A Recipe for Romance in Brambleton (Brambleton #4)

Chapter 1

It wasn’t that Lauren Hope’s café was small, but when she moved between tables, she was at grave risk of knocking mugs off with her arse.

Not to mention that she was within three feet of the walls, both of them, when she spread out her arms. But, she thought as she negotiated her way through the narrow centre aisle, small was how she liked it.

Small was how it was going to stay, too.

The building that housed Hope’s Café was old, made of stone and unlikely to change any time soon, and now she’d put the Christmas decorations up, it was even smaller.

The Christmas tree, the tiniest one she could find, took up a fair chunk of one corner, and the holly and ivy bunting that she’d strung across the ceiling from corner to corner increased the sense of cosiness.

Even the counter had needed to be designed in miniature, and the coffee machine, while café standard, was the slimmest that the Italian firm could manufacture.

There was only space for one person serving at a time, and barely enough room for the two glass cloches, under which a mouth-watering selection of cakes and bakes were housed, to be displayed at any one time.

Lauren’s mother, Myriam, whom she lived with behind the café, had raised her eyes skyward when her daughter had suggested turning their front room into a micro café, but Myriam had been suitably impressed when the café had been crowded out every day since it had opened two years ago.

Now, with the festive season fast approaching, Lauren hoped that the business might finally see a profit.

Hope’s Café fitted in beautifully with the other businesses in the West Country hamlet of Lower Brambleton.

Although small, Lower Brambleton had managed to retain much of its community charm, with carefully maintained stores, which in the summer were festooned with hanging baskets, and in the autumn and winter months were strung with fairy lights and crammed with seasonal treats.

The main street, while barely busy enough in the colder seasons to be called that, was reassuringly bustling today, the first Saturday of December.

Saturday mornings were usually the café’s busiest time, and people often popped in for a hot drink to take with them on a walk around the village and its nearby beauty spots, including Willowmere Lake, the vast, almost circular body of water on the edge of Lower Brambleton.

Wild swimmers also frequented the café, clad in dry robes and in need of a warm-up, after a dip in the lake.

Lauren loved winter best of all; she could hardly wait for the evenings to grow darker, and to be able to bake and create all kinds of warming treats to sell in the café.

She’d hit on a wonderful rum-and-cinnamon-infused fruit cake that had been immensely popular with locals and tourists alike, especially when they’d visited the café after taking a stroll around Willowmere Lake.

The lake was a stone’s throw from the village boundary and was a popular spot for dog walkers, ramblers and those wishing to escape into the countryside for an hour or two.

Willowmere Lake had been one of Somerset’s best kept secrets, but since the housing development had been built on the observatory field, more people had been drawn to its quiet, beautiful setting.

Lauren’s café had benefited greatly from this.

‘Morning, love,’ the cheery voice of Mollie Wakefield, owner of the Purrfect Paws cattery and rescue centre, trilled in counterpoint to the old-fashioned bell over the door as she entered the café. ‘A cup of my usual, please, to take away.’

‘Coming right up.’ Lauren busied herself making Mollie’s latte in the takeaway mug she’d brought in with her.

Mollie’s shop was a couple of doors down, and it shared part of the building with an estate agency, run by relative newcomer to Lower Brambleton, Noah Hathaway.

Noah had relocated from London a year or so back and opened a second branch of his business to deal with countryside and rural property sales.

So far, it had been a success. At present, Noah was the only staff member, but he usually dropped by halfway through the morning for an Americano, and, often, Lauren could persuade him to take a slice of cake with him as elevenses.

Lauren liked Noah; he didn’t try to bamboozle her with blarney as she’d half expected an estate agent to do, whether on duty or off.

He was a genuine and lovely guy, and absolutely dotty about his partner, part-time cat carer and rising musical star, Bella West.

It also spoke volumes about Noah that Mollie’s charity venture had been saved from closure by his plan to host two shops in the space of one.

When he’d opened the business, Lauren had given a wry smile – although not quite as small as her micro café, it seemed that there was a trend towards the compact and bijou when it came to floor space.

That suited the small village of Lower Brambleton, which was a perfect little microcosm of West Country life.

With its rows of stone cottages in charming lanes that all led from the sprawling, whitewashed village pub – the Star and Telescope, at its centre – it was a hidden gem.

Although it had grown with the addition of Observatory Field, on the flat-topped hill above the main settlement, it still maintained its charm, and newer residents of the village had ensured its survival.

Lauren was grateful for the business that the newcomers brought.

While she only had room for seven small tables in her café, in the summer she could add a couple more to the space outside and was just about able to host functions such as birthday parties and baby showers to boost her income in the quieter months.

Quite a few children’s parties had come her way from the families on Observatory Field, and she enjoyed the challenges of those events.

Turning to Mollie, Lauren handed her back her to-go cup. Mollie had been filling her in on some of the more recent arrivals at the cat sanctuary. As fast as she could rehome them, more seemed to come through the doors.

‘Well, I hope you manage to find homes for them all.’

‘Me too,’ Mollie replied. ‘Although, coming up to Christmas, I’m always extra cautious about giving the go-ahead. You know what they say, “An animal is for life…” and all that.’

‘Of course.’ Lauren smiled. ‘Speaking of arrivals, I’ve heard someone’s finally moved into that old place by Willowmere Lake. You don’t know anything about the new owner, do you? I drove past the other night on the way to Everscombe and saw some lights on. I didn’t think anyone would ever buy it!’

‘Actually, I do. Noah handled the sale.’

‘I’m glad he got that one – it’s such a gorgeous place, even if it does need a bit of work. So, who bought it? Anyone we know?’

‘Not exactly,’ Mollie said, and to Lauren’s ears, the older woman sounded evasive. ‘But I’m sure he’ll make himself known in due course. He moved in a couple of weeks back.’

‘Oh, well then I’m surprised I haven’t seen him already!’ Lauren grinned. ‘Not much happens around here that doesn’t get brought through my door.’

Mollie said goodbye and Lauren spent a moment checking over her tables and chairs, taking out a slightly brown-looking holly sprig from one of the small posies in the centre of each, and mentally running through her list of to-dos for the day.

She loved Christmas, and now it was only a few weeks away, she’d put some festive favourites on the menu.

She had baked and iced two large fruit cakes, one of which was under a glass cloche on the counter, and her cinnamon-infused hot chocolate recipe, complete with real whipped cream, mini marshmallows and Flake sprinkles was a sure-fire winner.

She’d been selling that since mid-October, but as soon as the weather had turned wintry, trade had doubled.

As she returned to the counter to await her next customers, she glanced at her phone.

She should really update the social media pages for the café, but she’d been so rushed off her feet this week she hadn’t had the chance.

Opening the Instagram app, she tried to suppress a flare of envy when she saw an image of yet another friend-from-school’s wedding.

She knew it was pointless to compare, but every so often, when she was caught off guard, she pondered what might have been if things had turned out differently for her, if she’d been dealt a different hand.

Shaking her head vigorously – that way, madness lay – she closed the app again.

She’d make sure she put together a nice snap of the Christmas cake and hot chocolate combo for the café’s feed a little later.

For now, she’d check the diary and see what events were booked in for the rest of the month.

In sadder moments, late at night, she couldn’t stop the intrusive thoughts, the what-ifs and the if-onlys.

Life hadn’t turned out the way she’d expected it to.

Opportunities she could have taken had been missed or crossed off the list, and relationships had become more complex.

While she was undeniably content, she often wondered if she was happy.

During the day, with plenty to do, it was easier to convince herself that she was.

But in that quiet moment, looking at her phone at yet another happy couple, it felt as if the sun had gone in.