Chapter 16
16
The beach by Boathouse Cottage, St Aidan
Big guns and belly laughs
Sunday
‘W e’re about to launch a new pastry range, would you like to taste some preview samples? There’s no charge.’
Heaven knows what I look like with my hair caught up in a scrunchie and my flowery shirt flapping wildly around my purple satin shorts, but as we approach the first group we come to on the sand, I put on my brightest smile and cross my fingers tightly behind my back.
As Miles steps up with the platter of samples, they help themselves, fill their mouths with bun fragments, and hold their thumbs up in appreciation, before going in again for more.
I’m trying to gather as much information as I can. ‘Any particular favourite?’
There’s a chorus. ‘Apricot!’ ‘Toffee!’ ‘Chocolate every time!’ ‘Raspberry all the way!’
Then someone calls, ‘They’d be amazing with cinnamon, too.’
Another chimes in, ‘Or vanilla custard.’
I grin. ‘I’ll mention that to the baker.’
Miles finally breaks his silence. ‘I hope you don’t mind people you don’t know disturbing your afternoon?’
One girl laughs. ‘With baking this delicious, feel free to disturb us every Sunday.’
As they lick their fingers, one of the women looks up at me. ‘We’ve met already. You’re the one we saw with your pony earlier?’
I smile. ‘I am.’
A guy carrying a surfboard comes to join the group. ‘I saw you and your pony outside the Surf Shack.’ He nods at the platter. ‘If you’re selling those chocolate ones, I’ll take four.’
Selling ? I hadn’t actually thought any further than extending the reactions beyond mine, and maybe making an order of flavour preference, but if the chance is there, my instinct is to jump at it.
‘We could do you a special introductory price of three pounds each.’ I’m thinking they must use shedloads of butter. ‘Is that okay with you, Miles?’
He raises his eyebrows. ‘You’re our boss on the beach, Betsy.’
I’m used to fundraising for the animal rescue, so what happens next is like second nature. ‘We can do six for fifteen?’ I laugh. ‘They’re very moreish. I just ate four and they didn’t touch the sides.’
There’s another chorus, of ‘Great!’
‘We’ll have some too.’
‘And us!’
Before Miles has finished collecting the notes, the girls beyond the next windbreak are calling us over. ‘Did you say pastries?’
‘Where’s the pony gone?’
‘Can I have a selfie with the horse?’
I laugh and wander over. ‘Sorry, Pumpkin’s back at home, but we do have some slices of boathouse buns here for anyone who would like to taste them…’
The people call across the sand. ‘Once you’ve tried them you’ll want more.’
I laugh. ‘I certainly did.’
That’s the thing. When I believe in what I’m offering people, it’s like sharing the good news with friends, especially when I’ve already broken the ice with Pumpkin earlier in the day. If Miles had any doubts about the quality of his baking, the next half hour chases them away for good. We move from group to group along the beach, often drawing our own crowd, and long before we draw level with the Surf Shack the buns run out.
Miles taps the crumbs off the platter and drops the knife into the bag he’d been carrying the baking in. ‘I guess this is where we turn for home?’
I fall into step beside him as we head back towards the cottage. ‘Whatever your fancy team does down the line, St Aidan says “yes” to boathouse buns.’
He gives a shrug. ‘It’s good to have that reassurance when I’m ready to take this forward. As I already have the contacts, I’ll be leapfrogging the baby steps on this one.’
Whatever comes up, Miles and I have entirely opposite approaches. It’s as if a large part of the world I inhabit is invisible to him.
I stoop, pick up a shell and cup it in the palm of my hand. ‘Small is beautiful. I would apply that to growing a business too.’
He stops for a moment and looks at me. ‘How come you’re such a natural with the selling?’
I frown and remember the struggles. ‘The sanctuary where I lived always needed money, and I used to man their weekly cake stall. If I didn’t sell the goods the animals didn’t eat, so I learned fast.’
I take a breath as I remember. When my arm was mending, cakes were lighter to lift than hay bales and mucking-out forks, so I swapped my Saturdays on the yard and worked the market instead.
Miles is looking at me as we stomp along, our feet sinking in the soft sand. With the wind in his hair and his cheekbones etched in the bright afternoon sun, he looks so at one with the shore, for a few seconds it’s hard to think of him as the big noise with the fancy car. For a moment, with all his high-flying trappings stripped away, he’s just a human like all the rest of us.
He clears his throat. ‘A lot of people mentioned the pony. He obviously makes a big impression.’
