11. No. 10 Learn to make croissants
eleven
Bea
I need friends around here, and although I’ve certainly made headway with Joanie and Eli, and there have been several friendly faces around, I won’t jeopardise a potential friendship because my cooch pulses in his presence.
He really is gorgeous, all gruff and grumble but surprisingly sweet and attentive.
Not to mention, he’s massive and I feel like I’d feel safe and protected in his arms, surrounded by the smell of sawdust and clean laundry.
But that’s neither here nor there because I am going to be friends with my new neighbour. That’s all.
It’s still early afternoon, which means I’m on my own in the café, not that I have anything for Connor to be doing if he weren’t at school.
Yet every day he’s been showing up and just hanging out while I potter and it’s been nice.
After a lot of fiddling around, I figured out only one side of the espresso machine was faulty, and I could in fact use one of the group heads and make single coffees at a slow pace.
So, I’ve kind of made today a soft opening.
Without announcing anything or even telling a soul, I’ve left the door unlocked and decided if anyone pops by, they’ll be able to order.
The little brass bell Connor screwed to the wall above the door jingles as the door opens and I turn to see an older lady stood in the doorway.
She’s tall for someone of her age, slender and elegant in capri-pants and a gold jumper.
Pearls in her ears and around her neck with immaculate makeup that’s probably the same style she’s been wearing for forty years.
Her hands are folded together atop a bright red glittery cane that somehow makes her more fabulous than not and there a truly ugly but totally adorable chihuahua at her feet.
“You must be Bea,” she says with a conspiratory smile on painted red lips.
I’ve long since stopped being surprised when complete strangers know my name, news spreads around this village like herpes at an orgy. I smile wide and come out from where I was stood behind the counter, arm outstretched toward her.
“Hi, yes, I’m Bea.”
“Ruth James,” the lady says, shaking my hand with a firm grip. “It’s so good to finally meet you, dear. I’ve heard so much about you.”
“Oh?”
“Oh, yes. The whole village is talking about the pretty new coffee girl and the promise of a lively new café.”
My cheeks heat and for the briefest moment I wonder if August was one of the ones calling me pretty, but that screams desperation, so I mentally kick myself. “Well, I don’t know about lively, but I can promise decent coffee and hopefully some good food.”
“We’ve been much in need of such a place, and I hope for all our sakes you thrive.” She puts a warm hand on my shoulder and squeezes slightly. “Now, I know you’re not open, but might I trouble you for a coffee and somewhere to sit?”
I can’t help my smile, this woman reminding me of all the good parts of my grandmother, the parts that made me love her and want to spend time with her even though she usually spent our time together complaining about my mother.
“Actually, I’m happy to welcome customers today.
Please take a seat, maybe I could join you for a cup? ”
The smile she gives me makes me feel like I’ve said the right thing.
“How much do I owe you for a latte?” she asks, as she sits in one of my mismatched chairs, the claws of her tiny companion scratching at the wood floor as he struggles to get grip and catch up.
Choosing a plush wingback that suits her well, she picks up her simple but designer black leather handbag, lifting it to her lap.
“You’re my first customer,” I say. “Coffee is on me. I’d love to throw in a cake or cookie if you tell me the kind of thing you like, I’ve been busy baking since yesterday.”
Again, her amused smirk is almost prideful, and I get the impression I’ve passed some kind of test. “Well, that’s very generous of you, dear. I happen to be a slut for chocolate.”
I choke on my own breath and spill the milk I’m pouring into the jug for steaming. I don’t know if I’ve gone pale or bright red when I spin back to look at her, mouth gaping, eyes bugging. The woman—who I have to assume is closer to eighty than seventy—throws her head back and cackles.
“Oh, you’re going to be fun, Bea.” She laughs, and her little dog yaps.
I don’t know what to say to that, so I scoop my jaw off the floor, clear up the milk, and make a latte before plating up my gooiest square of brownie.
I sit with Ruth James with my own coffee and we chat for what feels like hours.
I find myself falling in love with this woman.
She’s funny and crude, warm and charming.
She asks about my books, which gives me endless things to say, and she listens like it might actually interest her.
