Chapter 10 #4
Oliver chuckled. ‘Oh yeah? Like what?’
‘Well,’ Clemmie began, holding up a finger, ‘your favourite drink is a banana milkshake with chocolate sprinkles because, apparently, you’re seven years old at heart.’
He laughed, shaking his head. ‘Still true. It’s a classic.’
‘You can’t stand mushrooms, not because you’re allergic, but because they feel like tiny sponges from the underworld.’
Oliver pointed at her, grinning. ‘That’s an exact quote.’
‘Your first gig,’ Clemmie continued, trying not to laugh, ‘was seeing S Club 7 live, and you cried when they didn’t do an encore of “Reach”.’
His face turned faux serious. ‘That was a deeply emotional experience, don’t mock it!’
‘Oh, I’m not mocking,’ she said, her eyes dancing. ‘But I am wondering why you’re not an honorary member by now.’
‘Go on,’ Oliver challenged, crossing his arms with a smirk. ‘What else have you got?’
Clemmie tapped her chin dramatically. ‘Your guilty pleasure is eating peanut butter straight from the jar while watching reruns of Antiques Roadshow. You secretly like the early work of Taylor Swift but would never admit it and your dream car isn’t a flashy sports car, it’s an original VW Beetle because you think it has personality. ’
Oliver grinned. ‘But surely you don’t know the ultimate test: my favourite food of all time?’
‘Oh, that’s easy,’ Clemmie said, leaning back. ‘Your grandmother Bunny’s treacle tart. You once ate three quarters in one sitting, and your mum had to hide the rest because you were dangerously close to a sugar coma.’
Oliver leaned forward, shaking his head in disbelief. ‘You know, most people don’t know half those things about me. Fiona couldn’t even tell you what my favourite colour is.’
‘Green,’ Clemmie said immediately. ‘But not just any green, the exact shade of the grass on the cricket pitch when the sun hits it just right.’
Oliver blinked, stunned. ‘This is getting a little scary. Are you sure you’re not secretly writing my unauthorised biography?’
She grinned, lifting her glass. ‘I don’t need to. I already know the highlights.’
Oliver’s laughter softened, and he shook his head. ‘It’s kind of amazing, you know. You know me. I didn’t even realise how much I missed being known like that.’
Clemmie felt a flush spread through her chest, but she kept her tone light. ‘Well, someone’s got to keep track of all your quirks. Otherwise, who else is going to remind you that your guilty pleasure is yelling at contestants on Bake Off because they don’t temper their chocolate properly?’
‘I only yell because I care,’ Oliver said, grinning.
‘And that,’ Clemmie said with mock-seriousness, ‘is why I like you.’
Oliver laughed, shaking his head. ‘See, that’s the thing. Fiona never cared enough to ask about any of this stuff. She doesn’t even know the basics, let alone the utterly humiliating details.’
‘If she ever wrote your biography, it’d probably be titled The Fabulous Life of Oliver: A Celebrity Baker’s Shortcut to the Stars,’ Clemmie said, her tone teasing.
Oliver laughed. ‘You’re not wrong. She’s always been more interested in what I can do for her than who I actually am.’
Clemmie softened, giving him a gentle look. ‘Then she’s the one missing out.’
They were both grinning, their eyes locked on each other as they sipped their champagne.
‘What do you know about me?’ Clemmie asked.
Oliver tilted his head, studying her. ‘That you are the most beautiful girl in the world,’ he said simply.
Clemmie blushed, laughing softly. ‘You’re deflecting.’
‘No,’ Oliver said, ‘I’m starting with the truth.’
Clemmie rolled her eyes, though her smile undoubtedly betrayed her delight. ‘All right, Romeo. Let’s hear it. What else can you remember?’
Oliver leaned back slightly, a mischievous grin playing on his lips. ‘I know that when you were eight, you tried to turn your bedroom into a rainforest. You hung fake vines, draped mosquito nets from your bunk bed and begged your granny to buy you a parrot.’
Clemmie laughed, covering her mouth. ‘Oh, don’t remind me. I made poor Granny eat nothing but tropical fruit for a week to set the mood.’
‘Oh, and then there was the time you decided you wanted to be an inventor,’ Oliver continued. ‘You built some contraption out of your granny’s egg whisk, rubber bands and a flashlight, claiming it was a robotic kitchen assistant so you didn’t have to wash up.’
Clemmie groaned, shaking her head. ‘It was supposed to be a genius invention, but it caught fire during the first test run.’
‘And nearly took the toaster with it,’ Oliver added, laughing.
‘All right, all right,’ Clemmie said, trying to regain some dignity. ‘What else have you got?’
‘Well,’ Oliver said, his voice softening slightly, ‘I know that the only thing you love more than baking is how it makes other people feel. I mean, I heard about that time you stayed up all night baking cakes for the entire village after Dr Sandford’s roof collapsed in that storm.’
