Chapter 3
Since Sasha had taken over the run-down tea shop and turned it into Matcha Moments, she’d found that her days had a regular rhythm.
Monday to Friday, she opened at nine o’clock.
Commuters and day-trippers would grab a drink on their walk to the train station and the school-run mums and dads would gather after they’d dropped their children at the local primary school.
There was usually half an hour or so before the lunchtime rush, when Sasha could catch her breath and carry on with odd jobs around the café. She plumped up a few cushions on the corner sofa and straightened the journals and papers in the magazine rack.
That morning, the Book Clubbers were meeting.
They had just been served with their tea and cakes and were settling in for a long discussion.
‘I know exactly how that character felt. All that pent-up longing! The frustration!’ Mollie exclaimed, sliding a glance at Paloma, who worked in the local pharmacy and had slipped into the café for an hour’s break.
Mollie often escaped her office, preferring to work in the café.
The background sounds helped her think, she said.
They were both staunch supporters of Sasha’s matchmaking service.
A matcha reading had guided Mollie to start thinking of warm-hearted Paloma romantically, just a couple of months ago.
Sasha smiled. She might have given up on love for herself, but it made her melt with joy when she saw her clients happily in love.
Sasha’s eye caught on a box of plants from the garden centre.
The bulbs were already sprouting and she was keen to get them into the hanging baskets outside the front door.
Hyacinths, narcissus and primulas would provide a much-needed burst of colour, heralding warmer days to come.
She pictured the spring blooms welcoming the café’s customers with their gorgeous perfume.
She glanced at her watch. There was just enough time before lunchtime customers started to arrive.
She grabbed the tray of plants and a bag of compost, filled a watering can and found her trowel.
At an outside table, she arranged the plants in the coconut coir baskets, filling them with the rich, dark compost mixed with local manure.
She hummed happily as she worked; despite the sharp nip in the air, the fragrance from the budding hyacinths was already lifting her spirits.
Once she’d finished, Sasha fetched the stepladder from the shed in the backyard. She hung the newly planted baskets from two iron hooks either side of the door and picked up the watering can. Might as well give them a good water.
From the stepladder, she admired the view as she watered.
It never ceased to amaze her that she now lived and ran her own business in this picture-perfect town.
The café had a prime spot, on the corner of the high street, facing the green.
The medieval church spire of St Bram’s rose above the trees from one end, and the town hall with its clock tower from the other.
To the east, if she leaned forward, she could just make out the humpbacked bridge over a babbling stream, a tributary of the River Leigh.
There’d been frost that morning, and it looked like someone had sifted icing sugar over the scene. Just stunning.
‘ARGHH!’ came a gruff shout, waking her from her reverie. ‘Fuck’s sake! What the HELL?’
Alarmed, Sasha looked down. A pair of brown eyes confronted her, snapping with anger.
Heavy eyebrows were knotted in a frown. Water had drained through the soil and the coconut coir, drenching the man.
A shock of wet hair was plastered over his forehead, dotted with clumps of what was probably manure.
‘Fuck – oops – sorry!’ Sasha controlled her swearing and stopped watering. She froze, not sure whether to go up or down the ladder.
‘I’m bloody soaked!’ the man growled. She didn’t add that he stank of the compost too.
‘Er . . . so sorry. Didn’t you see me watering?’ Sasha waved the watering can and more water sloshed out, landing on the man’s sharp – and rather attractive – cheekbones.
‘Arghh! Why would I walk under it if I’d seen you?’
‘Whoops!’ She clapped a hand to her mouth but couldn’t stop a snort escaping. She wasn’t laughing at the guy, though he did look kind of funny. It was more a nervous giggle.
He was not impressed. He raked back his hair with one hand and it stuck up like a Mohican. ‘Yeah, thanks. Hilarious. Glad I’ve cheered you up. Do you always laugh at your customers?’
‘No, of course not!’ Sasha’s face flamed. ‘I’m so sorry – I didn’t mean to laugh – at least – not at you – it’s – just – nerves.’ She was totally flustered.
‘I’m fucking drenched!’
‘Come inside and I’ll get you a towel and a hot drink?’ She edged slowly down the stepladder, as if approaching an enraged animal.
‘Do I have a choice?’ he grumbled.
Back on the ground, the man, who looked to be in his thirties, loomed over her.
Despite his annoyance, he didn’t look violent, just wet.
