“Oh. Good.”
“I’m doing this whole rebrand for Hallow-Hart Crackers, concentrating on Instagram because it’s such a visual medium. I thought I’d come at it from a kind of ‘lifestyle’ perspective, you know? Incorporate the family history and the surroundings. I’ve been getting some shots of the workshop and the gardens this morning. Honestly, looking at it with fresh eyes, it’s so pretty, it’s really magazine-worthy…”
“Well, somebody found their mojo this morning,” Warren said, with a chuckle.
Fred felt her cheeks burn with embarrassment. Was she being too much?
“Sorry,” she said, hating that she was apologizing even as she did so. Her excitement was slowly deflating like a tire that’s driven over a nail.
“Don’t be sorry, it’s great that you’re feeling so inspired. I’m only jealous because my own work life isn’t filling me with the joys right now. I think I need a break from all things work related.”
“Wait, didn’t you say you came down here to check out the vans for your article? We’re literally eating your research foryourwork.”
He grinned sheepishly. “You got me. It’s like I can’t switch off. All I can think about is getting the column. I’ve written, like, fifteen versions in different styles, and I still don’t know which is my voice. You were right, that’s my hook, that’s what’s going to get me the column, and that’s what’s going to sell the papers. I’ve tried being pithy like Giles Coren, and I’ve played around with a more comedic tone, but I’m not sure that’s it either. It’s so hard!” he exclaimed, biting another goujon in two.
“Stilltalking about work,” she teased.
“Shit.” He shook his head. “I’m sorry. What a dick.”
She laughed. “You said it, not me.”
“Sorry.” Warren was looking at her; a crinkle line of worry had taken up residence between his eyebrows. “I’m being a bore.”
“You’re not. You just really want the column, and that’s okay. It’s good to feel passionate about something.”
“Why don’t you show me your pictures for Insta,” he said, wiping his hands on a napkin.
“You don’t have to—”
“I know. I want to. I think you could be good for me, Fredricka, and I’d like to be good for you too.” He leaned over and kissed her gently on the lips and she tasted sea salt. “Now hand the phone over.” He grinned.
He had the gift of the gab, that was for sure. But even though she would hate her own previous relationships to be called in as evidence against her, she couldn’t help but wonder what had led to his divorce.
—
When the coldgot the better of them, Warren went back to the pub to work on his “voice,” and Fred headed home.
“Hey,” her mum called when she closed the front door.
“Hey, yourself,” Fred said, entering the kitchen and swiping a crisp from the packet Bella was holding. “Are the aunts holding down the hut?”
“Yes. I told them I didn’t mind doing the whole day, but you know what they’re like when they’ve got bees in their bonnets.”
“Aunt Aggie’s wrists seem to be giving her less pain.”
“Hmm, I’m not sure how much of that is down to healing and how much to Cam’s cannabis cookies.”
Fred, who had been about to open the biscuit tin, placed it back on the worktop just in case.
“Fancy helping me cracker?”
“I do. I need to talk to you about the marketing campaign. I don’t want to go ahead and start posting if you’re not comfortable with the direction I’m thinking of taking us.”
“We have a campaign?” asked Bella. “I don’t think we’ve ever had our own campaign before.”
Fred laughed, rolling her eyes. “It’s not that big a deal, Mum.”
“It is to me. I really appreciate all the work you’re putting into it.”
