Chapter 34
The rest of the afternoon, Sasha was jittery, unable to relax. She served people with an extra wide smile. Her laugh was too loud. Her swipes of the countertop too wide.
She couldn’t help her stomach flipping at the thought of Ben in her flat. It’s just nerves, she told herself. She was worried she might not be able to read him. She couldn’t admit how much she’d missed him.
And now she’d had time to think, should she really have invited him into her personal space? When he’d assumed the reading would be in her flat, and suggested he bring dinner, she’d been quick to agree. But maybe it wasn’t such a good idea.
Stop overthinking. It was just dinner between friends. Or rather, dinner with a client who she owed a proper matcha reading. She’d promised to help him find a match; she owed him his Matcha Maker Special. That was all.
The doorbell rang at exactly 7.30 p.m. and the butterflies in her stomach fluttered into overdrive.
She’d managed to have a quick shower and change into shorts and a floaty top that was lovely and cool in the heat.
But now he was here, it suddenly felt too skimpy.
It revealed her bra straps and a sliver of midriff.
She hadn’t put on much make-up. She didn’t want to look as if she was trying too hard, so she’d just slicked on a tinted lip balm and her usual cat-eye liner.
‘Hey.’ She answered the door, with a wide grin. ‘Come in!’
Ben smiled and looked just as nervous. He smelled of citrus shower gel and his hair was still damp and sticking up. He looked younger, in long, khaki shorts and a fresh T-shirt. He slipped his trainers off at the door and followed her upstairs.
He held up a brown-paper bag. ‘I brought fresh pasta and stuff to make a sauce from the deli. You must be hungry. I bet you’ve not had time to eat properly.’
‘Mmm – I love fresh pasta, and you’ve reminded me that I’m starving.’
‘I can cook first, and we can do the reading after?’
‘Great!’ Sasha led the way to her kitchen. She opened cupboards and drawers, getting out a knife, chopping boards and a couple of pans.
Ben squeezed in behind her. There was only a metre square of floor area and he seemed to take up most of the space.
He placed the bag of groceries on the counter.
She sensed him standing close. Breathed in his scent of citrus mixed with a hint of clean sweat.
Turning, she saw the line of his jaw smack bang in front of her, his Adam’s apple moving as he swallowed.
She was ultra-aware of his tall, muscled body, in the tiny space.
Goosebumps flickered over her arms. She moved to the left to get out of his way and he moved the same way.
She stepped the other way and he did too.
A small sound burst out of her throat, half laugh, half gasp.
He quirked one side of his lips. Those dimples flaring awake. An apologetic laugh.
‘Can I do anything to help?’ she asked, her voice suddenly husky.
He shook his head. ‘No – you do enough – I’m sure you haven’t stopped serving people all day.’
He was just a friend – strike that – a client. He’d brought dinner to be polite. Nothing to feel weird about. He was just being considerate.
He’d thought about her being hungry. He’d chosen the food he could cook for her.
She couldn’t help what she felt about that – it turned an area in her chest all gooey.
It would be so easy to slip into becoming more than friends with Ben.
Even squashed up in her tiny kitchen, she liked having him in her space.
It felt – comfortable. She had to keep reminding herself why her feelings were a mistake.
‘Do you – er – do you have everything that you need?’ She gestured to the pans, the chopping board.
‘I think so, yes – go and sit in the living room and relax – there’s a bottle of red, if you’d like a glass of wine?’
‘Not until after the reading. Alcohol interferes with my psychic intuition.’
‘Sure. I won’t drink until afterwards too. Although I’ll definitely need one later.’ He grinned. ‘Or maybe a few. I’ve a whole day tomorrow, doing pottery with kids. I’m glad Leo offered to help.’
‘Do you – like children?’ Why did she ask him that? A rather leading question.
‘Kids are great – I’m just not used to their energy.’
She’d noticed him waving to children in the café before. He’d pushed a toy car back to a toddler with a vroom. It was one of the first things she’d noticed about him in the café, which made her think he was more than just the grouch who’d hated getting wet.
