Chapter 9
‘Ta-da!’
Nathan placed a large, white cake box on the coffee table in Sasha’s flat. Klara leaned over it, like a toddler on a sugar rush. ‘Just open it! It’s like Christmas!’
Nathan grinned. When Sasha had first opened Matcha Moments, she’d ordered pastries for the café from the local bakery, Sugar and Spice.
It was run by Anders, a six-foot-tall Swede whose croissants and cinnamon rolls were legendary.
Nathan was working part-time at the bakery while he studied for his master’s degree in economics.
He’d been enthusiastic about Matcha Moments from the start.
His dad was Japanese and he’d travelled to Japan since he was tiny, visiting family in Osaka.
He knew exactly the type of matcha goodies Sasha had planned to serve in the café and together they’d come up with a delicious menu.
Nathan was now Sasha’s freelance pastry chef. Anders was happy for him to use Sugar and Spice’s ovens and equipment. He’d developed a line of matcha-themed pastries as well as delicious cakes and desserts filled with flavoured creams and studded with ruby fruit.
Nathan told Sasha how he had always baked. As a child, he’d won his first cooking competition, winning a Best Cake in Show prize at the local school fête. But his family didn’t consider baking a proper occupation.
‘They love that I have a hobby, but it’s not a worthwhile career to them,’ he’d often complained to Klara and Sasha.
Sasha knew just how he felt. East Asian parents would rather their children pursued careers in law, medicine or finance.
They didn’t think more creative career options would pay well enough for a comfortable life.
Teaming up with Sasha allowed Nathan to express his true creative flair, while he kept his parents happy by staying in academia.
‘How’s the thesis coming along? Are you applying for a job in the City soon?’ asked Sasha.
Nathan sighed. ‘My deadline is in June, but I’d rather design a cake than look at finance charts, so . . .’
Klara nudged him. ‘Come on – don’t keep us in suspense – it’ll be Christmas at this rate!’
Sasha tried not to think of Christmas. She might not have a café by then. The thought of leaving this gorgeous town, where she’d made so many friends, was unbearable. She drummed loudly on the table as Nathan lifted the lid a fraction, then immediately shut it, teasing them.
Klara growled. ‘Are you going to turn me into the ghost of Klara past, denied sugar, butter and baked goods until she got so weak she fell into an abandoned well?’
‘On dark stormy nights the howl of “Feed . . . me . . . cheesecake . . .” echoes through the town with a rank ghostly reek,’ added Sasha.
‘Hideous thought.’ Nathan grimaced. ‘Oh, all right – if it’ll save us from that horror . . . Ta-da!’ He lifted the lid, filling the flat with the gorgeous scents of butter, matcha, vanilla and chocolate.
‘Mmm!’ Sasha’s mouth watered.
Nathan introduced them to several small cakes in the box, each around four inches in diameter and resembling a work of art.
‘We have a white chocolate and matcha marbled cheesecake with an Oreo biscuit base. Then this is the chocolate ganache, raspberry and cream gateau with a sliver of tempered dark chocolate and raspberry jelly; matcha meringue roulade with coffee and chestnut cream; and, last but not least, matcha and cocoa marbled madeleines with toasted caramel almonds.’
‘Me me me first!’ cried the irrepressible Klara.
Nathan batted her hand away, waiting for Sasha’s reaction. ‘Well?’
She beamed at him in approval. ‘Oh, Nathan – they all look amazing – can we?’
‘Of course!’ He divided each cake into three and handed out the forks.
Sasha poured cups of warm jasmine tea so they could cleanse their palate in between tastes.
Soon, moans of appreciation filled the flat.
Sasha took small bites of each cake. Each was a revelation.
Light, fragrant sponge, sweet creamy fillings, with added surprises like the umami of chestnut, bitter crunch of a layer of tempered chocolate, sharp burst of raspberry jelly, bitter chunks of chocolate in the Oreo crumb base.
‘I’m having a mouth orgasm!’ moaned Klara. ‘I can’t stop drooling with lust and greed all at once!’
‘Mmm,’ Sasha had to agree with Klara. Tasting Nathan’s cake samples was tons better than the bad sex she’d only ever had. ‘These will be amazing for our Mother’s Day event – we’re serving champagne afternoon teas all weekend.’
‘I’ll have handed in my coursework by then.’ Nathan bowed. ‘Happy to help!’
Klara put down her fork and sighed. ‘Who needs a man? I’ll take a different cake to bed with me every night of the week.’
Despite the sugar and cream, the cakes were so light that the three of them managed to finish them all. Then they carried on discussing the details for the Mother’s Day weekend.
‘We need to compete with the new coffee bar, Coffee Bean,’ explained Sasha.
‘Knock up a flyer and I’ll put a poster up in The Bookery too. Matcha Moments is completely different from Coffee Bean,’ said Klara. ‘It’s somewhere you’ll always find someone you know to chat to. Plus, with amazing orgasmic patisserie.’
