Stepping into the bustling kitchen, the heat of the stoves instantly enveloped her. The room was alive with the crackle of oil, and the smoky hint of toasting cumin. Stainless steel counters gleamed under the bright kitchen lights, and Josh’s whistling blended with the hiss of steam and the low hum of the extractor fan.
In the middle of it all, Kim was laughing – a lilting, flirty sound – as she leaned close to Ru, touching his arm lightly. Ru chuckled, meeting Kim’s gaze, as his hands neatly chopped a bunch of flat leaf parsley, but his attention was clearly elsewhere. Even the simmering pots seemed to echo the pair’s light-hearted mood, bubbling as though in on the joke. Fiona’s breathing became faster and shallower.
Across the kitchen, Josh glanced up from the sink, exchanging a smirk with George. Both men seemed amused. George shook his head with a grin as he unfolded a fresh apron and secured it round his ample waist. Fiona could tell the men found Kim’s flirtation entertaining, like some predictable kitchen show.Perhaps Ru viewed it thus, she mused. Missing his London stage, he was enjoying the opportunity to be the centre of attention.
But Fiona’s fingers tightened on the tray handles as she forced herself to ignore the twinge of jealousy. She set the tray down harder than she’d intended, thethunksharp against the softer kitchen sounds. The whistling stopped and Ru glanced up briefly. Quickly, Fiona looked away, hoping no one would comment. Forcing a calm expression, she carried the mugs to the dishwasher, but the playful laughter from the other end of the kitchen buzzed loudly in her ears.
She handed Josh the dirty crockery and walked towards the couple, her heart somersaulting at the sight of Kim stroking Ru’s arm. Fiona fought to keep her face neutral, but when she spoke, there was a wobble in her voice. ‘Ruben, sorry to disturb you, but Rose wants to see you in the staffroom.’
He gathered up the parsley, securing it between his fingers, then slid the knife up and down so fast the blade never seemed to lose contact with his board. He grunted but didn’t take his eyes off the herbs. ‘Now?’ he asked.
‘Yes. Now,’ she said, allowing irritation to seep into her tone. ‘She’s waiting.’
Nonchalantly, he scraped the parsley into a bowl, removed his apron and sauntered past Fiona without even casting a glance her way. Fiona only hoped he could portray the same indifference during his interview. Over by the serving counter, Ru picked up a brown paper bag.
‘For me?’ squeaked Kim, rushing toward him.
Ru chuckled. ‘For Rose.’
George raised his eyebrows. ‘Oh, yes? Have I got a rival?’
‘What is it?’ asked Fiona politely.
The bag rustled as Ru withdrew a pen. Attached to the top was a cluster of six-inch long powder blue ostrich feathers. ‘She’salways losing hers – I thought this might help.’
‘That, mate, is a beauty of a gift. She’s not gonna lose that one!’ said Josh.
Fiona smiled, recalling her bottle of perfume. Ru was generous with gifts and always so thoughtful. She hoped Kim appreciated those qualities as much as she had.
Fiona could smell baking pastry as she climbed the stairs up to Ru’s flat the next morning. Her mouth salivated, hoping it was croissants – Ru was a skilled pastry chef. The front door was ajar, and she pushed it wider. The warmth hit her, making her realize how cold she was after just the short walk from Ivy’s cottage; but in a few days’ time she would be in London and could retrieve her coat. In a corner of the room a suspended wood-burning stove glowed. How long had Ru been preparing for Morning Prayers? She wished she had reciprocated by drawing up a detailed agenda, but today there were only two topics she wanted to discuss: Ru’s interview, which she was sure he would tell her about; and whether there was something going on between him and Kim, which she knew wasn’t any of her business.
‘Hi Fi. Croissants will be ready soon. Take a seat.’ He gestured at the sofa, positioned for a view of the spectacular coast. She sat at one end. On the coffee table in front of her were napkins, plates and knives; she pulled one set towards her, then moved the other to the far end of the table. ‘How did your interview go?’ she asked.
Behind her, she heard the oven door open, followed by a snatch of the humming fan, before it snapped shut. Moments later, Ru was standing beside her, a tray of croissants in one hand, a pat of butter in the other. ‘This is made by a local dairy farmer. Just wait until you taste it. Expensive, but worth every penny. I’m trying to convince George to stock it,’ he said, theenthusiasm clear in his voice.
She reached for a warm pastry, golden, crisp and flaky. As she broke off a piece she watched the steam rise. Slathering on butter, she let it melt, remembering how in London he used to rely on her to judge new products, making her smell, then taste things and score them out of ten. She took a bite, tasting the cream, the tang of salt ... willing him to ask for her opinion. He was watching her face. She thought she detected a loving look in his eyes but knowing him, it could just as easily be for the butter, not her.
She swallowed her mouthful, taking her thoughts with the food. The butter was magnificent. Ru hadn’t asked for her opinion because he didn’t need it. In London, he had just been playing lip service to her skills. She broke off another piece of pastry, the comforting warmth a stark contrast to the dull ache settling in her chest.
‘I saw you.’ He spoke softly, the words more of a lament than a reproach. She glanced up. The sunlight danced through the window, accentuating the sharp line of his jaw and the slight curl of his hair. He looked effortlessly handsome in his well-fitted chef’s jacket, the fabric just snug enough to hint at the strong shoulders beneath. ‘Saw me?’ she queried.
Ru’s gaze was intense. ‘On the beach ... with Josh. Again. If you aren’t a couple, I don’t understand why you’d be out there with him,’ Ru said, his voice steady but edged with an unmistakable anxiety. He hadn’t taken a croissant, and the untouched tray of pastries sat in front of him like an accusation. ‘It’s not like you to go parading around the beach with a kitchen porter.’
Fiona’s stomach tightened. ‘We weren’t parading, Ru. We were talking about sparkling wines,’ she replied, trying to keep her tone light, but her heart raced under the weight of his scrutiny. ‘You know how passionate Josh is to learn.’
‘Passionate?’ Ru echoed, the word as sharp as a paring knife. ‘Is that what they’re calling it now?’
As she met his gaze. Heat rose to her cheeks, ‘You know I would—’
‘Would what?’ he interrupted, leaning forward slightly, his voice low but fierce.
‘I was just—’
‘Just what?’ he shot back, the jealousy simmering just beneath the surface. ‘Just enjoying the view? Just catching up on old times? Oh no, wait, you can’t have been doing that because you’ve only known him for about two minutes.’
His bitterness stung. The silence roared louder than any words could, a warning as sharp as a scream, charged with unspoken emotions. Fiona looked down at her plate, tracing the outline of her croissant with a finger, caught in a whirlwind of memories and unspoken feelings. She ached to reach up, grasp his hand and reassure him it had only ever been him, but those hands weren’t hers to hold anymore. That privilege belonged to another woman. It didn’t really matter what he thought she was doing on the beach with Josh. She and Ruweren’ta couple anymore. She must accept it and so must he.
‘It was just a date,’ she said, forcing the words out. ‘You don’t have to make it sound like ...’
