Chapter 18
WITH A YAWN, I nestle back into the sofa, the crackling fire making my eyelids droop. I barely made it through the Clovedale episodes and, despite really wanting the Mars Bar up for grabs, I only chimed in to answer one of the post-viewing questions and then had to watch Gabi claim the prize.
Dad found a chess set in one of the sitting rooms and has set it up on the coffee table to take on Uncle Max. Amelia’s at his elbow, peppering him with questions about every move he makes.
I look at my phone to check the figures Hattie sent through and swallow a groan at the mention of Vik being late again.
Maybe Hattie is right and we do need to let him go.
Just the thought makes my heart pang. I’ve never sacked someone before and can’t imagine telling Vik he’s no longer part of our cafe family. There has to be another way.
I open Google to research performance management and scoot over when Riley sits beside me.
‘You all right, Riles?’ I ask and I drop my phone into my lap. ‘One of the perks of having an auntie is you can talk to me about anything. And it stays between us.’
She turns her brown eyes on me, the sadness in their depths cracking my heart. She bites down on her bottom lip, worrying it as she blinks at me. ‘Mum mo—’
‘Riley?’ Gabi appears behind us, her hand coming to rest on Riley’s shoulder. ‘Can you help Grandma in the kitchen, please?’
Riley swats Gabi’s hand away and stomps off to the kitchen because even though she’s clearly unhappy about something, she’s the type of kid who will help out when asked.
‘Is she okay?’ I tip my head back to look up at Gabi.
‘She’s just a teenager. You were a lot worse than she is, remember? Slamming doors and throwing fits.’ Gabi glances down at the winning Mars Bar in her hand. ‘They need to make their quizzes a lot harder or I’m going to win every night.’ She waves her prize at me and then slinks away.
My phone vibrates.
Adam: Feel free to rescue me
I look across the room to where he is politely listening to Aunt Carol, who is probably still talking about the Clovedale episodes we watched.
Sabrina: I can always offer you up to teach Amelia chess
Adam: It would be a very short lesson. I don’t know how to play
Sabrina: You might need to learn fast. Dad wants to take you on
Adam’s face pales in the flickering of the fire.
‘Why did you move the horse there?’ Amelia’s voice rings clear and Adam gets up, disappearing with an apology to Carol, who hasn’t finished her explanation of why the actress who played Clementine had such a terrible English accent.
I’ve heard it before so can give Adam the CliffsNotes.
The actress, Callie Colbett, is Australian.
This was her first leading role and even though she tried really hard, she couldn’t stop her Aussie inflections seeping through.
He’s gone for about five minutes and when he returns, he’s carrying a flat box with two notebooks on top of it.
The box, I realise when he puts it on the table beside the chess set, is a Scrabble board.
He hands one notebook to Amelia and tells her to write down the instructions Dad is giving her about his chess moves.
And then he goes into the kitchen with the other and returns empty-handed.
‘Sabrina and I are going to play Scrabble if anyone wants to join us,’ he says.
Gabi sits across from him, that damn Mars Bar still in her hand. ‘Sabrina doesn’t play Scrabble,’ she says. ‘I, however, am undefeated.’
Adam looks over at me and pats the spot beside him. ‘We play all the time together. Usually with our neighbour, Kathleen, who knows every two- and three-letter word in the English language.’
He’s Scrabble buddies with Kathleen. Well, it’s no wonder he pipped me as her number-one neighbour. I can’t compete with that. Unless I take up Scrabble, and nothing would bring me less joy. Seriously, watching paint dry would be more exciting.
‘Tommy,’ Gabi calls out. ‘You in?’ she asks as he wanders back into the room.
He sits down beside her and raises his brows at me. ‘Since when do you play Scrabble, Sabrina?’
‘All the time, apparently,’ Gabi says with a smirk as she draws an A from the bag. ‘I go first. And the winner gets this.’ She holds up the prized Mars Bar.
Thirty minutes into the game and two things are clear.
One, for all my ‘games’ of Scrabble with Adam and Kathleen I have not learned the rules and am reprimanded by Gabi and Tommy whenever I try to use slang or a word they say I’ve made up.
Although I’m pretty sure prober is a word that I have heard used at some point in my life.
Two, Adam regrets dragging the board out and stoking the competitive fire that rages whenever a Fogerty has a shot at winning something.
He pinches the bridge of his nose when Tommy and Gabi debate the rules, yet again, around dictionary (or Google) use. Tommy believes we can look up words mid-game. Gabi staunchly disagrees and believes that a dictionary can only be used when challenging a word and demands he put his phone away.
