Stalemate.
Clemmie watched as Oliver walked over to the recipe book, and then it hit her, a faint but unmistakable whiff of his aftershave, a blend of cedar and citrus, so achingly familiar. That scent had clung to her clothes after their time together, lingering long after she’d left London. It brought back memoriesof lazy mornings, tangled sheets and the way he’d leaned close to whisper something ridiculous in her ear just to make her laugh.
‘Is this the legendary torte, the one you spoke about in London?’ he said, looking at the page in the book. ‘Wasn’t it your great-great-grandmother’s recipe? Beatrice? Dating back to just after the war.’
She was surprised he’d remembered.
‘Maybe,’ Clemmie said, turning back to her ingredients in an attempt to regain her composure. ‘It’s sure to be a hit… if I can manage to bake it without destroying the kitchen first.’
Oliver glanced at the flour-strewn counter and the streaks on her face. ‘It’s going well so far, I see.’
‘Don’t you have somewhere else to be?’ she asked, grabbing a clean bowl and a whisk.
‘Nope.’ He leaned against the counter, clearly settling in for the long haul. ‘I thought I’d come and see you as I was up. I was woken early by the sound of the gulls and what I thought were cows outside my window.’
‘That’ll be the puffins mooing.’
He nodded. ‘Anyway, I thought I’d walk out and see what Puffin Island is all about. After all, I’ve heard so many things about this place.’
‘When I told you about my wonderful hometown you thought it couldn’t possibly be how I described it. In fact, you said something along the lines of “places like that only exist in fairytales”.’
Their eyes met and, for a moment, the unspoken memory hung between them. Clemmie wondered if he remembered exactly where that conversation had taken place. They’d been lying in bed in his Kensington apartment, the late-morning sun spilling through the curtains, the hum of the city filtering in through the open window. They’d just shared the kindof languid, unhurried sex that left her grinning and a little breathless.
She’d got up to make coffee, carefully crafting the foam into a swirled heart that had earned an approving smile from him. They’d spent the next hour in bed, sipping coffee, legs tangled together, as he asked her questions about Puffin Island. It had been the first time he’d shown more than a passing interest in her world, and the memory still lingered, golden and bittersweet.
‘Are you going to make me a coffee?’ he asked.
He’d remembered.
‘I assume you still have high coffee standards.’
‘Very high.’
Clemmie turned towards the coffee machine. As she ground the beans, she couldn’t resist sneaking a glance at him over her shoulder. He was casually leaning his elbow against the counter, giving her that very same look that got her into bed in the first place. The machine hissed and steamed, and Clemmie poured the coffee once it was ready and slid it towards him. ‘Freshly brewed. No frills.’
He peered into the mug with exaggerated disappointment, raising an eyebrow. ‘No coffee art?’
‘It’s coffee,’ she said flatly, caught off guard.
‘Exactly,’ he said with mock-seriousness. ‘I was hoping for one of those hearts.’
She grabbed a spoon and leaned over the counter, swirling the foam into a heart, then looked at him before breaking it in two.
‘I’m getting the impression you aren’t happy to see me.’ He looked down at the mug and blew on it before swirling the foam into a heart shape once more, a grin spreading across his face. ‘That’s more like it. The pieces are back together. I know youwant to smile, Clemmie, I can see it in your eyes.’ He gave her that lopsided grin that had always melted her heart.
Damn. Her heart was telling her to smile but thankfully her head kicked in and she resisted the impulse.
‘Those dimples of yours were always very cute.’
She remembered him kissing them every time she smiled. ‘I have baking to be getting on with. Are you going to leave?’
He held up his coffee mug. ‘Maybe after I finish my coffee.’
The way he was looking at her, things were about to get a whole lot more complicated…
Chapter Five
Clemmie cracked the eggs into the bowl, but as she whisked, she couldn’t help stealing a glance at Oliver out of the corner of her eye. He looked entirely too comfortable, his shirt sleeves rolled up, his grin softening into something that made her stomach flip in a way she didn’t want to admit.