“Bea, I have to say, you are an absolute delight,” Ruth says, popping the final piece of brownie in her mouth. When she’s swallowed it down, she dabs a napkin around her still perfect lipstick. “You’re going to be good for Port Doone.”
I smile in amusement. “Have I passed your test?”
“With flying colours,” she says, not even trying to deny it. “This village is important to me, to a lot of people, and I want good things for it. You’re good things.”
“Well, thanks.” I chuckle.
The bell chimes again and I sit up straight when Connor bursts in, not wearing his school uniform like he usually does when he comes to me in the afternoon. Instead, he’s in jeans and a Metallica t-shirt with multiple holes, carrying long planks of wood over his shoulder.
“Men are here,” he says in a forced deep voice. “We build for the women folk.”
“What?” I scrunch my face up, completely confused.
Connor proceeds into the café and carefully places the wood down, resting it up against the wall where the ill-fated bookshelves were but are now basically firewood in the back storage room.
“Con, what are you—?”
The bell rings again and I basically get whiplash from the double take I do.
August appears in the doorway, swathed in summer sunlight, dust motes dancing in the golden hue behind him creating a shimmering halo effect.
His torso bare and his t-shirt hanging from his working jeans pocket, the denim splattered in white paint and tight to his enormously thick thighs.
A large toolbox hangs from one hand at his side, his forearm straining with the weight, veins protruding.
“Okay.” He sighs in that grumpy grumble I’m starting to associate with him. “Let’s build you a library.”
My mouth has dried like the Sahara, a tug pulling low in my belly and my heart making itself known beneath my breast.
“Are you quite alright, dear?” Ruth asks me, the side of her mouth tipped up in amusement.
“That is the single sexiest thing that has ever happened,” I breathe, my brain losing any filter I may have had.
Ruth laughs quietly to herself as she brings her cup to her lips again. After an obnoxiously loud sip, she addresses the half-naked dreamboat promising me a library. “August, darling, did you forget your shirt, or are you just trying to impress the young lady?”
I blanch, fumbling with my coffee, nearly spilling the dregs left at the bottom. August frowns, looking down at himself like he forgot he was bare. Tugging the white t-shirt from his jeans, he pulls it on.
“It’s hot out,” he grumbles. “It’s been a long day already.”
“Oh, we weren’t complaining, were we dear?” Ruth says, nudging me with her elbow, like we’re in cahoots and I can only stare at her, silently begging her to stop. She doesn’t. “Did you know Bea is single, August?”
Oh, dear God, kill me now, just strike me down with a thunderbolt or something. August raises a heavy brow, looking at the older woman with suspicion and a hint of affection.
“I did,” he says slowly.
“You know, you really should—”
“Ruth,” August interrupts with a warm patience I’m not expecting from him.
“August,” she retaliates in kind.
He doesn’t indulge her any further, turning his honeyed brown gaze to me. “You got a sec?”
I nod, my chair scraping loudly as I push it back to stand. When I come to stand next to August, I babble immediately. “I’m sorry about that. I wasn’t…I mean, I didn’t…It’s not like—”
“Oh, that’s just Ruth,” he interrupts, saving me from myself. “You’ll get used to that.”
Feeling grateful that he brushes away Ruth’s interference, my shoulders drop a couple of inches. “So, what’s up?”
August studies the plain grey wall where the bookshelves were meant to go with a creased brow. “What were you thinking? For the shelves?”
“Oh, um.” I turn to look at the same thing he’s looking at. “Well, I wanted something different, something…otherworldly.”
“Okay,” he says slowly, his deep voice rumbling over the word. “What does that mean?”
“I don’t know.” I laugh and feel his attention snag on me. When I peek up at him, his mouth is relaxed in amusement. “I guess I just love escaping this world by reading books and wanted a beautiful way to display my books to reflect that.”
“I see.” He folds his arms and goes back to considering the wall.
“I don’t ask for much, do I?” I joke.
He doesn’t answer, instead taking a breath as he clearly thinks. “You trust me?” he finally asks.
“Yes,” my answer comes instantly and without doubt.
“Okay,” he says with a decisive nod. “I’ve got it.”