He rolled up his sleeves and she noticed – again – how lovely his forearms were. Toned and scattered with freckles and a light dusting of dark hair.
She hovered by the doorway, mesmerized, as he crushed garlic, chopped onions, tomatoes and peppers. The most delicious garlicky smell filled the kitchen. Her stomach rumbled loudly, making them both laugh. ‘Bet you’ve hardly stopped to eat today,’ he said.
She nodded. ‘Chloé’s reels have been too successful. All her thousands of followers seem to be descending on Bramleigh Green at once. The café was full today. I’m sure some of them will have signed up for your pottery workshops.’
She didn’t mention Chloé’s posts of him in his work shed. Ben wasn’t on Instagram so he wouldn’t have seen them. She flushed as she remembered the thousands of likes and comments, such as, ‘Who’s the hot guy?’, ‘He’s good with his hands!’ and .
‘It’s ready,’ said Ben, taking the pan of pasta off the stove. He drained it in the colander, tipped it back into the pan and stirred in the fresh tomato sauce.
Sasha picked up plates and forks and led the way into the living room, where she unfolded the small circular dining table.
‘Wow – what a great view!’ Ben put the pan on a heatproof mat on the table and gazed out of the bay windows.
Of course. The last time he’d been here, it had been dark.
The night he’d kissed her. Sasha shivered at the memory.
She quickly focused on the view outside too.
The green was filled with stalls, and people were still milling around, stall holders arriving to arrange their products ready for the next day.
‘I’m so lucky living right here. Come, let’s sit.’
He lowered his tall frame into the rickety dining chair and Sasha sat opposite and dished out the pasta.
She took a forkful of tagliatelle and slurped. ‘Sorry!’ She giggled.
‘Hey – it’s a compliment to slurp!’ He slurped a forkful too. They both burst out laughing.
‘Mmm – this is amazing – so fresh, and garlicky.’
At least we’re both eating garlic. Not that Sasha was expecting to taste it on him. Not at all. They weren’t going to kiss tonight. Or not ever again. But even sitting across from each other, they’d smell each other’s breath.
‘I never asked how it’s going with Eleanor. Did you manage to negotiate the lease renewal?’
Tears prickled behind her eyes. ‘Sorry – must be the onion fumes.’ But a sob escaped.
‘Hey, hey – what’s the matter?’ Ben grabbed a box of tissues from the coffee table.
‘Sorry – I couldn’t afford it in the end. I thought – with the increased business lately – that maybe I could have. But the deadline was the end of April and Eleanor wouldn’t extend it. This will be the last weekend the café will be open.’
It was a relief to tell someone. She’d been keeping it to herself. Normally she would at least have told Klara, but they hadn’t been speaking properly until today.
‘What?’ Ben looked shocked. ‘I can’t believe it – when it’s your dream. I thought Eleanor would give you more of a chance. How disappointing for you. For everyone.’
His sympathy made her eyes brim again. She quickly wiped her face and blew her nose.
‘I don’t want to give up the café. But it feels like fate, in a way.
It’s pushing me away. I can still get my matcha-reading business going.
That doesn’t need to be over too. I have a website now and I can advertise for new clients on social media.
I just made a new booking today.’ From Chloé’s follower who wanted to meet a hot guy like Ben.
And I’ll still have to leave Bramleigh Green. She didn’t want to move back home to her parents’ house, but there was no way she’d be able to pay rent on a flat with just the income from the matchmaking.
They’d eaten all the pasta by then. Sasha cleared the plates and Ben followed with the pan.
He ran hot water into the sink and washed up while she grabbed a tea towel and dried.
The two of them doing domestic chores together felt slightly weird, but in a good way.
If only she could stay in the flat. She could see them becoming real friends.
Friends – who was she kidding? She longed for him to pull her to him again, press his lips on hers. She remembered the taste of his mouth. Strawberries, chocolate and champagne. This time they’d both be tasting of tomato and garlic but they wouldn’t care, their tongues sliding, hot and wet . . .
She knew it hadn’t been a great idea to ask him up to her flat. It was getting harder and harder for her to remember that he was her client. And that these lustful feelings could be purely a result of him confiding in her.