Chapter 3
Chapter Three
The Olde Ship Inn was bustling but Clemmie and Amelia had managed to snag a cosy booth near the window, their table already laden with a plate of fish and chips and two glasses of wine.
Clemmie was sipping her Sauvignon Blanc when the door creaked open and she flinched, already bracing herself for the worst.
Amelia picked up her wine glass, her gaze fixed on Clemmie. ‘Why do you keep jumping every time the door opens?’
‘I don’t.’
‘You totally do,’ Amelia retorted, her grin widening. ‘Are you avoiding someone? Or has some mysterious stranger swept you off your feet?’ She gasped theatrically. ‘Oh my God, is it the guy from the cheese counter at the market? I knew there was chemistry between you two!’
Clemmie rolled her eyes, though she couldn’t suppress a laugh. ‘Don’t be ridiculous. It’s not the cheese guy.’
‘So, it is someone,’ Amelia said, leaning forward eagerly. ‘Go on, I’m listening.’
Clemmie hesitated, her cheeks flushing. ‘It’s … complicated.’
‘Oh, this is going to be good.’
Clemmie sighed, taking a fortifying sip of wine before muttering, ‘It’s Oliver.’
‘Oliver? Oliver who?’
Clemmie gave her a knowing look.
‘Oh my God, as in the Oliver? Tall, dark and devastatingly handsome Oliver? Great sex Oliver? A week of passion Oliver? “He’s the one” Oliver?’
‘Okay, let’s not go overboard. But yes, that Oliver,’ Clemmie confirmed, her body erupting in goosebumps at the very thought of being wrapped up in his arms once more.
‘Wait, why do you think he’s going to show up tonight? Why on earth would he be here, on Puffin Island?’
‘Because it turns out he’s presenting The Royal Baking Competition.’
Amelia’s eyes widened. ‘No way.’
‘Yes way, and I saw him today, driving his Aston Martin down the cobbles of Lighthouse Lane.’
‘And did he see you?’
‘Oh yes, but he forgot to mention he was presenting the competition and made some quip about how he was just here to see his favourite baker. It’s only taken him three years…’ she grumbled.
‘And how do you feel about that?’
‘I’m not entirely—’
The door creaked open, cutting her off. A gust of cool air swept through the pub, along with a man who could have stepped straight out of an expensive cologne ad.
Oliver Lockwood.
Amelia’s jaw dropped. ‘That’s him, isn’t it?’
Clemmie froze. He was there, all six feet of irritating perfection, his dark hair slightly tousled and his crisp shirt casually unbuttoned at the collar.
And, of course, he wasn’t alone. Clemmie sank a little lower in her seat, wishing she had a superpower to disappear from the planet.
‘Don’t say anything or bring any attention to ourselves,’ she whispered.
On his arm was a woman who seemed to embody the very essence of chic.
She wore a crisp, tailored tweed coat over a simple yet stylish dress, her silk scarf knotted elegantly at her neck.
Her ankle boots were impeccably clean, practical yet stylish, and a leather satchel hung from her shoulder.
Her hair was neatly pinned back, framing her face in soft waves, and her delicate pink lipstick added a touch of warmth to her otherwise polished appearance.
Of course he had a woman on his arm. He was Oliver Lockwood, after all …
charming, confident and magnetic, with women falling all over him.
Clemmie knew this all too well. She had been one of those women once, for a brief but intense week.
She cast her mind back to the food market where they’d met.
Their conversation began with shortbread but quickly spiralled into discussions of coffee, culinary travels and life.
By the end of the night, they were sitting at a nearby café, sharing stories over wine and pastries.
Dinner led to Clemmie’s hotel room, where they gave in to an undeniable chemistry.
For Clemmie, it was unlike anything she’d experienced …
a whirlwind of passion and connection that left her breathless.
It was a fleeting romance that ended as quickly as it had begun, leaving her as little more than just another name in his long list of conquests, a fact she tried hard to bury.
Yet seeing him again, looking just as handsome as ever, stirred feelings she had long ago pushed aside.
‘Stop staring,’ Clemmie ordered, as she noticed Amelia’s wide-eyed gaze.
‘I can’t help it,’ Amelia admitted, unable to look away. ‘He’s absolutely stunning.’
Clemmie rolled her eyes. ‘You are not helping.’
Amelia nudged her, still watching Oliver with awe. ‘I can’t believe your Oliver Lockwood is in our pub.’
Clemmie’s voice grew sharper. ‘He was only ever mine for a week. He didn’t want me. Never chose me.’
