I’m about to issue a very firm ‘no’, but before I can get the word past my lips they’re gone. How is it that teenagers can move at the speed of light when they try, but take three hours to walk from one room to another when you’ve asked them to do the dishes?
I scowl at Zack and say, “If I end up going on a date with an axe murderer, I’ll come back and haunt you.”
“I’d expect nothing less. Look, don’t worry – you don’t have to use it. But why not? I mean, I know how hard it is to take that step – but I meant what I said. You’re too young to write off that part of your life forever. Wouldn’t you be even the tiniest bit interested in meeting someone? It doesn’t have to be serious – it could just be fun.”
There are many flippant answers I could give him, and there is the very honest answer too – that he is the first man I’ve harboured such thoughts about since I lost my husband. That he is the first man I have looked at and imagined waking up with. Neither of them seems appropriate, so I settle for somewhere in between.
“I’ve never really considered it,” I say truthfully. “Life has indeed been very full, and Sophie actually has a point – this isn’t exactly a hotbed of social activity. I know everyone here, and I certainly wouldn’t want to snog any of them.”
“Snog! I love that word – makes me feel young again! But, if that’s the case, then maybe a dating app isn’t a bad idea. There are some really nice ones out there now.”
I scoff at the idea, hoping he’ll drop it. “How would you know? You apparently collect your women straight off the red carpet!”
“That doesn’t mean I haven’t looked. I have a profile on one, I just never engage with it. If you like, I’ll help you check it all out. Also, if you go on a date while I’m here, I could sneakily sit on the next table and make sure he’s not an axe murderer.”
“I’m not sure you can tell by looking. He might be one of those axe murderers where afterwards, everyone says they’re really shocked because he seemed so nice and volunteered at a dog shelter.”
“Well, okay – I can at least rescue you if you look really bored. Look, just give it some thought. You’ve told me about your friends here, and how much you’ve enjoyed seeing them get their happy endings – why don’t you think you deserve one yourself?”
He looks disgustingly sincere, and I hate the fact that I can’t poke any logical holes in what he’s saying.
“Aaaagh, shut up!” I say. “This is all too deep and meaningful, and I need to be thinking about Dover sole, not my love life!”
I slap my thighs and stand up. I leave him behind as I march over to the jukebox and scoot through the various playlists written on the paper cards. I find what I’m looking for and hit play.
I turn around, and watch Zack’s face as the opening drum beat ofTake On Meflows through the room.
“Come on then, Morten!” I shout over. “Let’s see what you’ve got!”
EIGHT
The Spring Feast goes off without a hitch, which is a big relief. People seemed to love the food, the wine, the whole event. I have a lot of repeat customers, but there were also some new faces – including a couple who got engaged on the night.
The young man took me to one side when they arrived and asked permission to propose, and I made sure there was some Champagne handy for when she said yes. He did the whole thing – down on one knee while the sorbet plates were still on the table. There was, obviously, a brief moment where I held my breath – it’d put a real dampener on things if she’d said no!
She didn’t, and they both seemed thrilled as the entire room broke out into applause and cheers. Zack had filmed the whole thing, as well as a few different moments during the evening when we were quiet. He had also asked permission, telling me he’d send whatever he got for me to use for marketing and social media.
I didn’t break the news to him that I don’t bother much with either, because I don’t really need to – I have a mailing list that is already thousands long, and these events could sell out ten times over every time. That seems rude and borderline smug to boast about, so I just say thank you. He is in his element when he’sdoing that, but he’s also a dab hand as a waiter, and having him here does turn out to be useful.
By the time everyone has left, back to their drive home or their accommodation, it’s almost midnight. I’ve stayed behind to finish the clean-up, because I always have an adrenaline rush after one of my events. It is, in its own way, a performance – and I am left with excess energy to burn off. Handy when you have a whole café to clear.
Zack stays with me, and we work in companionable silence apart from the music on the radio. Late night Motown classics, perfect to sing along to. By the time we’ve both belted out an off-pitch but enthusiastic version ofThe Tracks of My Tears, we’re both laughing. I close down the kitchen, switch off the lights, and we head outside. The girls have already gone back to the house, claiming exhaustion. You can’t get the staff these days.
It’s a clear night, a spring chill in the air but not even a flutter of a breeze. Zack stands on the patio and looks up at the sky. I follow his gaze, wondering what’s up there – but I soon realise it is the usual gorgeous display of stars. I forget, sometimes, how different it is here to London. There is so little light pollution that the stars seem to number in the thousands, shining like jewels.
“Wow,” he says eventually. “That is amazing. I’m not even going to try and take a picture of that.”
“Good. Just file the image in your mind instead.”
I realise as we stand there together, gazing at the constellations, that I am not tired enough to go to bed. If I go home, I’ll just end up sitting downstairs on my own, watching TV with the volume so low I can barely hear it. There is a way to put subtitles on but I can never figure it out – without my teenagers around, I am remote control challenged.
“Is the pub still open?” he asks, obviously thinking the same. “I know it’s almost one in the morning but for some reason I’m not tired enough to sleep yet.”
“Technically the inn isn’t open now, no, but you are a resident, and Jake won’t mind if we help ourselves and pay up tomorrow.”
“Will the door be locked? I only have a key to my room, not the building…”
“Ah, ye of little faith – of course the door won’t be locked! Just a little nightcap, maybe? I still feel a bit wired.”
