Summer at the Cornish Garden Café (The Cornish Garden Café #2)

1. Lena Teller

1

LENA TELLER

‘ E very moment is a fresh beginning,’ Lena Teller said to herself as she pushed open the door to The Garden Café and looked around. The interior was pretty and colourful with reclaimed wooden tables and chairs, a dark green leather sofa against one wall and shelves filled with books, magazines and games. With the sunlight streaming through the front windows creating a golden haze and warming the wooden floorboards, and the delicious aromas of coffee and cakes, the café was cosy and comforting.

At the counter, she waited in the queue, eyeing the treats on offer in the glass display case and in the cake stands on top of the counter. There were cakes and tarts, stuffed baguettes and pasties with crimped edges, as well as other delights like fat shiny meringues. Behind the counter, a swing door led to what she guessed was the kitchen, and off to the right of the counter was another door that led to the toilets.

Lena had walked to the café from the rented cottage that she’d moved into the previous day. It had been a glorious walk in the early May sunshine with the sea breeze ruffling her hair and the thin material of her floral tea dress. She’d worn trainers, not sure how far the walk would be but now knew she could wear sandals and still be comfortable.

She’d seen a flier for the café at the village grocery shop and decided to take a walk and stretch her legs. She wanted to get out and see where she’d be staying for the duration of the summer because then she would be able to soak up the scenery and hopefully get some inspiration for the book she planned to write.

Porthpenny was a beautiful Cornish village from what she’d seen so far. Located southwest of Mousehole, it consisted of a small harbour, beautiful beach and the village itself that was everything Lena had always imagined a Cornish fishing village would be. From its granite cottages nestled on the hillside of the village, the harbour that sat in a natural inlet, then the cliffs that rose either side of the location, tall, grey and craggy, Porthpenny offered the perfect writing escape.

During her walk to the café, she’d admired the view of the beach to her right, the sea spreading out seemingly endlessly, glistening in the sunlight, inviting her for a dip whenever the mood took her. The café itself was set in stunning gardens that she intended on exploring after she’d had a drink and a bite to eat. They were lush with early summer, trees and plants boasting a variety of shades of green. Rainbows of flowers in different sizes and shapes bloomed in borders and pots, filling the air with their sweet fragrance. Around the exterior of the stone building, ivy and roses climbed, making the café seem to be a part of the gardens as if it had grown up out of the earth itself. She could well imagine bringing her laptop here to sit and write, inside or outside this idyll where she would become a regular. In this stunning location, she would write the book that would catapult her to the top of the bestseller lists and make her childhood dreams come true.

After fifteen years as a journalist working in London, Lena was keen to make the most of this time out and to try to make some changes in her life. Goodness only knew she needed to slow down, everyone from her GP to her friends had told her as much, and what she’d been through had been evidence that something needed to change.

When it was her turn to be served, she smiled at the woman behind the counter. With her glowing skin, short grey hair and hazel eyes, she could have been anywhere between fifty and seventy. She wasn’t very good at guessing people’s ages, as once people hit a certain stage of life, she thought they all looked similar. Some people aged better than others — if better meant looking younger than their chronological age — and others looked older than they were. As she’d got older, she found that people seemed to look younger. When she was a teenager, she thought fifty was old, but she now thought of it as very young indeed. At thirty-six, Lena was a way off fifty, but she suspected it would arrive soon enough, just like her fortieth birthday. It was true that time waited for no one, and she wished there was a way to slow it down because she didn’t feel like she’d done half the things she wanted to do yet.

‘Hello, there.’ The woman behind the counter smiled warmly. ‘What can I get you?’

‘What do you recommend?’ Lena asked.

‘That depends on how hungry you are. Did you want lunch or just a snack?’

Lena’s eyes slid to the specials board behind the counter. ‘I think I’d like some lunch.’

