Chapter 5
The next week brought a scattering of snow. It was quiet in the café, mostly empty apart from Mollie, diligently working and drinking pot after pot of her favourite Hojicha. Sasha sighed and made a wish for spring to come quickly. Her bills were piling up.
The door opened and a gust of icy air wafted in.
Sasha looked up at a guy wearing tortoiseshell sunglasses and a parka with its fur-lined hood over his head.
He looked as if he’d come straight from the ski slopes and for a minute she didn’t recognize him, until he pushed back his hood.
She blinked in surprise at his sharp cheekbones and square jaw. It was Ben.
He’d been so grumpy the last couple of times she’d seen him that she hadn’t thought he would ever come back. But it was a small town and until the new coffee bar further down the high street opened, hers was the only café. Maybe he’d come to ask her to pay for his dry cleaning.
‘Hi. Ben, isn’t it?’ Sasha smiled politely.
‘Been jumping in any muddy puddles lately?’
‘Robbed anyone lately?’ she quipped back.
‘No one had the stick collection I was after, actually.’ He slid a glance at the pussy willow she’d arranged in her vase in the corner. ‘They look good.’
‘I see. You have stick envy, do you?’ She rolled her eyes. ‘Of all the matcha joints, in all the towns, in all the world, he walks into mine,’ she misquoted from one of her favourite films. ‘I’ll just get my watering can!’
A dimple appeared in his left cheek as he registered her joke. ‘Since I don’t have Ingrid Bergman’s good looks, I might have to put my hood back up . . .’
She was surprised he immediately got the film quote. ‘Soooo – how come you’re a fan of Casablanca? Are you secretly a hundred years old or are you a black-and-white film fan?’
‘I used to go and stay with my grandmother in the school holidays. There was no streaming. Just an ancient video recorder. And a pile of old films. She’d let me watch them when I was bored – as long as I made sure I rewound the tape for her when I’d finished.’
Maybe he wasn’t so bad after all.
‘I was close to my grandmother, my Por Por,’ said Sasha. ‘She let me watch cartoons, but Casablanca was one of her favourite films. It reminds me of her.’
There was a beat of silence, only broken by the sound of the hot-water urn boiling.
‘Can I get you a tea?’ asked Sasha. ‘Maybe a warming Hojicha or fragrant Oolong?’
‘Sounds great – you choose. Although – I must admit I’m curious –’ he gestured towards the board. ‘What exactly is this matcha special you’re advertising? Your friend Klara seemed to think I was missing out not having one.’
Mollie had abandoned her laptop and was lurking by the counter, taking far too long to choose a pastry. ‘Ben – is it?’ she said. ‘Hi, I’m Mollie, and I can vouch for the effectiveness of the Matcha Maker Special. If you want all your dreams of romance to come true, you’ve come to the right place!’
‘W-what?’ Ben stepped back, away from Mollie’s magnetic forcefield. His lean cheeks flushed red. He flicked a glance at Sasha, who felt her face heat in response.
Does he think Mollie is suggesting he has a romance with me? Embarrassment prickled her neck. And he’d got her reference to Casablanca, the iconic love story. Oh, fuck, did he think she was hitting on him? Why did she wear her mohair sweater today? Despite the snow, she felt far too hot suddenly.
‘Look around you,’ carried on Mollie, opening her arms and knocking askew a framed print of the Singapore Merlion. ‘What do you see?’
‘Umm . . .’ Ben glanced round the café. ‘Black-and-white photography . . . teacups . . . pastries . . .’
‘And love!’ pronounced Mollie. ‘Matcha Moments is so much more than the centre of Bramleigh Green – it’s also where you can find your one true love!’
‘Thanks, Mollie, but not everyone’s interested in romance,’ said Sasha with an apologetic smile to Ben. ‘It’s also a cosy place for the local community to hang out.’
Paloma breezed in, catching the end of her sentence. ‘The pharmacy’s been hectic today – everyone’s ill – this is definitely my happy place for the few minutes they can spare me.’
