Chapter 8
A few days later, Sasha glanced out of the window, hoping for busier times.
She spotted Ben crossing the road, heading straight for Matcha Moments.
He hadn’t been in for a while – probably scared off by Mollie – and if she’d been tempted to walk to the gym on the common, just to check he was still living in Bramleigh, she’d managed to restrain herself.
He came through the door clutching a brown-paper bag with the distinctive The Bookery logo that Klara had designed herself, based on cut-out letters from book covers.
He headed straight for the corner table, took out a new paperback and was immediately engrossed.
Sasha noticed the book cover was illustrated with a dragon and rider, complete with armour, sword and shield.
The dragon-rider’s sharp cheekbones and hollow cheeks gave the character a passing resemblance to Ben.
He was obviously really into his book. Did he relate to the armoured dragon-rider?
With his broad chest and height, Ben would look good wearing armour himself.
Minutes passed while Sasha found herself imagining what he would look like, dressed as the dragon-rider.
Her gaze kept returning to his broad shoulders and muscled chest. His workouts seemed to be paying off.
She remembered falling into that chest and how hard his muscles had felt.
Her cheeks flamed and she busied herself filling a jar with a new batch of cookies.
A couple of mums and toddlers came in. Ben only looked up briefly when one of the children’s toy cars rolled over to his feet.
He glimpsed the little boy staring at him, mouth pulled wide as if he was wondering whether to cry or scream.
Ben pushed the car back to him with a quiet ‘Vroooooommm . . .’ and went back to his book.
A smile tugged at Sasha’s lips. A man who gave a kid back his toy surely couldn’t be the arse she’d thought he was.
But Ben had yet to make his order at the counter.
Of course, Sasha loved the feeling of being so lost in a story that you were blind to the world around you.
She and Klara had spent many a relaxing afternoon lying in the garden or on the sofa at the Blue Moon, totally lost in a good book.
Still, she couldn’t help feeling irked by Ben ignoring her.
She tried to stop being annoyed, but he was like a pebble in her shoe.
Is he really just going to read his book all morning?
Nathan arrived in his baker’s whites, carrying a large, white box. ‘Hey, Sasha. More croissants and buns – including a new pistachio and matcha flavour. Gonna have to dash now – the bakery’s rammed, but I’m looking forward to next Friday!’
‘Thanks, lovely – can’t wait!’
Sasha replenished the glass domes with fresh pastries; buttery, cinnamon and matcha scents filled the air.
She was excited for next Friday. Nathan and Klara were coming to talk over possible event ideas for the café, starting with a weekend special for Mother’s Day towards the end of March.
Nathan was bringing over his new show-stopping desserts for them to sample.
She’d ordered some three-tiered afternoon tea platters in preparation.
If this worked, they could roll out more special events and improve the café’s revenue.
Sasha kept glancing to the window corner table.
Wasn’t Ben thirsty yet? Did he mistakenly think it was table service and she would go over to take his order?
Or maybe he wasn’t here for a drink and had come to charge her for dry cleaning his tailored wool coat?
She hoped not: even the cost of dry cleaning had gone up these days.
She hated to think how much an expensive wool coat would cost to clean.
Mr Davis came in. ‘Good morning, Sasha. I’ll have my usual latte and a pastry.’
‘Hi, lovely – a matcha latte with hazelnut syrup and praline dust coming up. We have some beautiful pistachio and matcha croissants just in – want one?’
‘Perfect, my dear.’
‘Go and sit down – I’ll bring it over.’
Ben was still reading and hadn’t made his order. Irritated, she finally scribbled a message on a pink Post-it.
Are you just here for the free electricity and heating or are you going to order something? She added a smiley face to soften her snark.
On the way to Mr Davis, she passed Ben and stuck the message on the table in front of him. As she served Mr Davis with his drink and croissant, her heart thudded.
What had got into her? Why did she write that note? She’d pass Ben on the way back, and try to retrieve it. With any luck he hadn’t read it yet. It was rather too rude.
Mr Davis chatted away about Gloria and her dog. They seemed to be firm friends since he’d rescued Puddles. Sasha nodded and murmured as if she was listening.
‘You haven’t heard a word I’ve said, have you?’ observed Mr Davis, placing a gentle hand on her arm.