‘OK then, well as you can see, we have a delicious variety of dishes available. I can personally recommend the Cornish crab salad with avocado and goat’s cheese, or the chicken and pesto baguette with sweet potato fries. If it’s soup you’d like, the roasted tomato and basil is scrumptious or you can try one of the pasties that come from our village bakery. Do you have any special dietary requirements?’

‘I do try to avoid gluten when possible because I have a mild intolerance. I have—’ Lena bit her bottom lip. She had a habit of telling people too much sometimes and being too open and it didn’t always serve her well.

‘You have?’ The woman tilted her head. ‘IBS, perhaps? I know how uncomfortable that can be and totally understand the need to avoid gluten.’

‘Not IBS, no.’ Lena sighed. ‘I have PCOS, and over the years I’ve trialled different things to see if the symptoms will improve. I do eat gluten sometimes if it can’t be avoided, but try to keep it to a minimum.’

‘Well, my granddaughter works here and she designed some of the menu. She’s always looking for ways to cater to different intolerances and diets, so a lot of the things we make are gluten free. If you look you can see the little flags on the trays. And on the specials board it says underneath each item if it’s gluten free, vegetarian or vegan.’

Lena peered into the glass front of the counter and nodded. ‘Yes, of course. And oh, how wonderful! You have a large gluten free range.’

‘We do. So, what would you like?’

‘I’ll have the chicken pesto baguette with sweet potato fries and a pot of tea, please.’

‘Certainly. Where are you sitting?’

Lena looked behind her and spotted that the green leather sofa was free. ‘Over there by the window.’

‘Go and sit down and I’ll bring everything over when it’s ready. By the way, I’m Pearl and this is my café. If you need anything else or have any questions, please feel free to ask. ’

‘Thank you, Pearl. I’m Lena. I think you’re going to see a lot more of me.’ Lena swiped her card on the reader when Pearl held it out to her.

‘Oh yes? How so?’

‘I’m staying here for the summer,’ Lena said. ‘In fact, I should be here until September at least.’

‘How lovely. Business or pleasure?’ Pearl asked.

‘A combination of both, probably.’

‘You’re working here?’

‘Kind of.’ Lena hadn’t planned on telling people what she was doing but if she told at least one person then it would make her accountable. ‘I’m writing my first novel.’

Pearl clapped her hands. ‘How exciting! We have a writer in our midst.’

‘Well, I’m a journalist by trade, but I’m taking a sabbatical from the job and I’ve always wanted to write a novel so this is my chance.’

Pearl smiled. ‘I shall look forward to reading it.’

‘Do you read much?’ Lena asked.

‘A lot. My granddaughter laughs at, me because I love romance novels, especially paranormal romances with shifters. I just adore the growly bears and wolves. They’re so sexy, you know?’

Lena laughed. ‘I do know! I love shifter romance too. This one isn’t paranormal though, more contemporary romance with plenty of emotional moments and some hot ones.’

‘I like the sound of it even more now. Please let me purchase a signed copy when you’ve published it then we can proudly display it on the shelf.’ Pearl pointed at the shelves behind the sofa and Lena’s tummy gave a flip. The thought of her book being on the shelf with all the others was an exciting one.

‘I would love that, and you’ll definitely get a signed copy.’

‘I can’t wait.’ Pearl handed Lena a napkin wrapped around some cutlery. ‘I hope you enjoy your meal.’

‘Thank you so much.’

When she had settled on the sofa, Lena placed her bag on the seat next to her and gazed out of the window at the sunny afternoon. The sun was high in the bright blue sky, the breeze was making the flowers and plants dance, and the sofa was warm from where the sun’s rays had fallen on it through the glass. It would be the perfect spot to curl up with a book or her laptop, to while away the hours while sipping tea or coffee and nibbling on delicious gluten free pastries and cakes. Lena had already been looking forward to the summer here, but this made her anticipate it even more. She would hopefully get the break she needed and be able to reflect and heal after a tumultuous time.