‘Talking of which, Sasha,’ said Nathan, ‘did you give the Coffee Bean people my number? Some posh woman called Eleanor Something-Something left me a message. I wanted to check you don’t mind me supplying them too?’
Sasha nodded. ‘They’d be a great client for you. Why would I stop you?’
‘Thanks, Sasha – you’re such a star.’ He hugged her.
‘But I’ll keep the matcha flavours for you.
Including the baked matcha and burnt-caramel cheesecake and all the gateaux.
The coffee bar will just get pastries, cakes and cookies, not the patisserie and Japanese-style desserts we’ve been designing. ’
‘It’s fine, Nathan. I appreciate your loyalty. But we’ll be OK.’
‘If you’re sure . . . Ooo – how about a matcha-infused champagne cocktail for events?’ he suggested. ‘We could swirl a strawberry foam on top for Mother’s Day – it’ll look gorgeous in pale pink and green.’
‘And you must include your macarons, of course!’
Nathan had visited Paris recently and his then-boyfriend had dumped him in the middle of the Place de la Concorde. He’d taken a macaron workshop and then came home heartbroken. But at least he’d gained a new skill.
‘Paris was such a bittersweet trip,’ sighed Nathan. ‘Did I tell you I met a hot saxophone player there? After the macaron workshop I went to a jazz cave to drown my sorrows. I’ve always had a thing for musicians.’
‘Ooh la la . . .’ Klara giggled and nudged him. ‘While we’re on the subject of orgasms and hot men, maybe a certain fantasy reader could help you hang up more flower baskets for Mother’s Day, Sash. Have you noticed how muscular his arms are?’
‘I presume you’re talking about Ben? I haven’t really looked.’ But Sasha could feel her cheeks heating up.
‘The communication by Post-it is sweet, but why don’t you chat to him like a normal customer?’ said Klara, winking at Nathan.
‘I do. Honestly, you’re being juvenile with this teasing.’
Klara carried on making kissy noises, which was really annoying. She didn’t seem to get how worrying things were for Sasha. First the threat of the lease ending. And now her mind’s eye coming up blank for Ben.
Much as she tried to stay positive, she couldn’t help the usual self-doubt niggling. She wished her Por Por was still alive. She would reassure her nothing was failing. Ben was just one of the few people who put up barriers and who were impossible to read.
She reassured herself with her success with Mr Davis.
By the time Sasha had moved to Bramleigh Green and set up Matcha Moments, his late wife Vera’s cancer had come back and she’d already passed away, so Sasha had never met her.
But when she’d picked up Mr Davis’s cup the other week, she’d seen his life with Vera as clearly as if she’d been in the old tea shop with them.
It was as if she’d met Vera herself, been embraced by her warm personality.
She’d almost tasted the coconut macaroon biscuits Vera enjoyed.
Since Por Por wasn’t here, she could ask what her friends thought about this block.
‘Shut up, guys. I have a slight worry – about Ben. I still can’t pick up any information about him. I can’t work out why.’
Klara finally stopped making smoochy noises. ‘Has it ever happened before? The blankness?’
Sasha shook her head. ‘Not since my Por Por taught me how to read people. I always sense something about a person. I get visions and images, just from holding their cup, or reading the tea leaves.’
‘Could be exhaustion,’ suggested Nathan. ‘You’ve a lot on your plate right now – what with the lease renewal and everything.’
‘Why don’t you see what you can see about me now?’ said Klara. ‘Test your powers before I slurp up this gorgeous rosé.’ She waved the bottle of wine.
‘All right, if you don’t mind.’ Sasha picked up Klara’s teacup.
She swished the dregs of jasmine tea and carefully poured them into an empty glass.
Putting her hands around Klara’s cup, she peered at the flecks of tea leaves left behind.
She breathed in the nutty scent of the tea and closed her eyes, calling on her Por Por’s psychic powers.
The silver screen in her mind’s eye illuminated.
She saw Klara behind the counter in The Bookery, chatting to Paloma, who wanted ideas for the Book Clubbers’ next meeting. Klara recommended a spicy romantasy. Sasha burst out laughing.
‘What – tell me! What did you see?’
‘You were chatting to Paloma, holding a book with a curvy damsel in a skimpy bodice riding a dragon.’
‘Oh, goodness, yes! She was after the title of the bosomy dragon read. A bit more steamy than their usual literary award-winners.’
‘There you go – everything’s fine.’ Nathan put his arm around her shoulders and squeezed. ‘You’ve nothing to worry about, Sasha.’
‘It must be Ben,’ Sasha said, irritated. She could picture him sitting in the café, reading his book, dark lashes sweeping down. They were far too long for a man. When he wasn’t frowning or being grouchy, he was really hot.
He’s putting up defences. Not letting me in.
She was determined to work out why.