I grin. ‘What can I say. Pumpkin and I both love meeting new people. We try to believe the world is a sunny place and that comes through.’ I hesitate. ‘But don’t be fooled for a second into thinking that means we’re pushovers. If someone wrongs us, it takes a lot for us to forgive them.’
He looks at me with a half-smile. ‘Hint taken, understood and duly noted. I’ll do my best not to upset you.’
I give him a cold stare because there’s no point in pretending. ‘Unless, of course, it’s already too late.’ Two years too late, with me. ‘You already stuffed up with Pumpkin, remember.’
He looks hurt. ‘Now I’m really kicking myself that I stayed in the outdoor shower too long.’
The man is driving me to distraction with his annoying habits, but I hadn’t noticed that one.
‘Occasionally Pumpkin can be bought off with carrots. I’m less easily persuaded.’ I’m laughing at him because he thinks I’m joking. ‘So what about these boathouse buns? They’re too good to keep to yourself.’
He rubs his chin. ‘We’re still at the prototype stage.’
I hate things that take an age. ‘If you leave it another twenty years, by then people might only be eating protein pills.’
He stops and puts his hands on his hips. ‘What’s this childlike craving for immediacy?’
Even when I pull myself up to my full height to make myself appear like a fully-fledged adult, I’m still a lot shorter than him. ‘It’s for your benefit not mine.’ I don’t usually bullshit, but sometimes it’s necessary. ‘I’m your first platform tester, I’m available, and I’m obviously an expert in my field. I mean, I got the last lot spot on, didn’t I? You can probably extrapolate my results and predict the taste of every person under thirty in the UK.’
His voice is high with surprise. ‘You’re not even thirty? That probably explains why your opinions are fluid and your tastes tend towards the juvenile.’
For eff’s sake. I am this close to giving up on him. I actually would if I weren’t so desperate for another taste of pecan and toffee. ‘Do you want your buns taste-tested, or not? How about vanilla custard and Nutella for next time?’
‘What about cinnamon?’
I wrinkle my nose. ‘It’s too grown up. I’ve never taken to it.’
I swear I can hear him laughing as he turns away.
‘Have you ever had a relationship, Betsy Eliza?’
I’m picking my jaw up off the floor at the intrusion. ‘Why would you ask a question like that?’
He shrugs. ‘Just checking out where you’d fit in a demographic profile if we’re thinking about trend building.’
As a reason it’s a bit of a shit answer, but as usual, there’s no point pretending about my life before I was twenty-six. ‘My dating history is the stuff of stand-up routines, but I’d have to know you a lot better before I treated you to that one.’
‘I’ll look forward to that down the line, then.’
‘Miles, truly, it’s never going to happen.’
‘Never say never.’ He gives a laugh. ‘So is there anyone in the frame currently?’
Obviously I have no plans to include a partner in my life now or at any time in the future, but I’m not about to share that with Miles. As for the years before Mason, I never looked for anything beyond a good night out. Me and my friends from sixth form made the most of our after-exam parties, because none of us could bear the thought of hitting freshers week as virgins, and it took off from there. As my line of ex’s shows, their ability to crack me up while drinking twenty J?gerbombs didn’t translate into other areas, like dependability or longevity.
‘What’s with the post-pastry interrogation?’ I roll my eyes so he knows he’s overstepping. ‘With Pumpkin as my gatekeeper, it’s pretty hard for any guy to get past the radar. As you saw, he’s great at spotting tossers.’
Miles laughs. ‘Maybe he should be widening his assessment to include baking skills?’
I’m shaking my head at how unbelievable Miles is. ‘You’re telling me you’d bake to climb up Pumpkin’s approval ladder?’
Miles pulls a face. ‘Did you see how he looked at me?’
‘Why would you even care?’ One glance at Miles and I answer my own question. ‘You have to win at everything don’t you?’
He pulls down the corners of his mouth. ‘Pretty much.’
There’s no point letting his misdirected ambition go to waste. ‘In that case, let’s try custard, Nutella, and apple buns next, and a few more pecan and toffee just to be sure they’re working. Whenever you’re ready. Tonight, if you like.’
He hesitates. ‘Sorry, I’m committed elsewhere this evening. But definitely tomorrow.’ Then Miles slips the roll of notes into my hand. ‘As the super salesperson and research chief, I think this belongs to you.’
And a moment later I’m through the gate and back in Pumpkin’s field, and Miles is off up the lane getting into his car.