“You know what I mean. He’s a highflyer who’s going places…”
“He’s no great shakes, Fred, he’s just another prick with an ego.”
“You’re right. God, I have terrible taste in men; present company excluded.”
“Well, a lot of people are excited about having the food of Pine Bluff in the paper, so he was good for something at least.”
“If he gets the job. He let me read his article; he’s a good writer.”
Ryan pulled a face. “I know he charmed the pants off most people, but I never liked the cut of his jib.”
“You don’t say,” she said, archly.
“I didn’t trust him before he upset you, I certainly don’t trust him now.”
“I’m not sure that’s fair; his attitude just sent me back to a bad place and I freaked out.” She was still embarrassed about having been so affected by him.
“We’ve argued a hundred times over the years, and it’s never once caused you to have a panic attack.”
“That’s because I know I’m safe with you.”
“Good,” he said, taking the bowls from the crate-table to serve up. “I’m glad that you know that.”
He ladled the fish stew into bowls and placed them down on the table. The gentle bobbing motion caused the lamps to sway and the wine to lap against the sides of their glasses.
Fred dipped her spoon in the steaming stew and blew on it before taking a mouthful. It was delicious: savory with celery and onions, sweet with white wine, and salty with seafood. “Mmm, this is wonderful! I didn’t know you could cook.”
He eyed her. “I would hazard there are a lot of things we don’t know about each other.”
“True,” she said, dunking her bread in the fragrant broth. “I didn’t know I’d been drinking your coffee for the last three years, until I came home.”
“Well, there you are. I’m looking forward to mining all your secrets.” His tone was seductive, and she swallowed hard.
This was a side of Ryan she had never seen before—and boy was she here for it. She realized she’d been holding a spoonful of stew mid-air without delivering it to her mouth.
“Who”—her voice came out as a squeak, and she cleared her throat—“who taught you cook?”
“I did. When I was starting the business and didn’t have disposable income for eating out, I realized that if I wanted to eat good food, I was going to have to learn to cook it.”
“Was it tough to begin with? Financially, I mean.”
Fred used an empty mussel shell to pluck a juicy morsel from another one and then discarded the shell in the handy bowl in the middle of the table.
“It was.” Ryan ate a spoonful of stew. “I’d managed to get a small business loan from the bank, and I had a bit of money saved, but it didn’t go far. My parents offered to help me out, cover the loan repayments for a few months while I found my feet, but I couldn’t take money from them; they already work hard enough, without financing me as well. Plus, as you know, I’m the baby of the family, and my brothers never let me forget it. I needed to prove that I could make it on my own.”
“I bet Martha still tried to help, though.”
He smiled. “Of course she did. Every now and then, a Tesco food delivery would just randomly turn up.”
“That’s sweet.”
“That’s mums for you,” Ryan said, fondly.
“Yeah, I guess it is.” She smiled to herself as she buttered another slice of bread, recalling the myriad ways her ownmum had shown up for her—even when she hadn’t wanted her to—and felt thankful for her tenacity.
“And now your parents are on the Coast Roast books. What’s that going to be like, after doing it by yourself for so long?” she asked.
“I think it’ll be good. They don’t want to get involved with the day-to-day running, it’s more of an investment for them really. Hopefully,” he added, touching the wooden crate for luck. “And it’s nice to be able to run ideas past them. Now that the business is established, I feel more comfortable having them on board. There are still financial risks, but fewer than when I was a novice. I think the offer from Crema has helped to boost my confidence.”