Sasha picked up the ladder. ‘Let me make it up to you!’ She turned towards the door just as he stepped forward, catching his foot with the end of the ladder. ‘Oops! Sorry – so sorry again!’
The guy’s face twisted in pain as he fell forwards.
She felt large warm hands land on her back, and caught a whiff of mint toothpaste, sandalwood aftershave and a hint of woodsmoke.
He steadied himself, swearing under his breath, then he wrenched his hands away, as if she had a virus and there was no way he was catching it.
She held the door open for him, trying her best not to hit him with the ladder again.
‘Anyone ever tell you you’re a walking hazard?’ he grouched at her.
She grinned apologetically. ‘A towel and a cup of matcha, that’s what you need.’
He made a sound like ‘Hmph!’
Inside the café, Mollie, Paloma and the rest of the book club whipped their heads back towards their books, as if they hadn’t been gawping through the window only seconds ago.
‘The ending disappointed me: why shouldn’t she find happiness? Does misery make a book literary?’ Paloma shook her arms to emphasize her point, her chunky bangles jangling.
Sasha flushed, knowing she’d just provided the Book Clubbers’ morning entertainment, as she carried the stepladder through to the yard, to stow it away.
In the kitchen, she searched for a clean towel.
The only one she could find was covered with hot chocolate from an earlier mishap.
She grabbed a roll of blue paper towel instead.
‘Here we go!’ she said brightly to the sodden guy by the counter.
His nose twitched as if he smelled something bad – probably the manure trickling down his face.
Who would have thought a watering can could hold so much water?
The man’s expensive-looking charcoal wool pea coat was drenched as well as his hair, and a certain farmyard fragrance was starting to emanate from him.
‘I’m ever so sorry,’ Sasha apologized again, reaching over to dab at his broad shoulders with a wad of paper towel. She moved round to his chest, which was just as firm and well muscled. ‘I’ll pay for your dry cleaning, of course.’
‘You’re lucky I don’t charge you for my coat!
’ He tore off more paper towel and scrubbed at his hair.
The blue paper towel shredded into bits over the dark brown strands.
Oh, god – she knew the cheap stuff from Lidl was useless.
She wondered if she could pick out the shreds without him noticing.
Surreptitiously, she patted more paper on his shoulders and reached up to flick at his hair.
‘What are you doing?’ he snapped.
‘I’m so sorry – the paper towel . . .’
‘You’re probably going to need to give your hair a wash, love,’ Alice Macready, the most obviously curious-stroke-nosy Book Clubber said.
The guy lifted his head. His hair was speckled with blue paper. Was she really going to have to offer to wash his hair?
‘Go on, Sasha, take him upstairs. I can keep an eye on the café. I’ve told them what I think about the characters anyway,’ said Mollie, looking as if butter wouldn’t melt.
I bet you have! Sasha sighed, staring at the man. I guess I have to offer now. ‘Er – my flat’s just upstairs. You could maybe wash it over the sink? I don’t mind . . .’
He shook his head quickly. Was that a glint of terror in his eyes?
‘Thanks, this will do.’ He held up the roll of blue paper like a shield.
The door tinkled open. ‘Everything all right, Sasha?’
It was lovely Mr Davis. His cheery smile soothed Sasha immediately and she breathed out with relief.
‘Hi, Mr Davis. All’s fine – just that I managed to get water all over . . .’ Sasha waved a hand towards the disgruntled guy, realized she hadn’t asked his name but deducing this wasn’t the best time for introductions.
Mr Davis had no such qualms and held out his hand. ‘Hello, I’m Robert Davis, so wonderful to meet you . . .?’
‘Ben,’ the grumpy man replied, reluctantly polite, gingerly shaking his hand. No one could resist one of Mr Davis’s twinkly smiles.
‘I recommend a matcha latte, when you’re ready. It really is quite wonderful and there are some extraordinary flavours on the menu.’
‘Yes, do have a seat. Shall I make you a latte, Mr Davis? Hazelnut syrup and praline dust?’
‘Delightful, my dear Sasha, thank you.’
‘Just a plain black tea will do,’ muttered Ben.
‘Which one? We have a wide selection of Chinese and Japanese teas. Maybe a comforting Hojicha – the tea leaves are roasted giving it a warm nutty flavour? Or a lovely Oolong, clean and floral with a buttery finish? Or maybe a rich and smoky Pu-erh? On the house – of course,’ Sasha reassured him.
‘Whatever. You choose,’ he said, rudely.
