Chapter 24
‘I tried to be the good Asian daughter.’ Sasha sighed.
Trying to please her parents always felt like such a lost cause.
‘I studied to be a lawyer even though I found it tedious. I always had a photographic memory and I love helping people. I thought I could memorize all the laws and statutes and it would be easy. Big mistake.’ Sasha grimaced towards the river.
‘It’s impossible to make life choices to please your parents,’ Ben said. ‘My parents were never that interested in me, luckily. They worked abroad and sent me to boarding school. So why’d you leave law?’
‘Believe it or not, I was accused of plagiarizing. I was helping a friend – a guy – with an essay and the tutor thought there were too many similarities in our work. Dominic should have spoken up to say I’d helped him.
But he didn’t. He didn’t want to be the one to get into trouble, I guess.
’ The hurt of what had happened scythed through her again.
‘How awful – that’s no friend – what a bastard!’
‘If I’m honest – we’d – er – Dominic and I had dated a while.
We’d already split up, though. He called me “too intense”.
’ She paused and sneaked a glimpse at him.
He was gazing at her steadily but she couldn’t see his eyes through the shades.
‘Anyway – it just made it very difficult. It hurt even more when he wouldn’t admit to stealing my work.
‘After I was chucked out of law school, I travelled round South-East Asia. I spent a lot of time with my family and my grandmother. Then I came here. I couldn’t face living back in London.
I wanted a clean break. Klara and I were at uni together; we were flatmates from second year and stayed good friends.
When the tea shop came up for lease – well, I love matcha.
I’d learned some amazing recipes for flavoured lattes on a workshop in Japan.
Plus while I was in Malaysia and my grandmother was still alive, she taught me how to read the tea leaves and matcha bubbles.
She helped me develop the same psychic matchmaking gifts.
‘It’s always been my dream to run a café, bringing people together.
I was a middle child. I’ve been reading a lot of self-help books lately – they’ve made me realize why I’m such a people-pleaser.
I had to keep the peace between my sister and brother.
I used to bake – not professionally like Nathan, but people liked my home-made cakes.
I guess it was my way of getting some attention in our family.
My sister was the clever one – she’s now a doctor.
My brother is still at uni but wants to be a banker – and earn the big bucks that my parents feel will make them secure.
But I can bake a good chocolate fudge cake and stop my siblings from killing each other. ’
‘You bring joy to people’s lives.’ Ben smiled at her. ‘I can see that. Whether it’s through a delicious cake or a love match. Making people happy seems to be your happy place.’ His smile was so affectionate, the dimples were flaring into life. She felt as if she was sunbathing in his approval.
‘I guess so.’ Sasha took a breath. She was amazed that Ben had completely got her. ‘Running the café, the matcha readings. It’s my contribution, if you know what I mean. So . . . I have to make a go of my business. The café and the matchmaking – you do understand, don’t you?’
He nodded. ‘You’ve created the most amazing space for everyone in Bramleigh Green. That was obvious last night from Mollie’s and Paloma’s speeches. I always feel I’m among friends in your café. That’s what I love about it.’
‘Exactly. That’s the most important thing to me right now. I’m lucky to have the support from people. It’s my community. I can’t jeopardize it. I don’t want to.’
‘No – I get it now. Of course. I’ve said I’m sorry. I won’t trouble you again. Not like that, anyway.’ He gave her a rueful smile and gazed out towards the river.
They sat in silence for a while, watching the swans. The two were gliding along together again.
‘They mate for life, swans,’ said Sasha.
‘They’re also one of the most dangerous and vicious birds if they feel threatened,’ said Ben. He got out a plastic bag of bird seed. ‘Come on.’
He threw a handful of seed towards the riverbank, near the swans.
They lowered their elegant necks to peck at the food.
Soon a group of ducks paddled up to the bank, and Ben threw seed on the lily pads.
A group of geese padded down the path too, honking and flapping in excitement.
Sasha grinned and grabbed a fistful of seed.
They fed the birds until the bag was empty.
‘Sorry, geese – honk honk – it’s all gone,’ called out Sasha. She smiled at him. ‘That was so fun! Haven’t fed the ducks in ages!’
Ben beamed back. ‘I guess we both came to Bramleigh Green to find our peace.’
‘Do you think you’ve found it? Learning to craft ceramics, living somewhere slower and more friendly?’
Ben gestured towards the river. ‘I mean, it’s amazing to walk past this every day.’
Sasha had to agree, admiring the stunning view. The sun glittering like spilled diamonds on the water, the bank swathed with the acid yellow of daffodils. And the gorgeous man, walking by her side. She had to clench her fingers hard to stop herself from reaching up and touching his cute dimple.
He turned to her. ‘Hey – do you want to see my workshop? The ceramics I’m working on?’
‘OK – go on then.’ Sasha immediately wondered whether it was wise. But why shouldn’t she take an interest in his hobby? She collected tea sets, after all.
