‘Same thing.’
‘It’s not the same thing. It’ll be a quick catch-up with an old friend – not a date.’
‘Old friend, my peachy backside! He was your boyfriend.’
‘Wasbeing the operative word. That was years ago.’
‘You were in love with him.’
‘I might have been, but I’m not now.’
‘Why do you think he asked you out?’
Beatrice didn’t see the point in correcting Lisa again on the date front; instead, she said, ‘For old time’s sake.’
‘Just be careful that old times don’t becomenewtimes.’
‘I’m not that daft. Anyway, I’ve heard he won’t be in Picklewick long.’
‘It doesn’t take long,’ Lisa pointed out, then her voice softened. ‘I don’t want to see you hurt, that’s all.’
‘I won’t be. It’s just a coffee with an old friend,’ she reiterated.
‘You keep telling yourself that.’
‘Don’t worry, I will. I’m not going to let Mark Stafford into my heart a second time.’
‘That’s the problem,’ Lisa said. ‘I don’t think he ever left it.’
And although Beatrice scoffed at the idea, she had a suspicion her friend was right. Hehadbeen her first love, and did first love ever truly die…?
CHAPTER FOUR
Mark hesitated outside the cafe. It hadn’t changed much and seeing it brought back a rush of memories. It whispered of summer afternoons after school, drinking ice-cold Cola, and winter ones sipping marshmallow-topped hot chocolates. And many of them had been with Bea by his side. This cafe was the embodiment of his youth, his salad days as Shakespeare had so eloquently put it. He had been green in judgement, indeed. But wasn’t everyone at that age?
As the memories flooded back, Mark wondered how good an idea it was to invite Beatrice for a coffee. She’d clearly been reluctant, and to be honest, he wasn’t entirely sure why he’d asked her. It had been a spur-of-the-moment thing, his mouth freewheeling down the road before his brain was in gear.
‘Get over yourself,’ he muttered. This was merely a chat and a coffee with an old friend. What was the harm in that?
With a deep breath, he pushed the door open and went inside. The bell above tinkled as the rich aroma of roasted beans filled his nose. The cafe was surprisingly busy, and although he was a few minutes early, Beatrice was already waiting for him.
She sat at a table in the corner, as though she was hiding away, and was fiddling with a packet of sugar, her eyes downcast. Behind him, the bell jangled again, but she didn’t look up until he reached the table and paused.
‘Hey,’ he said.
‘Hi.’ She didn’t smile. Her eyes were huge, her lashes long and dark, and he realised she was wearing make-up.
‘Have you ordered?’ he asked.
‘Not yet.’
‘What can I get you? A hot chocolate?’
She nodded. ‘With marshmallows?’
‘Absolutely! You can’t have hot chocolate without marshmallows.’
‘No…’ She trailed off, her attention returning to the packet of sugar.
