‘Hey, don’t do that!’ he said, carefully lifting her down. For a moment she felt like a child as his strong arms effortlessly moved her to the floor – it was both comforting and frustrating.
‘But it won’t shut up.’
Charlie snorted a laugh. ‘Because something’s burning.’ He poked his head around the kitchen door. ‘What’s burning?’
‘Well, jam. Obviously.’ She resisted the urge to roll her eyes. If she was in the kitchen then there was always jam burning. She had spent the last few evenings getting her market stall back on track. After the accident she’d drifted for a while, but she had no time for drifting if she wanted to have something to sell. Charlie hadn’t had the heart to say no to her using his food-hygiene-approved kitchen, so she’d been making the most of the facilities.
Charlie was quick to take the giant pan off the heat. ‘Don’t do that,’ she said, her voice laden with frustration. ‘Now it’ll never set. It’s strawberry.’ She had quickly learned this was a tricky jam to make.
He wafted a tea towel under the smoke alarm and it finally stopped. Charlie joined Regan in the kitchen and they both stared into the pan. ‘Is it meant to be black?’
‘No.’ She was tired and beginning to feel a bit grumpy. ‘I think I need to face the fact that I’m utter shite at jam making.’
‘I think that’s a little harsh …’ She gave him a challenging look. ‘Maybe you just need more practice?’Why was he always so bloody positive?
‘I’ve been practising for days and I actually think I’m getting worse.’
‘Now you’re being defeatist. Think how much you’ve learned,’ he said.
‘I’ve learned that I’m utter shite at making jam.’ Regan pulled off her apron and threw it on the worktop in defeat.
‘Let me have a shower and I’ll see if I can give you a hand.’
‘You? Making jam?’ At least it made her smile.
‘Why not?’ asked Charlie, straightening his back as if in challenge.
She gave a shrug. ‘Don’t rush the shower – this’ll take some chipping off,’ she said, pointing at the jam pan.
An evening making jam with Charlie was both brilliant and annoying. He followed the instructions to the letter, and already his batch of strawberry and black pepper jam was looking a whole lot more edible than hers.
‘This is really fun,’ he said, stirring the jam.
‘Yeah. Wait till it gets to the volcanic spitting stage – it gets a whole lot less fun really quickly.’
Regan hovered over the pan with the thermometer and when it started to bubble she held it in the lava-like substance. Her fingers quickly heated up, which they always did, and she gritted her teeth in anticipation of the splatter of jam that would inevitably target her.
‘Er, shouldn’t you have gloves on?’
‘Can’t hold it – the oven gloves are too thick.’ She was slightly insulted that he thought she hadn’t considered this. She wasn’t completely stupid.
‘I was thinking the rubber gloves. They’ll protect you, and they have grippy finger tips.’
Okay, that was a good idea. Grippy finger tips … who was he? Mary Berry in disguise?
Regan donned the rubber gloves and resumed holding the thermometer. It did make a difference. At least she wasn’t wincing every time the jam spluttered – which was a lot.
Their heads were close together as they watched the temperature rise. When it hit the required number, Charlie began timing it on his watch. She noticed the flex in his muscled forearm. He wasn’t a very muscly person, but he was clearly strong. She wasn’t a fan of chiselled abs, but there was something reassuring about a man with understated strength.
‘Regan?’ said Charlie, as if this was about the third time he’d said it, which it probably was, because she’d been miles away contemplating the merits of a strong man.
‘Yes.’ She almost stood to attention.
‘This is a mindful opportunity. Close your eyes for a second and breathe in the smell.’
Charlie leaned his head a little closer to hers and she closed her eyes.A kiss right now would be quite nice, she mused. The kiss didn’t materialise, so she did as he suggested. Focusing all her attention on the smell, she got a whiff of freshly washed man mixed with strawberries, which was both delicious and slightly arousing – she’d never look at strawberry jam in quite the same way again.
‘Why don’t you get the plate out of the fridge so we can test it and see if it’s set? Then you can line the jam jars up on the worktop.’ And the moment was gone.
