Clemmie looked at her great-great-grandmother’s recipe book. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever felt this nervous,’ she admitted, glancing at her friends. ‘I can’t believe it’s this evening.’
‘By the weekend, you’ll be the guest of honour at the royal garden party,’ Amelia said, her voice brimming with certainty.
‘Assuming I win,’ Clemmie replied. ‘I’m going to give it my best shot.’
Dilly waved her fork dramatically. ‘Oh, you’ll win. And when you do, there’s only one real dilemma.’
Clemmie raised an eyebrow. ‘Which is?’
‘What to wear to the royal garden party,’ Dilly declared. ‘Obviously!’
Amelia laughed. ‘You’ll need something showstopping. A chance to go shopping!’
Clemmie chuckled despite her nerves. ‘I hadn’t really thought about it, but you’re right… choosing an outfit actually feels as nerve-wracking as the competition itself!’
Amelia tilted her head, studying her friend. ‘You look like you haven’t slept for days.’
Clemmie gave a half-smile. ‘Not sure anyone would sleep well with this evening looming. But… I did have a little adventure, a night to remember, a couple of days ago.’
Dilly’s eyes sparkled with curiosity. ‘Adventure? On Puffin Island? Do tell!’
Clemmie hesitated, glancing towards the café door to ensure Betty was still busy in the pantry. ‘All right,’ she said, lowering her voice, ‘but you two have to promise not to tell a soul.’
Dilly gasped, placing her fork down with a clatter. ‘Is it that juicy? Spill, and don’t leave anything out!’
Clemmie leaned in slightly, her cheeks already tinged pink. ‘Oliver took me aboard the Royal Yacht.’
Amelia froze mid-sip, nearly choking on her coffee. ‘I’m sorry,what?’
Clemmie smiled, a dreamy look crossing her face. ‘We had dinner on board. Just the two of us. Served by a waiter. There were gold-plated forks, endless champagne, a string quartet and, get this, a kitchen that hasn’t been touched since World War One.’
Amelia’s jaw dropped. ‘You’re telling us that you’ve been off gallivanting on theRoyal Yachtwith Oliver Lockwood?’
Dilly leaned closer, practically vibrating with excitement. ‘Forget the kitchen, what about dessert? And by dessert, I mean…’ She cocked an eyebrow suggestively.
‘Dilly!’
Dilly smirked. ‘You totally did. Oh my gosh, you slept with him, didn’t you? On theRoyal Yachtof all places!’
‘I did not!’ Clemmie protested, her voice an octave higher than usual.
Amelia arched a sceptical eyebrow. ‘That pause says otherwise.’
‘I didn’t pause! And we didn’t,’ Clemmie clarified, exhaling. ‘We just… held each other. Like our lives depended on it. That’s all.’
Dilly sighed dramatically, leaning back in her chair. ‘That’s somehow even more romantic.’
‘It really is,’ Amelia agreed, taking a sip of her coffee. ‘That’s the kind of thing people write songs about.’
Clemmie smiled. ‘Look, I know how it sounds, but it wasn’t just about that night. We talked. Properly talked. He knows how much it hurt when he left without a word, and I know now that it wasn’t personal. It was just… him chasing his dream. We’ve put it to bed.’
Dilly softened. ‘Are you sure? Because last time, you were wrecked. I mean, the whole “I’m swearing off men” phase lasted a solid six months.’
‘I know,’ Clemmie admitted. ‘And I don’t regret it. But I understand now that his career, it’s part of him, just like the café and the island are part of me. He loves what he does, and I love what I do. It wasn’t about me then, and it’s not about me now. The timing was wrong before, and it’s still wrong.
‘He’s leaving for a year in the States, flying out right after the competition.’
Amelia reached across the table to squeeze her hand. ‘You okay?’
