Clemmie mouthed at Oliver, ‘Over the top, what are you doing?’ She watched as her granny all but melted under Oliver’s praise, her sharp edges softening completely. Betty adjusted her apron and brushed a stray lock of hair from her face, clearly lapping up every word.
Oliver winked at Clemmie, who immediately rolled her eyes.
‘Well, you’ve got a way with words, I’ll give you that,’ Betty said, her eyes twinkling. ‘I can see why you’re a presenter.’
Oliver chuckled. ‘It’s not just presenting, Betty, I’m also a food journalist. I’ve spent years travelling the world, tasting, writing, learning the incredible stories behind the dishes people create. And I can see there are plenty of stories right here in this café. It’s a treasure trove of tradition and heart.’
Betty preened herself at the compliment, but before she could respond, Oliver added with a charming grin, ‘Speaking of food, though, I must admit, I’m feeling a bit peckish.’
‘Well, we’re not open yet,’ Clemmie cut in quickly, hoping to put a stop to whatever he was about to suggest.
Betty waved her off dismissively. ‘Nonsense,’ she declared. ‘If you’re hungry, I’ll whip you up something myself. A proper full English. It’s nothing fancy, mind you, but it’ll stick to your ribs.’
‘Granny!’ Clemmie exclaimed, her mouth falling open in disbelief.
Looking like the cat who got the cream, Oliver shot Clemmie a mischievous glance before turning back to Betty. ‘That sounds absolutely perfect,’ he said. ‘You’ve already convinced me this is the best café on the island so I can’t wait to taste the proof.’
Betty beamed, clearly thrilled at the chance to show off her culinary skills. She bustled around the kitchen, taking the sausages and bacon out of the fridge. ‘Black pudding?’ she asked.
‘My favourite, Betty! You are a superstar!’
Clemmie stood frozen, her mouth agape as Oliver sat down at the kitchen table, his grin growing wider by the second.
‘Why are you trying to get Granny on side?’ Clemmie muttered, shooting him a glare.
‘What can I say?’ Oliver replied, his tone maddeningly self-satisfied. ‘I’ve always had a way of charming the locals.’
Clemmie shook her head in disbelief as she watched Betty throw herself into preparing the impromptu meal. Oliver had managed to waltz into their lives and, in mere minutes, win over the toughest critic on Puffin Island.
‘Don’t look so cross, Clemmie,’ Oliver added in a low voice meant just for her. ‘Your granny is wonderful.’
As Betty hummed a tune and began to sizzle the sausages, she looked over at Clemmie, ‘Would you set the table and make Oliver a drink?’
‘Another coffee with one of those swirly hearts would be great!’ he replied, clearly enjoying every second of Clemmie’s discomfort.
‘Tell us all about the Royal Yacht. Will the island’s residents get a tour?’ Betty looked over her shoulder as Clemmie placed cutlery on the table in front of Oliver.
‘I’m not sure, Betty, but I can always ask the question.’
‘Our Clemmie’s going to win that competition, you mark my words. She’s been baking since she could hold a whisk, haven’t you?’
‘Granny!’
‘Little Clemmie OBE.’
‘Granny!’ Clemmie repeated.
‘OBE?’ queried Oliver. ‘Have you got an OBE?’
‘OBE… Order of the Baking Empire. Mark my words, one day.’ Betty looked pleased with herself.
‘I see what you did there, very clever,’ said Oliver.
‘Here you go,’ said Betty, putting the plate of food down in front of him with a flourish. ‘You’ll want to get that on your social media. It’s the best full English breakfast you’ll taste for miles.’
‘I’m in no doubt. How much do I owe you?’ he asked.
‘It’s on the house,’ declared Betty.
