Oliver followed her gaze, a soft smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. ‘If it’s the same one, it’s probably here to remind you who the real competition is. Forget the judges; you’ll have to keep an eye on that bird.’
Clemmie giggled, grateful for the lighter turn the conversation had taken. She faced Oliver, her smile fading just slightly as she said, ‘You’ve got your adventure waiting for you inAmerica. Big opportunities, amazing chefs, endless possibilities. I’m happy for you, I really am.’
He studied her face, as if trying to read between the lines of her words. ‘But?’
‘But,’ she admitted, her voice quieter now, ‘there’s a tiny part of me that will miss you, too.’
‘Only a tiny part?’
‘That’s all you’re getting.’ She bumped her shoulder playfully against his.
‘You’re wearing the earrings,’ he said, reaching his hand to touch one gently, his touch steady. ‘Right person, wrong time,’ he repeated.
Clemmie blinked back the tears threatening to spill. She forced a wobbly smile, determined not to let him see how much his words affected her. ‘Maybe one day we’ll get it right,’ she said softly.
Oliver’s gaze lingered on hers. ‘Let’s hope so,’ he replied, with an unmistakable thread of sincerity that sent a shiver down her spine.
At that moment, the puffin, still perched on its rock, let out a loud, almost comically timed moo, breaking the tension like a cheeky spectator unwilling to be ignored. Both of them turned towards the bird, whose beady eyes glinted with mischief.
Oliver chuckled, the sound rich and grounding. ‘Even the bird’s rooting for you today.’
Clemmie smiled, grateful for the diversion. ‘As long as it doesn’t follow me and stick its head right in the middle of my baking.’
‘I wouldn’t put it past it,’ Oliver replied, his eyes crinkling with amusement. Then he stood, brushing off his hands. ‘I’ll see you at the yacht.’
Before she could respond, his expression softened and he slowly, deliberately, leaned in and brushed a kiss against her cheek.
He pulled back slightly but lingered close, his eyes locked with hers. Time seemed to stretch, the distant crash of the waves and the puffin’s intermittent moos fading into the background. Clemmie held her breath as she tilted her head ever so slightly, closing the gap between them. Her lips met his in a kiss that was tender yet firm, a silent acknowledgement of what they both felt but couldn’t quite grasp.
Then, just as gently as he’d leaned in, Oliver pulled away. His eyes lingered on hers for a heartbeat longer, as if memorising the moment. He stood up and Clemmie’s heart ached as she watched him walk away. She stayed where she was, rooted to the spot on the cliff top. The puffin mooed again as Clemmie wrapped her arms around her knees and tried to focus on the competition.
The kitchen of The Café on the Coast was a whirlwind of movement as Betty bustled around, muttering to herself. Her eyes darted to the clock on the wall before landing on Clemmie, who had just walked through the door.
‘Where have you been?’ Betty demanded, her tone flustered but tinged with relief. ‘I thought I’d have to send out a search party! You’ve been gone for hours!’
Clemmie offered an apologetic smile, brushing a strand of hair from her face. ‘I went up to the rock. I just wanted to touch base with everyone. You know, see if Beatrice had any last-minute tips for me.’
Betty’s expression softened instantly, her exasperation melting into affection. She walked over and pulled Clemmie intoa hug, her sturdy arms wrapping around her granddaughter in that uniquely comforting way only she could manage.
‘Everyone would be so proud of you,’ she said. ‘And if Beatrice was here, I reckon she’d tell you to trust your instincts and to make sure you use enough butter. She always said that was the key to a good bake!’
Clemmie laughed, the tension in her shoulders easing as she held onto her grandmother. ‘Thanks, Granny. I needed to hear that.’
Betty stepped back, giving her a once-over before nodding approvingly. ‘Let’s get you some dinner before we head down to the bay.’
An hour later Clemmie reached for the worn leather-bound recipe book.
‘Ready?’ she asked her grandmother.
She glanced at Betty, who smiled, smoothing down her favourite dress, a vibrant floral number she reserved for special occasions. ‘Ready as I’ll ever be. I didn’t get all dolled up for nothing! Do you know how long it took me to find my good handbag?’
Clemmie laughed, and together they made their way out of the café and towards the bay, where Amelia and Dilly were waiting. Betty clutched her ticket to the competition like it was a golden pass to Eldenbridge Palace, her excitement bubbling over as she adjusted her dress for the hundredth time.
Puffin Island was alive with excitement. The cobbled street leading to the bay was a riot of colour and noise, with friends and neighbours lining the road. Homemade banners bearingClemmie’s name fluttered in the breeze, and cheerful shouts of encouragement echoed around them.
‘Go get ’em, Clemmie!’ shouted Pete, the retired vet and Betty’s best friend, waving his cap in the air.
‘Make us proud!’ called Verity, who was standing next to Sam and the rest of the staff from The Sea Glass Restaurant.
