Nigel
‘That’s kind, but I don’t mind paying.’
‘No, I insist. What can I get you?’
‘Any particular type of tea? We have most varieties.’
‘English Breakfast?’
‘Coming up. In a mug or teapot?’
‘Teapot, please.’
‘With milk?’
‘Yes, 2% please.’
She looked baffled. ‘I don’t think we’ve got that. Full fat, semi-skimmed or skimmed? Unless you want oat milk?’
The questions were getting exhausting. Perhaps he should’ve suggested meeting Helen at Mary’s beach cafe - you got a mug of PG Tips there with god knows what milk.
The woman must’ve read his mood. ‘That’s the last decision I need from you, I promise. Unless you want something to eat, of course, or a book recommendation?’
Nigel smiled. ‘No, thanks. Just the tea for now.’
‘And the milk?’
What the hell was 2% over here? ‘Semi-skimmed.’
‘I’ll bring it over. Sit anywhere you like.’
He bagged one of the sofas by the wood burner, took off his jacket and scarf, and positioned himself so he could see the shop door. He checked his phone. No texts. Hopefully that meant Helen hadn’t changed her mind.
The woman came over with a tray and laid out the cup, pot and milk jug on the low table in front of him. ‘Sugar?’
‘No, no sugar, thanks.’
‘I don’t think I’ve seen you before. Are you down here for the holidays?’
You’re going to have to work out how to answer these sorts of questions, Nige. ‘Just visiting my mother.’
‘That’s nice. I’m Pixie, by the way.’
‘Nice to meet you, Pixie. I’m Nigel.’
How had he ended up on first-name terms already? He’d been picking up a latte at the deli by his office pretty much every weekday for the last ten years, and he had no idea what the guy who ran it was called.
‘Nancy’s son?’
Oh God. She knew his family tree, too. He’d forgotten how everyone knew everyone else around here. ‘Yes, that’s right.’
‘Welcome back to Dashford. Are you stopping long enough to make a loyalty card worthwhile?’
‘I’m not sure. Look, I’m meeting a friend. I just want to chill out with a drink before she arrives.’
‘Ooh, is this a date in a friends-to-lovers way?’
He’d expect this level of interrogation at the beach cafe, but nowhere else. Was Mary running courses for all the local hostelries on how to find out everything about your customer in ten easy questions?
Pixie must’ve noticed his pained expression. ‘Sorry, I read too many romances. I’m always looking for a happy ever after.’
‘It’s not a date. She’s an old friend.’
‘So more Casablanca than Brief Encounter?’
A surprising reference for someone who looked like she was in her twenties. Nigel tried to remember the plots of Casablanca and Brief Encounter. ‘I don’t think either of those movies ended well.’
‘Possibly not, but they’re so romantic. Play it again, Sam. Except Dirk Bogarde never actually says that.’
‘Wasn’t it Humphrey Bogart?’
‘Yes, you’re right. I’m terrible with names. I’ll leave you in peace,’ Pixie said as she turned back towards the counter. ‘Oh look, here’s Lauren Bacall.’