‘What?’ Sasha was caught out by his twinkling eyes. ‘Of course I have! You were talking about walking Puddles for Gloria.’
‘You heard me say I put him in a rainbow dog coat and fed him chocolate biscuits?’
Sasha clapped her hand to her mouth. ‘Oh, wow – but isn’t chocolate poisonous for dogs?’
‘Exactly! You weren’t listening. By the way, that young man was trying to get your attention. I think he left you a note.’ He pointed to the counter.
‘Oh!’ Sasha glanced at Ben, who looked absorbed in his book still.
She crossed back to the counter and saw her pink Post-it.
On the back, were the words: Thanks, since a shower’s not on the menu today I’ll go for a pot of Oolong tea plus matcha and chocolate-chip cookie, manure optional!
He’d added a smiley face, a doodle of a cup of tea and cookie .
. . and a shitting cow. He was a good artist; the straining expression on the cow’s face was hilarious and the cowpat looked realistic.
Ben looked up from his book, caught her eye and grinned. Her cheeks burned as she held up the note and nodded. He had a charming smile. Lovely white teeth, and that wink of a dimple.
Mr Davis shuffled off to browse the newspapers and Puddles wandered over to Ben. She saw Ben pet the dog and feed him a carob treat.
Maybe she’d been too harsh on him.
She warmed a teapot and measured in the Oolong leaves. As she let the tea brew, Sasha tuned into her psychic intuition, hoping for some illumination on Ben. But there was nothing. Just a blank.
He did seem a lot more chilled today and he obviously loved reading. She sighed. Klara thought he was all right – and, it seemed, so did Puddles. She would revise her opinion.
The café emptied out. Mr Davis left to take Puddles back to Gloria. The mothers told their toddlers to wave goodbye to Sasha and Ben.
Ben stayed reading, eyes barely lifting from his novel.
Sasha tried her best to ignore him. She put on her favourite piano playlist. Finally she gave in, and smiling to herself, she decided to write him another note.
More tea? Music OK? (always liked piano since I played as a kid)
She dropped it on his table as she walked past. After a while she noticed him scribbling on the Post-it.
She forced herself to clear plates out of the dishwasher to stop herself staring at him.
When she’d finished, he’d gone, leaving a tenner, and the Post-it under his plate.
This time it had a doodle of a girl playing the piano.
Her feet didn’t reach the floor and she had her hair in plaits, just like Sasha’s hair that day.
Definitely not an arse at all.
She smiled and rinsed out his cup in the sink. She gazed at the tea leaves left behind but it was as if her psychic senses were on strike when it came to Ben.
‘Who drew this? So adorable!’ Klara spotted the Post-it with the piano doodle when she came for her usual latte the next day. Sasha couldn’t bring herself to throw it away and had left it under the tip jar.
Sasha’s cheeks warmed. ‘Er – it was Ben, actually.’
‘Whoever knew your man of mystery could draw so well!’ exclaimed Klara.
Sasha wished her friend would lower her voice – the whole café could hear her. Even worse when she raised her eyebrows suggestively. ‘So? Getting to know him better? Anything to report?’
‘Report? About my psychic read on him? No – I asked him if he liked the music, so he left this doodle.’
‘And you told him you’d like to practise blowing on his . . .’
‘Shut up, Klara!’ Sasha glared at her giggling friend.
‘What? No one cares – so he drew you a picture? So what? It’s cute!’
Sasha glanced round the café, paranoid everyone was listening. ‘Shush, Klara – honestly! He’s still a challenge – only in a psychic sense. I’m determined to work out why.’
‘Oh, yeah – sure it’s nothing to do with his broad shoulders and those cheekbones? If I was into tall, dark and brooding I’d have a go myself . . . but I’d rather wait for my surfer dude.’
‘I hadn’t noticed, actually.’ But Sasha felt her cheeks warm. She’d caught herself staring at him far too many times. Thinking about the moment she’d crashed into him on the common. How easily he’d stopped her from falling. ‘I’m just concerned about my matchmaking skills.’
‘Yeah, you keep telling yourself that. And don’t worry – they’re in perfect order.’ Klara gestured towards Mr Davis as he opened the door for Gloria and Puddles, who were just arriving.
