Chapter 22
Saturday morning, Sasha woke up a wreck. She was curled right on the edge of her mattress and a small foot was resting heavily on her chest. Light snores came from the end of her bed. Klara. She rubbed gritty eyes and stretched slowly.
What the hell happened last night?
Of course. Mollie and Paloma’s anniversary party had been followed by the after-party. Klara had crashed. Nathan and Casey too.
Had they really been drinking shots? Bad idea!
She thrust the warm foot away and sat up. Klara snuffled a couple of times, then stopped snoring.
Sasha’s head spun and nausea roiled in her gut. She felt as if she’d only just fallen asleep and her mouth tasted like a carpet. Alcohol was bad! A toxin. Why’d she do that to herself?
It was all coming back to her. The after-party must have gone on for hours. Leo and Casey certainly knew some scary drinking games from their time touring with a local jazz band. The last time she’d looked at her watch it was gone five and the sky was starting to lighten.
Why, oh, why had she found that bottle of ouzo? The bright-blue typeface should have been warning enough that it was full of toxins and not meant for drinking!
But she remembered why she had bypassed all common-sense last night.
Ben. His kisses.
She’d needed to drown out the voices in her head. The voices telling her she’d broken the unspoken rules of matchmaking. And that she was failing. Again.
The party had been a raging success. But everyone had kept asking her what was happening with the café. Even though she’d dodged a direct conversation with Eleanor, she’d caught snatches of her boring on about rising property prices and her plans for the town.
And then her head had been spinning from Ben’s kisses. The kisses that should never have happened.
Klara turned, groaned and grabbed the duvet. Sasha edged slowly out of her bed. Very slowly, as her head rang every time she moved. Had her brain dislocated from her skull?
Thankfully, she’d made the wise decision not to open the café until 11 a.m. But a quick glance at her phone told her it was already past ten.
She stumbled to the shower, holding onto the tiles for dear life as hot water thundered down.
Even the usually soothing scent of her lavender shower gel made her feel sick.
She towelled dry slowly and returned to her bedroom.
Hobbling round her room, as if she’d aged twenty years, she shrugged on her cosiest leggings and a snuggly brushed-cotton shirt.
Then she crawled downstairs, leaving Klara snoring in her bed, and the other guys stewing in the yeasty stink of the living room.
Downstairs, the café was pretty tidy. She tied on an apron and sent a brief grateful prayer to her last night’s self, for cleaning up before the after-party. Luckily, the caterers had been amazing and had mopped the floor before leaving. Bless them!
The first thing she did was hang an out-of-order sign on the coffee machine. She couldn’t face the noise. If anyone wanted coffee today, they’d have to make do with a cafetière.
She made herself a matcha latte with extra hazelnut syrup, then warmed up the croissants and pastries that Nathan had brought over the night before.
She treated herself to a matcha-and-apple pastry twist, after cramming two pieces of matcha chocolate bark into her mouth.
The caffeine and sugar in the chocolate helped kickstart her body to perform the most basic functions.
She flipped the sign to ‘Open’ at eleven on the dot, hoping for a quiet Saturday.
From the amount of champagne they’d got through, she knew a lot of the regulars would be nursing similar hangovers.
Mollie and Paloma were straight off on a mini-break to some posh hotel in the Cotswolds.
They’d already arrived and texted her a picture of their gorgeous hotel with a huge ‘thank-you’ gif of dancing meercats.
Mr Davis and Gloria had Gloria’s grandchildren round to meet Chloé.
Rather them than me. She wouldn’t have the patience to deal with young children today.
Annie arrived for her shift at noon. She took one look at Sasha’s face and smiled sympathetically. ‘You look like death. Glad I was sensible and went home. How long did you guys stay up?’
‘I have no idea!’ Sasha moaned. ‘It was light. The birds were tweeting. The magpies were rearranging the tiles on my roof. I think we played Truth or Dare. I’m hoping it’s a false memory .
. .’ Unfortunately, she kept having flashbacks of the drunken early hours.
Did Casey really strip down to his boxers and dance on the tiny roof terrace?
Thank fuck for the one-metre high guard rail, and her previous landlord’s conscientiousness regarding safety regulations.
Somehow, she got through the next few hours. If she moved slowly and people didn’t speak too loudly, she could pretend she was fine.
Klara came down at around two. She’d borrowed the softest hooded top from Sasha’s wardrobe. Her darkest sunglasses were jammed on her pale face. ‘Matcha latte with extra maple syrup and sugar, please,’ she said. ‘Why – shots?’ She groaned.
‘Yeah. Wasn’t the best idea.’ Sasha grimaced and poured another slug of syrup into her latte. At least Klara’s hangover seemed to have stopped her from noticing that there was something worrying Sasha.
‘I think Nathan and Casey . . .’ She trailed off suggestively. Only Klara could make silence sound suggestive.
‘Yeah. I think so.’ Sasha had noticed that Nathan fancied the saxophone player. He’d admitted to spending a lot of time hanging out at Coffee Bean. And they’d been intertwined on the sofa before the others stumbled to bed.
‘Who knew Casey would scrub up so well?’