Clemmie smiled, recalling the memory. ‘It was a hard time for the village. That storm caused so much devastation. It just felt like the right thing to do.’
Oliver tilted his head, watching her with a knowing look. ‘But I bet you still smiled at every single person who came into the café, didn’t you? Then,’ he continued, leaning forward slightly, his voice dropping, ‘there’s Paris.’
Clemmie’s breath caught, her fingers tightening slightly around her glass.
‘I’ll never forget how you looked that night,’ he said, his eyes distant as if the memory played vividly in his mind. ‘We were walking along the Seine, and you saw that little boutique. Your face lit up like Christmas morning when you saw the dress in the window.’
‘It was stunning,’ Clemmie murmured, the memory washing over her. ‘Then you bought it for me and took me to the opera,’ she said, her cheeks flushed. ‘I’d never even been to one before.’
‘You looked like you belonged there,’ Oliver said softly. ‘You turned heads the moment we walked in. But you didn’t notice because you were too busy staring at the stage, completely enchanted.’
Clemmie bit her lip, smiling at the memory.
‘Actually…’ Oliver began, reaching into his pocket. He pulled out a small velvet box and placed it on the table between them.
Clemmie looked at it, her brows knitting in confusion. ‘What’s that?’
Oliver pushed it gently towards her. ‘Open it.’
Her fingers trembled slightly as she lifted the lid. Inside lay the most exquisite pair of earrings she’d ever seen, delicate drops of silver and sapphire, sparkling like tiny stars.
‘I bought these for you that night,’ Oliver said, his voice almost shy now. ‘I wanted to give them to you before the opera, but … if I remember rightly, we kind of got distracted … and then we were running late.’ He smiled. ‘But I kept them. All this time.’
Clemmie’s throat tightened as she stared at the earrings, her heart swelling. ‘You’ve kept these for the past three years?’
Oliver nodded. ‘I’ve never stopped thinking about that night or about you.’
For a moment, Clemmie was speechless. She gently ran her fingers over the earrings, her eyes glistening.
‘You’re full of surprises,’ she said softly, looking back up at him.
‘I could say the same about you,’ Oliver replied.
Clemmie smiled, slipping the earrings back into the box and clutching it close to her heart.
‘Thank you.’ Lifting her glass again, she said, ‘To the big softie behind the tuxedo. May you always have someone who remembers the important things … like how much you love treacle tart and Percy’s love of cheese. ’
Oliver clinked his glass with hers, the warmth in his gaze unmistakable. ‘Cheers to that.’
For a moment, they sat in comfortable silence, the world outside the Royal Yacht fading into irrelevance. Clemmie couldn’t help but think that, in this moment, everything felt exactly as it should, but there was the tiny niggle in the back of her mind.
‘The week we spent together in London…’ Oliver began, his voice soft but steady, his eyes locked on hers, ‘that was the happiest I’ve ever been. I didn’t have to pretend or put on a show. It was just us.’
The way he was looking at her, with so much sincerity, made Clemmie’s pulse quicken. But she couldn’t let herself get swept away, not yet. She forced herself to ask, ‘Then why didn’t you get in touch? If it meant so much to you?’
Oliver didn’t flinch, and didn’t look away. His gaze was unwavering, full of regret. ‘Because I thought it would be too difficult. Communicating with someone I couldn’t have… Our lives were on two completely different paths.’
Clemmie had told herself the same thing a hundred times since their time in London, but hearing him say it aloud only deepened the pain. She fiddled with the edge of her napkin, her thoughts spinning.
He had meant something to her … still meant something to her. She had buried it, ignored it, convinced herself it was a fleeting connection. But now, as she sat across from him, the truth was harder to deny.
‘And what’s next for you on that path?’ she asked, her voice steadier now, though her heartbeat wasn’t.
Oliver exhaled, leaning back slightly. ‘A year in the States. I’ve got a job reporting on some of the best chefs in New York, San Francisco and everywhere in between. It’s an incredible opportunity, a dream, really.’
Clemmie managed a smile, but inside, a dull ache was beginning to spread through her chest. ‘That sounds amazing,’ she said, meaning it. She was happy for him, truly, but the thought of him leaving so soon after the baking competition ended made her stomach twist.
‘It is,’ Oliver said, though his tone carried a touch of hesitation. ‘It’s everything I’ve worked for.’
Clemmie nodded, forcing herself to look excited for him. ‘You’ll be incredible, you’re perfect for it. I can already imagine you charming your way into every Michelin-starred kitchen in America.’
He chuckled softly, but there was a sadness in his eyes. ‘It’ll be an adventure, that’s for sure.’
‘And a long one,’ Clemmie added, trying to keep her tone light.