After Pearl had brought Lena a small pot of tea along with a cup, a jug of milk and a sugar bowl, she stirred the tea thoughtfully. A small Cornish café would be the perfect setting for scenes in a romance novel, and she hoped she’d get some inspiration while she was here. The beautiful scenery, the lovely interior and the potential for meet cutes was perfect. She was musing over possible scenarios for her story when the door opened and a tall man entered. She followed him with her eyes as he crossed the café to the counter, his steps measured as if something was slowing him down, and then she spotted the cane he carried in his right hand, the cane he was leaning on for support as if he couldn’t put his weight down properly on his left foot.

At the counter, he spoke to Pearl and she smiled at him fondly as if she knew him well. Lena sipped her tea, wondering what had happened to the young man to warrant the use of a cane. He looked, she thought, like he could be in his thirties or even late twenties, but she hadn’t got a good look at his face because his thick, dark, curly hair hid his profile and curled down over his nape. Despite the warm weather, he was wearing along sleeved white top and olive-green combat style trousers.

As if sensing her eyes on him, he turned and looked directly at her, so she lowered her gaze quickly and feigned interest in the sugar bowl, even though she never took her tea with sugar. When she looked up again, he was facing the counter and all she could see was his back and that thick, glossy hair.

He could, she thought, be the ideal inspiration for her romantic hero.

She hadn’t got a good look at his face because she’d not wanted to stare when he’d turned around, but she had momentarily seen those intense dark brown eyes and they had sent a quiver of something ricocheting through her.

A quiver of something she hadn’t felt in a lifetime, and that unnerved her because the last thing she needed this summer was to be distracted by attraction to a stranger.

The only man she wanted to be fantasising about was the hero in her novel.

She didn’t have the time, energy or desire to get involved with a real man and all the complications that would bring.

The man turned and headed for a table near the other front window, and as he sat down, Lena sneaked another look at him.

He pulled a phone from his pocket and stared at the screen, a frown of concentration marring his brow.

The light from the screen illuminated his face, highlighting high cheekbones and a square jaw.

He pushed a hand through his hair, then touched his fingers to his left cheek and it was then that she spotted what looked like a scar.

A scar or a birthmark, she couldn’t tell from this distance, but as if realising he’d exposed it, the man brushed his hair down over his face again and scowled at his phone.

Feeling like she was invading his privacy, Lena turned in her seat and leant her right arm on the table so she could gaze outside again.

As a journalist, she was a people watcher and she found others fascinating for so many reasons.

She’d been trained to look for a good story, to ask who, what, why, where and when .

Now she’d spotted what she thought was a scar on the man’s face and that he walked with some difficulty, she couldn’t help asking the questions about him.

Why was he using a cane? Was he born with a limp or had he been injured? It could be that he had something as simple as a sprain or an ingrowing toenail, or he could have an injury that meant he used the cane all the time.

And his face.

What had caused that? Was he an MMA fighter who’d been hurt in the ring, or an ice hockey player who’d fallen badly on the ice? There were so many possibilities and explanations.

Lena’s mind raced with them, but she kept her gaze on the gardens outside the café, watched as a blackbird hopped around on the grass and a butterfly landed on a nearby flower, its yellow wings fluttering like pretty fans.

People were fascinating, and Lena knew she would always find it hard to put her training behind her in order to stop asking questions about them.

But then, she hoped, it would make her a good writer too because she wasn’t sure she’d be able to return to journalism after her sabbatical.

After what had happened.

She wasn’t sure she could even return to London after the summer, but it was something she didn’t have to worry about for now, so she would try to put it from her mind, try to relax and be present in the moment.

When Pearl arrived with her food, she thanked her then tucked in, savouring every mouthful as she’d learnt to do since she’d promised herself she would try to slow down.

Taking things slower was the only way to heal, and so she would do her best to master a slower pace of life.

Starting today, because, after all, she had to start somewhere.