The torrential downpour had started, rain sleeting into both of their faces, and finally Alex answered. “That would be nice,” he said, and unable to keep a big, sloppy grin from spreading over her face, Lucy nodded and then they both began half-sprinting to the café, the rain now coming down in sheets, the dogs barking and frisking at their heels.
They tied the dogs up outside under the awning and headed into the warm café, picking a table near a rain-spattered window. Alex grabbed one of the menus and studied it so intently that Lucy had a feeling he regretted accepting her impulsive invitation. She sat down, hanging her coat on the back of her chair and unwinding what felt like a mile of multicolored scarf before reluctantly taking off her hat. She knew her hair was a mess, and as Alex looked up from the menu, she saw him glance at it and she grimaced.
“I must look like a clown. My hair goes really frizzy when it’s wet.”
“You look fine.” He spoke tersely, inspecting her for a second longer before looking back at the menu. At least it gave her a chance to study him. She let her gaze linger on his straight nose, that cleft chin. She wondered what his wife had looked like.Anna.She sounded dark and beautiful, Italian maybe. Someone who would tease him out of his grim moods, pull his ears and ruffle his hair and kiss him senseless.
A petite, dark-haired woman with a toddler perched on her hip approached the table, looking friendly but fairly harassed. Lucy wondered if she was related to Mary, the elderly woman with the flyaway hair and the heart condition. “What can I get you two?” she asked, hitching the little boy higher on her hip. He grabbed a strand of her hair and started winding it around his fist. She winced and drew his hand back. “Easy, Noah.”
Alex raised his eyebrows at Lucy. “What would you like?”
She ordered a latte and he had a black coffee, which seemed so predictable. Why couldn’t stern, sexy men order mochaccinos? The woman went back to the kitchen, the little boy now trailing after her. Lucy turned back to Alex. “So what brought you to Hartley-by-the-Sea?”
He tensed, looking almost trapped by what Lucy had meant to be an innocuous conversation opener. “The job, first of all,” he said finally. “But village life seemed appealing.”
“Yes, I think I have this rather ridiculous fantasy of life in an English village. I thought the lady at the post office shop would slip me chocolate buttons.”
“Too bad for you a man runs the post office shop.”
Lucy grinned. “Yes, I’ve met him.” Lucy was still nurturing hopes that Dan Trenton was more of a gentle giant, but her three forays into the shop had not yet won her more than a flat stare and her change. “So that really wrecks my fantasy, I guess,” she said.
“I don’t know. He might slip you a button or two.”
Which sounded kind of . . . flirtatious. “So what about village life was appealing to you?” Lucy asked.
He traced a coffee ring on the table, averting his gaze. “The whole package, I suppose. Community. Closeness.”
Lucy wondered if he would mention his wife, or if she should be the one to mention that she knew. Or, since this was such a small village, would he assume she knew? Should she say she was sorry to hear about his wife’s death? This was a whole new territory of uncertainty and awkwardness.
“So has the village met your expectations?” she finally asked, her tone a little too jolly, and Alex looked up with a surprisingly bleak smile.
“I don’t thinkI’vemet its expectations.”
Surprise jolted through her at this honest admission. “Why do you say that?”
He spread his hands flat on the table and stared down at them; there was something about the gesture that seemed both contemplative and lonely. “Work has taken up most of my life.”
“But as head teacher you’re giving back to the community,” Lucy pointed out. She felt she should really say something about his wife, or maybe he should.
He just shrugged and said, “I suppose.” Lucy opened her mouth to say something, althoughI know about your wifemade her sound like some bad TV detective. Then Alex spoke first. “What about you?” he asked. “You’re only here for four months, but what made you decide to come all the way to Cumbria?”
“Well.” She considered fobbing him off with the usualI wanted a changeand then decided she was tired of prevaricating. Alex had been surprisingly honest, so maybe she could be too. “My life in Boston kind of fell apart. Actually, there’s no ‘kind of’ about it. Completely fell apart is more accurate.”
“I’m sorry,” Alex said after a moment. “That’s always difficult.”
He spoke as if he understood what she was talking about and Lucy knew she couldn’t let the moment pass. “I’m sorry,” she blurted, and Alex arched an eyebrow. “About—about your wife.”
“Ah.” His mouth twisted in a rather grim smile. “You’ve heard.”
“One of the teachers told me she died a couple years ago.” He nodded, not seeming inclined to say anything more. “I’m sorry,” Lucy said again.
“So am I.”
Fortunately the woman brought their coffees, and Lucy was spared from making any more awkward condolences. Alex’s expression was back to the basilisk stare. She turned to the woman, who had the little boy—Noah—clinging to her legs as she struggled to put their coffee on the table. Lucy reached for her latte to help her. “Is Mary all right?” she asked, and thewoman jerked back a little in surprise, sloshing black coffee on the tray. Alex took the cup from her, mopping up the spilled coffee with a napkin.
“You know her?”
“My sister does. We came in here a week or so ago.”
