“You know I did the initial stuff and got myself checked over before I even got to the island,” I said, swinging open the door to the chocolate shop. “It’s not like things aren’t in motion.”
Karyn gave me a gratifyingly cheery wave.
“I just thought you would be raring to go, now that you’re feeling so much better in yourself, and you’re sure the island is where you want to do this…”
“I was. I am! I am.”
Grabbed all the pumpkin spice truffles, piled them under my chin, and made my way to the till with my phone wedged to my ear. The signal down this end of the Rue was always terrible, and Brianna’s voice crackled as she said, “You’re not having second thoughts, are you?”
“Of course not!”
“Not getting distracted by the cute boy you kissed last weekend?”
“No,” I said, a bit too loudly. As though I hadn’t spent the entire week daydreaming about making out with Jones on the sofa. “Sorry,” I mouthed at Karyn, who had jumped a little. “Bri, now isn’t a good time. I’m still totally committed to the plan, all right? I’ve just been busy. And I’m probably going to lose my job in a minute.”
“Fair point,” Bri said. “Whatisyour plan to support your future child when your cut of the inheritance runs out?”
“Wow, you’re fun today! Let me call you back,” I said, hanging up and dropping the phone on the counter. “Sorry, Karyn. All these, please.”
“Ah, I remember those days,” Karyn said with a smile as she tapped away at the till to apply the farm-shop discount. “When you justhaveto have something! Glad my truffles are hitting the spot. It was always capers, for me.”
“Right,” I said, checking the message that had just popped up on my phone screen. “Wait, sorry, capers?”
I shouldn’t have called you from work, I’m in boss lady mode and went too hard. My question is, doyou think you’re going to wait and see if things get serious with Jones, instead of pursuing this solo? Do you even know if he wants kids? Isn’t he Mr.Island Hermit—didn’t he turn up determined to be alone…? I’m worried I’ve pushed you in the wrong direction by wanging on about how you still have room in your life for romantic love. Xxx
“I just loved them! Here you go, sweetie,” Karyn said, sliding a large paper bag across the counter.
Thanked her (ignoring weird caper chat—the woman is a committee member and just called me “sweetie”andsmiled at me, so if she wants to talk about obscure tiny vegetables that’s fine with me) and made my way back to the farm shop with the truffles, mood distinctly dampened. Was Bri right?WasI delaying on starting things with the fertility clinic? Thought that by shutting things down with Jones, and keeping my plans a secret, could keep myself safe from that temptation. But maybe even that wasn’t enough.
Despite all my resolutions…am I letting that daydream of a love story with Jones get in the way of the real dream I came here to find?
Jones also being weird today.
“Are you OK?” he said, when I returned to the shop. “You look a bit flushed. Do you need to sit down?”
“Pardon?” I said, unpacking the truffles. “Oh, no, I’m fine, I’m just in too many layers.”
I’d called the fertility clinic on the way here—they had an opening on Sunday, so I’m all booked in for then, and was feeling quite weird about it. (Still am, TBH.) Also pretty sure I get flushed everytime I’m in Jones’s presence now—have been avoiding him so scrupulously this week that I’ve hardly put it to the test.
“Do you want to go home and change? I can stay a bit longer if you need me to. Or get you something from the stables and drop it back on my way to Rog’s cart?”
“What?” Risked a suspicious glance his way, then checked my outfit. “Have I been shat on by a bird or something, and you’re too polite to tell me outright?”
“Please do not say ‘shat’ in front of the customers,” said Galoshes, who had appeared just in time to see me disgrace myself in some way, as she is wont to do.
“There aren’t any customers right now, Galoshes.”
“Not with you swearing like a sailor, there aren’t.”
Decided to rise above. Even Galoshes could not pretend I was putting customers off—this was a rare moment of calm in a hectic week of us all crash-coursing barista training (watching a lot of videos about milk frothing) and trying to keep up with the demand for Doc’s already-famous chocolate and cherry biscuits.
“Rog’s cart?” I asked Jones.
He was looking particularly gorgeous in a checked shirt and jeans haphazardly tucked into mud-caked brown boots. He’s started wearing his hair swept back from his face—it’s a lot longer than it was when he first arrived here. It’s averygood look. Whenever I’ve seen him this week, can pretty much only get through it by reciting to myself,He is not the plan, he is not the plan, he is not the plan.
He’d make a really hot dad, went a very bad voice in my head.
“He’s going to teach me how to drive a horse and cart,” Jones said, looking an adorable mixture of embarrassed and delighted.
