‘And that’s why you are my friend.’
‘Do you think they’re actually together?’ asked Amelia.
Clemmie shrugged. They watched Oliver and Fiona glide towards the bar, turning more than a few heads in the process.
Clemmie focused hard on her wine, willing herself not to look. But Oliver’s laugh, a low, familiar rumble, drifted across the room, making her stomach flip.
‘Okay, I hate to say it,’ Amelia said, leaning in, ‘but he’s ridiculously hot. Like, unfairly hot. Why the hell didn’t you travel the world with him?’
Clemmie shot her a glare. ‘Because I have a business, and family is more important. And if he’d really cared about me, he would’ve come to find me long before now. He’s only here now because of his job. I hope he doesn’t see me.’ Clemmie’s eyes drifted back towards the bar. Oliver was leaning casually against it, sharing something that made Fiona laugh. As he looked around the pub, Clemmie looked away, making sure she didn’t make eye contact. Her stomach sank. Of course, it wasn’t enough that Oliver had shown up out of nowhere with someone new. No, he had to bringher… a woman whose entire brand revolved around being infuriatingly perfect.
‘Out of everyone in the competition I guess he was bound to know her. They both live in Kensington so probably occupy the same circles.’
‘I suppose we should have realised that she was going to be coming to the island at some point. After all, the baking competition is happening here.’
‘It never crossed my mind that Oliver could be covering the event. I thought he’d still be swanning around on the other side of the world.’
‘So you admit you’ve thought about him then?’ teased Amelia, with a smirk on her face.
‘Possibly, from time to time… Okay, more than I’d like to admit.’
Three years ago she’d stalked his social media on a daily basis but as soon as she saw a photo of him with another woman she willed herself to be strong and stop looking. Still, there wasno denying that he had flashed through her mind from time to time… and still did. At that moment, Oliver and Fiona moved away from the bar, their drinks in hand, and made their way to a table near the centre of the room, close enough for Clemmie to see them but far enough to make eavesdropping impossible.
Clemmie kept her eyes firmly on her glass, whilst Amelia gave her a running commentary. ‘He’s now leaning back in his chair, looking maddeningly at ease. Fiona is scrolling through her phone, seemingly oblivious to anything beyond her Instagram feed.’
‘She’s probably posting something about how rustic and charming this place is, while secretly wishing for a Michelin-starred soufflé.’
Clemmie stole one last glance at Oliver, who was now leaning forward, his expression thoughtful as Fiona gestured animatedly. For a moment, Clemmie felt a pang of something she didn’t want to name.
Jealousy? Regret?
She pushed the thought aside, determined not to let him affect her. What did it matter that he was here? She’d managed just fine without him for over three years, so surely she could put up with his presence for a few days.
‘Come on,’ she said, standing abruptly. ‘Let’s get out of here. We can grab a hot chocolate from the Cosy Kettle.’
‘Sounds like a plan.’
As they turned to walk out Clemmie could feel Oliver’s eyes on her, so she turned and stared him down. The intensity in his hazel gaze made her stomach do unwelcome flips– which became worse when he winked at her.
Outside, she erupted. ‘He had the audacity to wink at me! The cheek!’
‘What if he actually agreed to present this competition because he knew you were a competitor and it gave him the opportunity to come to Puffin Island?’ wondered Amelia.
‘Don’t be ridiculous.’ Clemmie brushed off the suggestion, annoyed that Oliver Lockwood was already firmly under her skin when he’d been back in her life for less than a day.
Chapter Four
The sun had barely peeked over the horizon when Clemmie unlocked the door to The Café on the Coast. The little bell above the door jingled in the quiet morning air as she stepped inside. The café wasn’t due to open for another couple of hours but with the baking competition fast approaching, Clemmie wanted to start practising. As soon as she walked into the kitchen, she turned on the oven, tied her pinny around her waist and tucked her hair into a loose bun. She took her great-great-grandmother’s recipe book down from the shelf and lay it on the counter. The handwritten book with illustrations was essentially the café’s recipe bible, holding secret recipes that had been passed down through the family’s generations, each one sprinkled with love. Clemmie carefully turned the flour-smudged pages.
The torte recipe was circled in faded ink, with little notes scrawled in the margins.
Add a touch of vanilla here!
Be gentle when folding; no overmixing, no matter how tempting!
Clemmie smiled. It was magical knowing that her great-great-grandmother had taken the time to document everything that she’d once baked in The Café on the Coast, and being able to see the notes in Beatrice’s very own handwriting.
‘Let’s go,’ Clemmie murmured to herself, rolling up her sleeves while staring at the list of ingredients. ‘No mistakes. No disasters.’