‘Love is in the air!’ Mollie sang as she gave Paloma a hug.
‘Lovely Sasha and her magical matchmaking is the reason I found romance finally. I thought my beloved Paloma was just a friend with the same taste in novels. But Sasha whisked up her matcha bubbles one evening, and they told me to look between the pages of my latest novel for romance. It happened one stormy night . . . oh, yes. There we were. The only two of our book club to brave the power cut. Alone in the candlelight. And, boom! I suddenly realized who was right before my eyes.’
Mollie and Paloma gazed at each other, all smooshy-eyed; Sasha felt her heart melt.
Paloma’s brown face was wreathed in smiles. ‘I’m so glad you came that evening, Mollie, my love, or I’d have packed up and gone home on my own.’
Ben shifted uncomfortably, looking as if he wished he hadn’t come into the café. He probably hated being drawn into random conversations with strangers, although if that really was the case, he’d moved to the wrong town.
And he’ll need to revise that frown if he’s looking for love.
‘We were in the same book club for months,’ said Mollie, ‘but we don’t always know everyone’s secrets.
Paloma had long broken up with her fiancée and not one of us had a clue that she was looking for a new sweetheart.
We happened to be reading a novel about lost loves.
A drama about people finding each other again after years and years.
We dissected that novel most thoroughly.
It didn’t matter that the rest of the group never showed up.
We talked for hours. Plot. Character. When the storm calmed, we drifted out to the courtyard.
Have you seen it yet? It’s romance on legs! ’
Ben shook his head. ‘I’m not sure romance is for me.’
‘What? Everybody needs a touch of romance in their lives. Come, I’ll show you.’ Mollie wasn’t giving him a choice. ‘Would that be OK, Sasha, my dear?’
‘Er – I’ll have to unlock it. Just a warning: I had to send the heaters back to the hire company so it’s a bit nippy.’ The outdoor heaters had cost a small fortune in electricity and there weren’t enough customers through the winter to justify the expense.
Sasha found the key in a drawer and led the way as Mollie shooed forward a reluctant Ben.
She unlocked the back door, which swung open onto a whitewashed brick courtyard.
The glass and wooden canopy overhead had been there when she’d moved in, providing shelter against the elements, so she’d turned the area into an outdoor extension of the café.
She’d sourced a rocking sofa and armchairs from a local furniture maker.
She’d covered them with jewel-coloured velvet cushions and patchwork blankets, and strung fairy lights and miniature red lanterns round the walls.
Climbing jasmine and clematis were starting to wind out of their pots and up the trellis.
Condensation puffed out of their mouths. ‘Bit chilly at the moment. But we do get a few smokers here, don’t we, Mol—?’ Sasha turned to see Mollie had ducked off and left her and Ben alone.
Ben had a dazed look in his eye. People often did after talking to Mollie. Would this quiet guy, whose wardrobe consisted of designer pieces in dark colours, really appreciate the bright colours and cosy home-made aesthetic of the romantic courtyard?
‘Cute, isn’t it?’ Mollie was back, her cup of tea in her hand. Plopping down on a sofa, she began to rock. ‘Imagine it on a warm spring evening. Jasmine and roses starting to bloom. Sweet fragrance filling the night. Fairy lights twinkling . . .’
Ben glanced at Sasha, shifting his feet as if he wanted to make a run for it.
She couldn’t help smiling to see his very British reaction to Mollie’s exuberance.
Her smile seemed to reassure him and the corners of his mouth tugged up too.
She wondered if she would see the dimple reappear and felt a flash of disappointment when it failed to make an appearance.
‘A glass of wine or a matcha cocktail, a little soft music. You can see why we fell for each other,’ Mollie sang out. ‘Anyone would fall in love here. And Sasha’s a dream at helping you find love. Are you single, Ben? Why not ask Sasha for her Matcha Maker Special?’
‘He might not be looking for love, Mollie . . .’ Sasha reminded her gently.