They’re on the verge of all-out war when Mum bustles into the room, Riley on her heels, with a tray of scones.
‘Betty helped us make them even though she said she’d never eat them at this time of day,’ Mum says and she orders Dad to move the chess set aside to make room. ‘I know Sabrina is our little baker but Betty is English.’
Little baker. I don’t think she’s aware just how condescending that is.
‘Ooh, English scones,’ Aunt Carol gushes and picks one up to inspect it. ‘My grandmother used to make hers with lemonade.’
‘Interesting fact,’ Uncle Max says. ‘There’s some debate as to whether scones originated in England or Scotland. Many believe that the Scots can lay claim to them.’
‘Well, I guess scones will be on your new British menu,’ Gabi says and she nudges me with her bony elbow.
I ignore her and snatch up a scone, lips twitching at the mound of cream on top. I hold it up to Adam. ‘See,’ I say. ‘Jam on the bottom.’
‘That’s the Cornish method,’ Uncle Max mumbles around a mouthful. ‘But the Devon method calls for the cream to go on first and covering that with jam. Like the scone’s origins, the correct order is also widely debated.’
Adam quirks his brow at me, wiping my smug smile away.
‘Only an idiot would put the cream on first,’ Gabi says, completely oblivious to the withering glare Adam throws her way.
Adam ends Gabi’s undefeated streak and claims her Mars Bar. I expect him to hand it over to me on our walk back to the cottage since he seems to despise sweets but he shakes his head when I ask if I can have it.
Whatever. I’ll just wait for him to leave it unguarded at home and then swipe it.
Home. I almost laugh at the thought of the cottage feeling like home.
It does though. There’s a sort of comfort in coming back to it each night, a space free from the Fogerty chaos.
My space. My eyes flick over to Adam. Our space. A cohabited space. Now I do laugh.
‘What’s so funny?’ he asks, holding the door open for me.
I kick my shoes off, dumping them right in front of the door.
He mutters under his breath and then scoops them up, reassuring me that Adam is not the reason this place is comforting.
It must be the cedarwood candles, soft pillows, the fire in the fireplace, and the bottle of wine that appears every day like magic.
‘I think we can scratch Scrabble off the list of things we do together,’ I say, dropping onto the bed. ‘There won’t be any more games with Kathleen in my future.’
‘She’ll be disappointed to hear that.’ The floor creaks under his feet as he moves over to the sofa and sits down with a weary sigh.
‘Now I know why you two are so close.’
‘I wouldn’t say we’re close.’
‘You play Scrabble together.’
He drags his laptop bag over the sofa cushions and pulls out his notebook.
I stare at it, remembering the one he handed Amelia.
‘Why’d you give Amelia a notebook?’
He shrugs, his eyes fixed on the mahogany cover of his. He drums his fingers against it. ‘She said she liked to write stories. Seemed fitting that she have somewhere to write them down. And I thought it would help her learn the chess moves if she wrote them down—might also mean she didn’t ask me.’
‘Oh.’ I don’t know what else to say to that. Adam, the man who irritates me and gets under my skin like no other, did something kind.
‘I gave one to Riley too.’
‘Riley doesn’t write stories.’ I don’t think she does.
I’m not sure what Riley does these days.
But I don’t see them anywhere near as often as I should.
There’s the family gathering at Christmas and the occasional Facetime call but those have become almost non-existent the past few months.
I trace the white stitching on the blanket.
I should’ve tried harder when I found her in tears instead of just going to get Reese.
But really, she’s better equipped to handle the situation than I am.
What do I know about kids? I can’t even keep a house plant alive.
Or my dream afloat. Or find a man. I have no business trying to help Riley with whatever it is she’s going through.
‘She can use it for whatever she wants. Or toss it away,’ Adam says, and cracks his notebook open. ‘I liked to have one at that age so…’ he trails off and settles back against the cushions.
I watch his hand move, the scratch of pen on paper filling the silence.
Adam’s brows are knitted in concentration as his hand moves over the page. The tip of his tongue rests between his lips. As though feeling my eyes on him, he glances up, meeting my gaze. ‘Is the cafe really struggling?’
My cheeks warm at the question. It’s one thing for him to hear my family saying that my dreams are futile, but to admit it aloud to Adam Whittaker, who has sold lord knows how many books, is mortifying.
‘If you—’ he starts.
‘I’m going to take a shower,’ I cut in. The last thing I want to hear is him offering advice. He knows as much about running a cafe as I do about writing a book.