‘Come on, my house isn’t far.’
Ben led the way back along the river, the way they’d come. Just before they reached the bridge, he turned off and headed down a narrow country lane, following a high stone wall.
‘Ooo – where are you taking me?’ Sasha joked. ‘What exactly do you keep in your workshop? Am I coming back alive?’
Ben chuckled. ‘Aha – you caught me out – this is the cut-through to my house – I was hoping to take you there and kidnap you so you can make me Oolong tea at home every day.’
‘Arrggh!’ Sasha threw up her hands, pretending to scream. ‘By the way, I’ve told Klara exactly where I’m going.’
‘Shame – my plan is foiled! No – I’m not going to kidnap you or bury you in my garden. I really do want to show you the kintsugi-inspired collection I’m working on.’
He stopped at the end of the lane. There was a door in the wall and he pulled out a key.
‘I always wondered who lived behind these walls!’ Sasha was thrilled. It felt as if they were about to enter a secret garden.
‘So now you know my secret . . .’
She giggled. ‘You’re masquerading as a man but actually you’re a hobbit? Hence the obsession with fantasy?’
Ben chuckled. ‘I do have slightly hairy feet.’ He unlocked the door and pushed it open. ‘Welcome to my hobbit hole . . .’
Sasha followed him through the door, trying not to think about Ben’s bare feet. That had somehow led to thinking about the rest of him being bare; heat flushed through her body.
They crossed a shaggy lawn studded with daisies and dandelions, flower beds bursting with leggy rose bushes, wild strawberries and raspberry canes. A large wooden shed stood in the corner. Ben unlocked a padlock.
‘I hope you realize I have a safe word I can text Klara right now,’ Sasha joked.
He pushed open the shed door. ‘Don’t worry – I haven’t had time to stock up on ropes and kidnapping equipment.’
Sasha felt herself blush. The word ‘ropes’ had planted a sexy image of a tied-up Ben in her brain.
She stepped inside the shed before he saw her red cheeks.
Sunlight shone through the tiny window, lighting up dancing dust motes and illuminating a workbench, covered with pieces of broken crockery, jars of powdered gold, resin and a jug of paintbrushes.
One bowl had been pieced back together and the fractured join decorated in gold glaze in abstract patterns.
‘I’m learning the old-fashioned way of sticking the pieces together with resin rather than chemicals. So they’ll be food safe and you can eat from them.’
‘This is gorgeous!’ Sasha held the bowl up to the light.
The shine of the golden glaze was like the flecks in Ben’s eyes as they shone with enthusiasm.
‘There’s something really satisfying about repairing broken objects.
’ His voice, low and sexy, was doing things to her insides.
‘It sounds silly but I kinda sympathize with the broken bits.’ He picked up a blue and green glazed shard.
It was curved, part of a bowl. He ran a finger along the jagged edge.
‘After I lost my job and Marissa threw me out, I felt pretty broken.’ He placed the piece down, his expression was slightly lost.
Before she could stop herself, Sasha squeezed his arm in sympathy. That touch unlocked something between them. Soon, his arm was round her waist, his warm, calloused fingers caressing her face, her neck, combing through her silky black hair. ‘Sasha . . .’ His voice was full of longing.
She relaxed like a cat, enjoying the sensations as he stroked her hair and cupped the back of her head. She was seconds away from sinking into his clasp, feeling his lips on hers.
No. This is wrong.
She tore herself away, stepping round the workbench, so it formed a barrier between them. ‘Please, Ben. This – isn’t real,’ she whispered. ‘My grandmother warned me this could happen. It’s just . . . transference.’
His voice was low, urgent. ‘Tell me you don’t feel it, this connection. And I’ll stop.’
Sasha did feel it. She knew Ben saw her, the real her. It scared her. Terrified her. So she shook her head and carried on lying. ‘It’s – just because we’ve been sharing what’s happened to us, our lives. There’s nothing else between us. There’s no – connection.’
His eyes shuttered and his posture stiffened. The open, vulnerable look was gone. ‘I’m sorry. My mistake. It won’t happen again.’
Tension balled in her chest and she had a sudden urge to cry. The distance between them felt like an ocean but she could sense his hurt. He’d let her in. He’d told her about his life, his worst fears. And now she was pushing him away.
He turned and walked out of the workshop.
Sasha hurried after him as he strode through the garden to the door in the wall.
‘Ben, please – this is my fault – I’ve given you the wrong idea – let me make it up to you.
’ She felt awful, jeopardizing his search for love.
He’d been hurt by his ex-fiancée. Now here she was, developing this – this fake closeness.
When she should have been working to find his perfect match, as she’d promised.
His face pale and strained, he unlocked the door at the back of the garden.
‘I’m sorry, Ben – I’m your matchmaker. These feelings – aren’t real. Text me if you still want a reading.’
She walked through the door, turning to wave, but he was already locking it behind her.