‘Guess guys look good in black tie.’ Sasha was about to mention Leo but Klara had already staggered towards the sofa in the corner. She lay down and grabbed a soft cotton waffle blanket, burrowing under it, groaning as if she was dying.
‘By the way, Sasha, don’t be angreeeee . . .’ Her muffled voice came from under the blanket.
‘Why? What did you do? You’re fine to borrow my clothes, by the way.’
‘Not that – I gave Ben your mobile number.’
‘O-kay.’
‘Why wouldn’t you let him stay and party? No fun!’ she whined. ‘What’s going on there?’
‘What? Nothing – I hardly saw him last night. He said he had an early morning.’
‘Hmm. If you say so. But in Bramleigh on a Saturday? Did you say he’s a runner? Or he’s joined the five-a-side?’
‘No idea. I hardly know him.’
‘But you do want to get to know him better . . .’ Even from under the blanket she managed to do her suggestive trailing off thing again.
Sasha’s cheeks warmed. ‘Kla-raaa – you know he’s a client,’ she huffed. ‘Stop it.’
Klara waved a limp hand from the sofa, but fortunately she was feeling too rough to say anything more. Finally, she heaved herself up. ‘Gotta go. A couple of farm eggs are calling my name, saying “poach me – slap me on a slice of sourdough with fried bacon”.’
She stumbled out, clutching her head and nearly banging into the door frame.
Apart from a few shoppers and families, it was relatively quiet, so Sasha decided to close early at 5 p.m. As she locked up, a text came from Ben.
Ben: Hey – just wondering how you are?
Sasha: We should talk – but not today.
Ben: You free tomorrow?
Sasha: Meet u for a walk? 12 by the bridge
Ben:
Sasha:
On Sundays, the café was only open from 12 p.m. till 4 p.m. and Annie would be fine to work the shift on her own.
Sasha cleaned up in the café, then stumbled back to her flat, drained and exhausted. After a quick bowl of pasta with pesto, she ran a bath and added a handful of lavender bath salts to help her feel calm, and to draw any toxins away.
As she relaxed in the warm water, her thoughts turned inevitably to Ben. The way he’d wrapped his arms around her to keep her warm. Delicious.
She sighed. She hadn’t been cold. She’d been shivering from pure lust. The feel of his hands over the silk of her blouse had been incredible. Under the silk, even more so.
She sank into the bath, dunking her head underwater for a while. The bath made her more aware of her body. The water around her, soothing and warm, had a similar effect to being in Ben’s arms.
Now she knew what it felt like, it was hard to stop thinking about it. A pulse throbbed between her legs, heat building in her belly at the thought of his lips on hers. His tongue sliding against her tongue. What would have happened if Klara hadn’t interrupted them?
After the bath, she got into a pair of unicorn-and-rainbow-print pyjamas and collapsed into bed.
She was exhausted but she couldn’t sleep.
Images of Ben flickered through her mind.
The moonlight casting shadows on the planes of his face.
His slanted cheekbones. His strong jaw. The curve of his lips.
His damp hair sticking up and covered with shredded paper, the day they’d met.
Those gorgeous dimples when he laughed. The moment he’d immediately recognized her film quote, bastardized from Casablanca.
She imagined Ben’s muscled body lying next to her.
She couldn’t stop thinking about him. His glowing amber eyes.
His touch. The way he’d looked after her, rubbing her arms, then stroking them.
It had felt so secure and warm, snuggled against him.
She wrapped her duvet tightly around her instead, wishing she could sink into his embrace, rest her head on his chest.
Her fierce need to see him was starting to scare her.
If he hadn’t become her client, could they have had a chance? Could whatever this thing was between them, this attraction, have turned into something?
She doubted it. Her ex, Dominic, had always said she was ‘too much’. That she either loved things or hated them and nothing in between. Would Ben also grow to be disgusted by her reactions?
Would he think she was too intense? That this feeling, this pull of attraction, was too much?
It didn’t matter. It was impossible.
Ben was her customer. Her client. Por Por had given her the reason why she shouldn’t be musing over these inappropriate thoughts. Not only was it unlikely to be real, but it was unprofessional.
Mollie’s speech meant the whole town was looking at her – at Matcha Moments.
Her matchmaking service was under everyone’s inspection.
It was everything she’d worked for, this last year.
She’d tried so hard to become the community matchmaker, to use the psychic gifts her Por Por had taught her, to help her customers find true love.
As expected in a small town that thrived on gossip, everyone was already aware that Ben was consulting her for a match.
The news had spread. People were interested in the love life of the good-looking newcomer.
How could she reveal that she’d kissed him in the garden?
He was one of her clients!
She had to keep repeating it to herself. They had got too close, and she couldn’t trust her feelings.
Plus her work as a matchmaker would be totally undermined.
She’d be no better than one of those creepy therapists or doctors who were disbarred for being inappropriate with their patients.
Urgh. No. She was not a creepy doctor. She had her morals.
She’d crossed a line – with consent, sure. But she’d crossed it all the same.
Well, she would just have to cross right back over it.
She would tell Ben that there must be no more kisses or hugs. No touch between them at all. It was not appropriate. He would have to respect that.
And she would have to find a way to stop herself obsessing over him.