Sasha felt a rush of pleasure, happy that the couple’s relationship was blossoming. The sad look hadn’t been in Mr Davis’s eye lately. He pulled out a chair for Gloria and helped her settle the sausage dog.
Sasha brought them their matcha lattes with extra shots of flavoured syrups, and hearts drawn into the cinnamon and cocoa dust. She gave Puddles his silver dog bowl. The dachshund waddled up to her, affectionately nuzzling her legs.
‘He adores you already,’ said Gloria, beaming at her.
‘I suspect it’s the treats rather than me. How are you doing?’
‘We just enjoyed a lovely walk along the river. Spring has finally sprung and the baby ducklings have started to hatch. Absolutely adorable.’
‘By the way, the hoardings have come down for the coffee bar,’ Mr Davis said. ‘Nothing to worry about, Sasha dear. Coffee Bean is a world away from your fabulous café.’
‘So – what is it like?’ A rush of panic flickered in her chest.
‘Stainless-steel bars and uncomfortable-looking stools.’ Gloria shook her head and the ruby drops in her ears sparkled. ‘We much prefer it here. So wonderfully cosy and much more relaxing.’
‘Coffee Bean is not a place where you want to stay all morning,’ added Mr Davis.
‘Of course not!’ came a familiar upper-class voice. ‘We don’t want customers staying there all day on their laptops, only ordering one coffee and drinking tap water, for god’s sake!’
It was Eleanor. Sasha hadn’t noticed her come in while she’d been petting Puddles.
‘Two matcha and pistachio pastries, please.’ She held up two scarlet talons, sharp enough to take an eye out. ‘Could you tell me who provides your baked goods? My supplier has fallen through and I thought I could give a local firm a go?’
‘These are just from across the street – Sugar and Spice,’ said Sasha. ‘They’re always flaky and delicious.’
‘I need more than croissants, though,’ Eleanor snapped. ‘Where do you get your patisserie?’
Sasha paused. Should she tell her competitor about Nathan? A regular order from Coffee Bean would be great for him.
Mr Davis pressed her arm, as if he knew what she was thinking. ‘You don’t have to give away all your secrets, my dear,’ he murmured.
‘Secrets?’ Eleanor overheard him. ‘Hardly! I can easily order from London or a national chain, but wouldn’t you rather I support the local community?’
She thinks she’s the lady of the manor. But, much as Eleanor irritated her, Sasha couldn’t be so mean-spirited as to take away a potential lucrative business partner from Nathan, and it was hardly a secret.
‘I have a bespoke arrangement with the baking assistant at Sugar and Spice. Nathan Mikamo,’ she told Eleanor. ‘Here’s his card.’
Eleanor snatched the card from her. ‘Much obliged. And if you’re ever in need of some music to liven up your afternoon, my stepson Casey plays a mean and moody sax in a jazz trio. By the way, I’ll take the rest of the matcha cinnamon buns and, what the hell, all the pistachio croissants.’
Once Sasha had served her, Eleanor breezed out, banging the door shut. Mr Davis looked over disapprovingly. ‘That type thinks she can buy everything in sight. Including people. Are you sure you did the right thing, Sasha, giving her Nathan’s contact details?’
‘He wants to start up on his own – he needs all the customers he can get,’ Sasha told him.
Mr Davis made a face. ‘You are too kind, my dear. Mrs Jones-Smythe had no qualms about buying up some of your best baked goods. What if they start selling matcha pastries to rival yours?’
‘Even with Nathan as their baker, Coffee Bean gives people a different experience to Matcha Moments.’ Sasha stuck her chin out.
‘Eleanor Jones-Smythe might be ruthless but I’m not going to descend to her level.
By the way, I’m taking bookings for a Mother’s Day weekend afternoon tea – I hope you and Gloria will be able to make it? ’
‘Oh, how exciting – sounds wonderful – do book us a table for four,’ said Mr Davis. The twinkle in his eye was back. ‘Gloria’s daughter and my granddaughter Chloé are coming to visit on Mother’s Day.’
Despite her brave words, privately Sasha couldn’t help worrying. Would fewer customers come to Matcha Moments if they could get Nathan’s pastries at the coffee chain? If she was going to survive, she would have to deal with the competition.