‘Sorry – of course – you might already have a significant other? A lady waiting for you at home, or a gorgeous young man?’ She waggled her eyebrows.
‘Just tell me if I’m being too nosy. Although you’ll have to get used to our curiosity if you settle in Bramleigh.
Anyway, must be off – afternoon in court.
Divorcing couple. Love doesn’t always work out for the best, sadly.
I’ll pass my client your card, Sasha.’ She heaved herself out of the rocking chair and disappeared inside.
Sasha smiled at Ben. ‘Sorry. Mollie’s my biggest fan – maybe too enthusiastic about my matchmaking service. Don’t feel pressured to accept.’
‘Er, well –’ he cleared his throat. ‘Love doesn’t always work out and I am on my own at the moment.’ He sounded slightly bitter.
‘Oh, OK.’ There was an awkward pause and then Sasha spoke before she could stop herself.
‘In which case, I’d be happy to offer you a matcha reading.
’ She wasn’t very good at pushing her matchmaking service, but she did need new clients, after all.
And the fact that Ben had remained listening to Mollie when he was clearly uncomfortable instead of making an excuse to leave had warmed her to him.
‘Does it involve cold, muddy water?’ He grinned. ‘With a generous dash of manure?’ There it was again. The cute dimple in his cheek. Sasha had a sudden urge to reach up and stick her finger in it.
‘Yeah – I mean no! Definitely no manure water. Sorry again – the garden centre is next to the stables and they sell manure too – it’s great for the flowers, don’t you know?
But about the matcha reading, I gather you mean you’re single .
. . and looking?’ Her heart thudded a little harder.
She had to admit that Ben was an attractive guy .
. . when he wasn’t being angry. It wasn’t good to hold a grudge.
She’d have been pretty disgruntled to have cold, muddy water dripped onto her from a height.
‘I’m currently single, yes. I hadn’t quite thought of myself as “looking”, though.’ The frown was back. Maybe that’s why he was single. Too much of a grouch for anyone to put up with.
‘Didn’t you come to a small town to try something different?’ Sasha suggested.
‘Yes – maybe – I’ll think about it and let you know.’ He smiled properly at Sasha then.
Two dimples. A dimple in both his cheeks. Sasha felt her stomach swoop as she led the way back inside.
A few people were now queueing at the counter and Annie had her hands full.
Sasha prepared Ben’s tea. She filled a pot with water and sprinkled on Oolong tea leaves.
A lighter tea, this time, to suit his improved mood.
As the tea began to brew and release its scent, she tuned into her intuition.
What would her psychic powers tell her about him?
She breathed deeply, trying to open her mind’s eye. But her mind stayed foggy and dull. Weird. She couldn’t seem to sense much about him.
For the next half-hour or so, she found her eyes flicking to Ben as he sat with his book and sipping his tea.
She wasn’t sure why he bothered her so much.
Maybe because he barely seemed to notice her or anyone else, despite their previous chit-chat.
He was so absorbed in his reading, he didn’t even look out of the window.
It must be a fascinating book. Klara had said he was a fantasy reader.
He’d obviously fallen so deeply into the made-up world, he’d forgotten about the real one.
There was a rush of mums and children from the nursery, crowding into the café to escape a sudden shower of hail, and by the time Sasha had a moment to glance over at his table, Ben had gone.
He’d left a ten-pound note for his tea and cheesecake and a note: Delicious cheesecake – thanks for the tour!
Sasha tidied up his teapot and cup. At the sink, she threw out the dregs. There were a few specks of tea leaves in the base of his cup. Before she rinsed the cup out, she closed her eyes and called on her psychic intuition to read the tea leaf formation.
Could she find out what had brought him to Bramleigh? What his previous life had been like?
But it was no use. She couldn’t pick up on anything. How peculiar. She was usually so intuitive. Ben was the first person in a long time who remained a mystery. He could be a saint or a murderer for all she knew. It was impossible for her to tell.