Ava opened her mouth and closed it again. Admittedly, she’d forgotten about that part.
‘I didn’t realize they were on speaking terms again.’
‘Seems so.’ His eyes fastened on her silver brooch.
‘It’s just a dress, Pa,’ Ava said. Although that wasn’t entirely the truth.
Damien would be there.
Her father began picking at the knot she had just tied, as though he would undo it. ‘I feel like a trussed-up goose,’ he huffed, turning back towards the stairs. ‘I’m going to change.’
‘You look wonderful,’ Ava said, hooking her arm through his before he could retreat back to his room. ‘Now come on, or else we’ll be late.’
It was a fine day for a walk, though her father had grumbled almost the entire way about the number of people crowding the pavements, or the din of the carriages rattling past them, and so Ava was grateful to step through the butter-yellow door of Mr Jane’s teahouse and lose herself in the welcoming warmth that lay behind it.
‘Finally, reinforcements!’ Mr Jane said, lifting a heavily ladened tray with ease as he turned, manoeuvring carefully through the tight gaps between the chairs. ‘Look what she’sdoneto the place.’
And he was right. The teashop had been utterly transformed.
A small tea cart had been repurposed to sell raffle tickets – tuppence each, if the chalkboard was to be believed – and the tables in the centre of the shop had been pushed together to show off the prizes. Ava could see the two pies Oliver had made sitting alongside pots of home-made jam, knitted socks and hats, donated books – some new, others falling apart –as well as an assortment of other things. Someone had even strung bunting upon the walls, threading it in looping lines across the ceiling.
‘I’ll warn you now,’ Mr Jane said, his lemon-yellow apron straining against the barrel of his stomach. ‘Mrs Moss is on a rampage. She’s had your brother in the kitchen all morning making more scones – as though he didn’t already bake enough for half of England. And then there was something about the tombola prizes—’
Ava’s eyes cast about the room for Mrs Moss, and she froze.
For another familiar face stared back at her. His green eyes glittered beneath silver spectacles, and though he wasn’t wearing his usual clothes – his shirt looked several sizes too large, his waistcoat, too – she would know that face anywhere.
And the intensity of his gaze made her cheeks feel warm, made her stomach fizzle.
‘Damien.’
Mr Jane turned. ‘Ah, yes,’ he said. ‘I’d heard the two of you were acquainted.’
‘I’ll just—’ Her words trailed off, for she’d already started weaving her way through the tight crush of tables to reach him. When he looked at her – a wavering smile dimpling his cheek – a warmth unfurled in her chest, her heart thudding so loudly she wondered if he could hear it.
Until Mrs Moss jerked into her path.
‘Ava,’ she said breathlessly. ‘We need to put raffle numbers on all the prizes. And I thought perhaps we should divvy up the scones for each table? Otherwise, you know Mr Willows, he’ll eat the lot.’
Mrs Moss looked unusually flustered – her face red, her hair frizzing a little where it had escaped its pins beneath her obsidian hat.
‘Speaking of which, wherearethe scones. Oliver? Oliver!’
The kitchen door slammed open then, sending a gust of steam into the room. ‘What?’
‘Thescones, Oliver! Are they ready?’
‘Nearly.’
‘Oh, do hurry up, will you dear? Everyone will be arriving soon!’
She stalked towards the kitchen, and Ava seized her chance to hurry towards the small corner table.
To Damien.
‘I’m overdressed, aren’t I?’ he said, by way of greeting. ‘Itoldhim I didn’t need a neck-tie—’
‘You are perfect,’ Ava said – and saw how the words had caught him off-guard. How they made his green eyes dance. ‘I mean, youlookperfect.’
