, on skill alone – or had she merely given them some good entertainment during her audition? How was Lucas feeling about all of this, she wondered?
Sylvie must have noticed the hesitancy, because she said, ‘Don’t worry, Clem, we’ll be fine. I’ll be there with you the whole time. They’ve given us plenty of details here so you can plan ahead. I have total faith in you. This is so exciting! It’ll be fun.’
Excitement swirled within her again, and Clem bounced on her toes – it was strange, to be so giddy and apprehensive all at once. She hadn’t felt like that since she’d first landed the job at Catpurrcino.
‘Do you think Lucas and Muddy Paws got through . . . ?’ Clem ventured.
‘I’m not sure.’
‘Maybe I should ask him . . . I have his number. Dwayne gave it to me when he left his wallet here at the café.’
There was a glint in Sylvie’s eye now, and Clem wondered if her attraction to Lucas was that obvious. ‘He won’t mind you asking,’ Sylvie said. ‘Get in touch with him! They’re nice lads.’
‘We’re going up against them – is it weird to be friendly?’
‘A little friendly competition – there’s no harm in that. It doesn’t mean we can’t make friends along the way, does it?’