‘So that’s why you’re a happy bunny, Florence Flapjack-face?’
I laugh. ‘Flapjack is another one.’
He taps his pencil on the glass. ‘The ring of the jar. Better still when it’s filled with baking.’
I smile at him. ‘It’s a game. The better you get at playing it, the more your mood lifts.’ I dip into my bag and bring out a bunch of buttercup flowers from the florist I bought for the desk and the coffee table. ‘Ranunculus are another of my things, especially when they’re multicoloured like these.’ The pinks and yellows and peachy oranges of the blooms are resonating in the shaft of sunlight coming in from the vertical window.
He smiles. ‘With you and your flowers, it’s already a better day.’ He stops to look more closely at me. ‘That’s a great dress too.’
Down the line I’m aiming to move into shorts, but for this week I’ve dug out some bright floral mini dresses. As I give the hem a swirl there’s a considerable expanse of thigh above the suede boots I chose to look smart. ‘It’s not too short?’
‘Hell no!’ Kit gives a cough. ‘I mean, whatever you’re comfortable with is good by me.’ He blows out his cheeks. ‘I feel such a hypocrite, pretending to believe in love with letters like this in my pocket.’ He slides it back in and taps his bum.
I grin across at him. ‘On the upside, if those are new jeans, you’re looking the part.’ Dark denim with rips might be great news for trade, but less good for my somersaulting stomach.
As he gets up he positions his hand for a fist pump. ‘So, here’s to a great morning!’
Our hands are about to collide when a tap at the door stops us in mid-air.
As a face appears from the porch, I know I’m on. I cover the length of the studio in three bounds, and thrust out my hand.
‘Hi there, I’m Florence Flapjack, you must be the ten o’clock couple for Kit the metallurgist at Forever Together Love2Love?’ It’s not quite perfect, but it’ll have to do.
The freckled face I’m looking into isn’t showing any recognition, so I try again. ‘You’re here for your rings?’
The person looks hopeful. ‘We’re signed into the hotel on the liquid diet, and we’re looking for cake?’
The second person looks equally pale but lowers her voice. ‘We saw a note in the visitors’ book saying if we were desperate to try at the beach hut?’
I point towards The Hideaway. ‘Next one along, you’ll find serve-yourself carrot cake and blondies on the steps. Just leave the money in the jar.’
They let out a collective groan of relief. ‘Thanks, you’re a life saver!’
It’s only as they hurry off that I realise Shadow is curled up under the desk and hasn’t even opened an eye.
‘Did you sayblondies?’ Kit is coming towards me.
‘I did. Bakewell tart ones.’
His pupils go hazy as he checks his phone. ‘We should have a few minutes before the clients arrive. I’ll go and grab us a couple.’
Now I’m here, about to start work, I’m thinking back to yesterday and all the unexpected insights I gathered. As a sudden stab of worry hits my chest I have to ask. ‘You haven’t only asked me to work here to further David Byron’s quest to take over Cornwall?’
Kit’s face falls. ‘Why would you think that?’
I shrug. ‘The stakes are high with property development. When it’s my home David’s set his sights on, I feel quite vulnerable.’ After Kit’s openness about his own problems, it’s suddenly easier to share my concerns about this.
His arm slides around my shoulders, and he squeezes me into a hug. ‘It’s nothing to do with anyone else – I asked you because you’re great at what you do and I like having you around.’ He lets his arm drop and sounds more serious. ‘Obviously it’s a sound business decision too.’ His face cracks into a smile. ‘And then there’s the baking.’
‘Thanks, that’s reassuring.’ I can’t argue with how sincere he sounds.
His smile fades. ‘No one is trying to be underhand, Floss. How would it be if I promise to share any relevant news as soon as I get it?’
‘Fabulous. Mum doesn’t usually date, that’s all.’ I can’t ask for more than that. ‘If there are any left, the blondies are on me.’
His eyebrows go up. ‘Is there a shortage?’
I laugh. ‘There were only twelve – the first of my new “when they’re gone, they’re gone” selections.’