Amelia raised an eyebrow, an unspoken challenge in her gaze. ‘But you can say the same about you, right? You never chose him either. He asked you to travel the world and you turned him down.’
Clemmie glared at her friend, her emotions flickering between frustration and lingering hurt. ‘Whose side are you on? And he’s obviously with someone else now,’ she muttered, her eyes flicking to the woman on Oliver’s arm. ‘Oh, blooming hell. Could my night get any worse?’
‘Has the guy from the cheese counter walked in?’ Amelia teased, looking towards the door.
‘It’s her,’ Clemmie said in a hushed whisper.
‘It’s who?’
‘Fiona Fairweather – the competition! The woman in the article I showed you, who thinks she’s already won The Royal Baking Competition and her cookbook will be flying off the shelves in no time…’
‘Not in my bookshop they won’t.’
Clemmie smiled. ‘And you can just picture her at the garden party swanning about like she herself is royalty.’
‘You don’t feel intimidated, do you?’ Amelia raised an eyebrow.
‘I did until Granny gave me a good talking to.’
‘In my opinion, she’s all tweed and tarts and you … you are the icing on the cake.’
‘And that’s why you are my friend.’
‘Do you think they’re actually together?’ asked Amelia.
Clemmie shrugged. They watched Oliver and Fiona glide towards the bar, turning more than a few heads in the process.
Clemmie focused hard on her wine, willing herself not to look. But Oliver’s laugh, a low, familiar rumble, drifted across the room, making her stomach flip.
‘Okay, I hate to say it,’ Amelia said, leaning in, ‘but he’s ridiculously hot. Like, unfairly hot. Why the hell didn’t you travel the world with him?’
Clemmie shot her a glare. ‘Because I have a business, and family is more important. And if he’d really cared about me, he would’ve come to find me long before now.
He’s only here now because of his job. I hope he doesn’t see me.
’ Clemmie’s eyes drifted back towards the bar.
Oliver was leaning casually against it, sharing something that made Fiona laugh.
As he looked around the pub, Clemmie looked away, making sure she didn’t make eye contact.
Her stomach sank. Of course, it wasn’t enough that Oliver had shown up out of nowhere with someone new.
No, he had to bring her … a woman whose entire brand revolved around being infuriatingly perfect.
‘Out of everyone in the competition I guess he was bound to know her. They both live in Kensington so probably occupy the same circles.’
‘I suppose we should have realised that she was going to be coming to the island at some point. After all, the baking competition is happening here.’
‘It never crossed my mind that Oliver could be covering the event. I thought he’d still be swanning around on the other side of the world.’
‘So you admit you’ve thought about him then?’ teased Amelia, with a smirk on her face.
‘Possibly, from time to time… Okay, more than I’d like to admit.’
Three years ago she’d stalked his social media on a daily basis but as soon as she saw a photo of him with another woman she willed herself to be strong and stop looking.
Still, there was no denying that he had flashed through her mind from time to time …
and still did. At that moment, Oliver and Fiona moved away from the bar, their drinks in hand, and made their way to a table near the centre of the room, close enough for Clemmie to see them but far enough to make eavesdropping impossible.
Clemmie kept her eyes firmly on her glass, whilst Amelia gave her a running commentary. ‘He’s now leaning back in his chair, looking maddeningly at ease. Fiona is scrolling through her phone, seemingly oblivious to anything beyond her Instagram feed.’
‘She’s probably posting something about how rustic and charming this place is, while secretly wishing for a Michelin-starred soufflé.’
Clemmie stole one last glance at Oliver, who was now leaning forward, his expression thoughtful as Fiona gestured animatedly. For a moment, Clemmie felt a pang of something she didn’t want to name.
Jealousy? Regret?
She pushed the thought aside, determined not to let him affect her. What did it matter that he was here? She’d managed just fine without him for over three years, so surely she could put up with his presence for a few days.
‘Come on,’ she said, standing abruptly. ‘Let’s get out of here. We can grab a hot chocolate from the Cosy Kettle.’
‘Sounds like a plan.’
As they turned to walk out Clemmie could feel Oliver’s eyes on her, so she turned and stared him down. The intensity in his hazel gaze made her stomach do unwelcome flips – which became worse when he winked at her.
Outside, she erupted. ‘He had the audacity to wink at me! The cheek!’
‘What if he actually agreed to present this competition because he knew you were a competitor and it gave him the opportunity to come to Puffin Island?’ wondered Amelia.
‘Don’t be ridiculous.’ Clemmie brushed off the suggestion, annoyed that Oliver Lockwood was already firmly under her skin when he’d been back in her life for less than a day.