Rudeness usually made Sasha even more polite, but she’d just offered the guy a free drink and he was starting to push her buttons. She took a deep breath. ‘Make yourself comfortable – I’ll bring it over.’ She forced a smile.
Ben looked around the room, eyebrows knitted, his jaw sticking out mutinously.
Sasha couldn’t tell if he liked what he saw.
She felt protective over her café and didn’t want him sneering at the cosy cushions or the vintage tea sets.
To be fair, she didn’t think he was sneering. He was probably just cold and wet.
She reached out a hand towards his head to pick off another fleck of blue paper. He started back and nearly crashed into Mr Davis, who was examining the selection of cakes.
‘Sorry – there was . . .’
‘I said I can dry my own hair, thanks,’ he retorted.
Something in Sasha snapped. ‘Look – I’ve said it was an accident, I’ve apologized and offered you a free tea. You don’t have to be such a – an arse about it.’
He scowled. ‘To be honest, I came out for some quiet time to read my book. So far I’ve been drenched in muddy water, smacked on the ankle with a ladder, called an arse . . . anything else you want to throw at me?’
‘No. Fine. I’ll bring you a black tea!’
Sasha nipped back behind the counter in a mood. She was cross with herself for losing it in front of her ear-flapping customers. But this Ben was completely insufferable. The Pu-erh would suit him. Smoky and bitter, slightly astringent – just like him.
The door opened and a sunbeam sliced into the café with Klara, immediately lightening the atmosphere.
‘Hello, people!’ Klara cast out a general wave and sashayed over to the counter. She was wearing 1940s-style wide slacks and her red curls were piled over one shoulder. ‘Hi, gorgeous, have you time to fix me a latte, with hazelnut crunch and a dash of salted-caramel syrup?’
‘Of course – just heating the milk now.’ Sasha turned with relief to her best friend. ‘Busy today?’
‘No. Completely dead.’ Klara cast a glance around the tables.
She noticed the grouch with cheekbones at the corner table.
‘Oh, hi – Ben, isn’t it?’ She turned to Sasha.
‘Ben’s a fantasy fan. He’s new in town so, of course, I recommended he check out Matcha Moments.
’ She called over to him, ‘Glad you made it!’
Sasha made a face. ‘Sorry, not so keen on your new mate . . .’ she murmured quietly.
Klara raised her eyebrows, sensing a story, but before she could explain, Ben was looming at the counter like a dark cloud. ‘What do I owe you?’
‘Nothing – I said it was on the house.’ Sasha couldn’t stop her snappy tone although she did her best to stretch her lips in the approximation of a smile.
‘All right.’ He paused. ‘Is that baked cheesecake?’ His expression lifted a smidgeon, eyes gleaming at the delicious-looking pale-green cake with burnt-caramel top and sides.
‘Nathan from across the road at Sugar and Spice bakes all the cakes here to order,’ Klara interjected. ‘Good choice – the matcha and salted-caramel cheesecake is to die for.’
Her bubbly enthusiasm smoothed his rough edges. ‘All right, I’ll have a slice – to go.’
‘On the house too.’ Sasha beamed, extra hard, trying not to grit her teeth. Had he heard of please and thank you? She parcelled up the cake in a box.
Klara looked from Sasha to Ben, sensing tension. ‘Not quiet enough for you here?’
‘Perfect!’ Ben ground out. He turned away from Sasha and smiled at Klara, his face relaxing into something more pleasant. ‘Just what I needed as a break from my house.’
‘Yeah, right,’ muttered Sasha under her breath.
Klara quirked an eyebrow at Sasha. She turned to Ben. ‘Since you’re new in town, you might like to try one of Sasha’s matcha specials one day.’
‘On the house too?’
‘If I can throw more muddy water at you,’ muttered Sasha.
‘Oooh! With an offer like that, how can you refuse?’ Klara grinned, and the corners of Ben’s mouth tugged up to mirror hers. He picked up the packaged cheesecake and headed for the door.
‘I’m off too,’ said Klara, picking up her drink and waving. ‘Catch you later!’
As Ben opened the door to let Klara out ahead of him, Sasha couldn’t help thinking how his face had changed when he’d smiled at Klara. He was ten times more attractive when he wasn’t scowling.
Klara had such a sunny personality. Through the window she saw her laughing at something Ben said and waving him goodbye. No one could stay cross with Klara around. Sasha envied her for that. If only she had the power to gloss over rudeness and turn frowns into smiles.
But soaking Ben with muddy water had been an accident – there was no need for him to be so rude!