Reeni throws the final hoop, and it hits the board, but misses a peg. ‘So why didn’t you?’
I shrug. ‘I dunno. It never came up.’
She swivels to look straight at me. ‘Maybe you need to bring it up? He’s not going to give you permission to apologise.’ We begin walking and her tone softens. ‘Don’t be too hard on yourself. It was a long time ago, and it was difficult for everyone. You need to clear the air, though.’
I know she’s right.
‘Look, that must be our table.’ Reeni points towards a car and trailer bumping across the grass carrying a stack of rattlingtables and I’m grateful that something else has taken her attention.
The VW van looks fab when we arrive back at the food alley. The balloon arch complements the colour scheme perfectly and the brothers have a little trailer to the side in the same rich green colour. Tippi is on a long lead, drinking from a dog bowl on the floor, and Milo is rewriting the menu board on the left-hand open door in neat, evenly spaced capital letters. It’s an ice cream sundae menu.
‘Do you think Jackson has a girlfriend?’ I ask, casually waving a hand towards the VW van.
Reeni’s eyes narrow and her face passes through a range of emotions before settling on suspicion. ‘No idea, why?’
‘Just wondered,’ I say too fast, bending to heave a crate full of water bottles up onto the trestle table. My face is hot, even though the sun’s hidden behind a fluffy cloud. I hide behind the task of unloading the bottles, but I can feel Reeni watching me, trying to work out where I’m at.
Jill and I have been busy over the last few days and we soon have plates of cookies, brownies, two different flavours of cheesecake, a Victoria sponge and a chocolate gateau all laid out. Jill has also made some individually packed sandwiches this morning and I get them out of the cool box. Reeni completes our stall by setting up a sign she’s had printed to advertise my café and its competition. With six minutes to spare, we’re all set to go.
Jackson is sauntering this way, and if I had a way to escape without looking like I’m running scared, I’d take it in an instant. I can feel Reeni still watching me. I’m going to have to front it out.
I’m standing a couple of metres back from the table and I stay there. ‘What do you want?’
He’s wearing denim shorts and a faded pink T-shirt that’sfitted enough to accentuate how broad he is. He’s filled out since I knew him. He was always tall, but he used to be a bit of a beanpole. There’s nothing beanpole like about him now. His shoulders and arms are solid and toned, and I’d bet actual money on the existence of abs under his tee. There’s a confident ease about him which I couldn’t possess even if I tried.
He grins. ‘Charming. Is that how you greet all your customers?’
‘No.’ I spit the word out, then pause, giving me the chance to recalibrate. ‘We’re not open. It’s not ten.’ My insides twist like they’re trying to vanish. How bloody pedantic.
Reeni gives me a sharp shove in the ribs, pushing me forwards. ‘She’s joking. What can she get you?’
‘I’ll take a coffee, thanks.’ He picks up our competition sign and studies it.
‘You’ve got coffee over there.’ I nod towards the camper van. ‘Why should I get you one?’
He replaces the sign, leaning it against the water bottles. ‘Have you had a customer service bypass?’ he says, amused, and the eyebrow with the sexy gold hoop twitches.
‘I don’t see why you’d need a coffee from here, that’s all,’ I growl. ‘You’ve plenty of caffeine over there.’
‘Here you go.’ Reeni hands him a steaming drink in a Beach House cup. ‘On the house to make up for the rude assistant.’
‘Thanks. Looks lovely.’ He winks at her then flashes me a grin. ‘Have a good day. Hope she’s not rude to everyone.’
‘Only you,’ I mutter as I watch him walk his broad shoulders and slim waist back across to his pitch.
‘Get a grip will you,’ says Reeni, glowering at me.
I’m saved from answering as people are beginning to filter into the food alley. Our stall has a slow drip of people. In contrast, the VW opposite us is always busy. The little trailer with the dedicated ice cream bar and the fabulous weathermeans it constantly has people waiting. Milo is behind the counter serving their now famous jaffles and Jackson mans the sundae cart as well as drawing attention to their stall. He finds easy, what I find difficult and has no problem drumming up business and bigging up their food. Every so often he catches my eye and my heart rate jumps.
‘Afternoon, ladies.’ Greg is standing at the front of our little queue, beaming at us. He’s holding a jar of honey with a raffle ticket stuck to it. ‘I won it on the WI stall and thought of you straight away. I know you love it on toast.’ He hands me the golden jar.
‘Aw brilliant,’ I say, smiling. I’ve been surviving on plain toast recently, and the thought of being able to put honey on it instead is magical.
He doesn’t smile back, but he’s not frowning either. ‘I texted you. You didn’t reply?’
‘Oh. Sorry.’ I grab my phone and see four messages from him. Four.
GREG:Hope your morning’s going OK.
