I turn and run across the sand and in through Pumpkin’s field. I get as far as the sofa before I realise, I’m still wearing his jacket. But by that time, I’m too far gone to take it off.
47
Boathouse Cottage, St Aidan
The wrong trousers
Sunday
As I pull on my clothes and come out from behind my screen on Sunday morning, my head is banging, I feel like I’ve been awake for hours, and Miles appears from the mud room, his arms full of boxes.
‘I’m sorry for the way things ended last night, Betsy Eliza. The last thing I intended was to upset you.’
I blink at the morning sunlight that splashes through the roof windows. ‘Upset?Why would I be upset?’ I hear my shriek, give a cough and lower my voice. ‘If you’re heading out, you might like to take my scarf off before you go?’
‘Damn.’ He stares down at his clean T-shirt. ‘I don’t have any spare hands. I’m off to do some baking tuition at Carol’s. I’ll do it in the car and return it later.’ His eyes pull in to focus on my own top and he frowns at me. ‘Did you sleep in your clothes? Because you’re still wearing my jacket.’
Crap. There’s no way I’m telling him that I slept in it. Or that I couldn’t bear to be without it and pulled it straight back on again when I put some different layers on just now.
I pull a face. ‘Blame it on the hangover, I picked it up by mistake getting dressed. Just taking Fudge out. I’ll swap it when I come back.’
It’s crazy that every pore of my body is desperate to soak up the scent from his clothes when the man himself is right in front of me, making me furious. I’m not sure I’ve ever been turned down by a guy, let alone knocked back so spectacularly I’m still smarting hours later. I refuse to admit the bitter pangs I’m feeling in my chest have anything to do with disappointment.
I give a sniff. ‘You made the right call last night, Miles. Now I’ve lost my booze goggles, there’s no attraction at all.’
Perhaps I’m not being one hundred percent straight about that, because in spite of everything that’s happened, my body is still screaming out for him. But the good news is, the fury at being rejected means it has cancelled out a bit.
He raises his eyebrows. ‘I’m not interested in one-night stands, I’m afraid I want more. You have to ask me when you haven’t had a drink. I have to be a rational, well-considered decision, not a reckless lunge that you regret in the morning.’
I make my smile very bright. ‘Great we’ve cleared that one up. It’s fabulous we both know where we stand.’ If he were the last guy in the world begging to save the human race, I would not be saying yes.
He takes two strides to the door, and when he gets there he turns round. ‘And we’re all good to go ahead with the phased opening of the new shops next week?’
Why else would he be smoothing this over? ‘No worries on that front, Miles. It’ll be business as usual.’
Why did I ever think his apology was about anything else? I grab Fudge’s lead, whistle, and we head out to the field to pick up Pumpkin for a walk along the beach.
48
Boathouse Cottage, St Aidan
Sharp dressing and world domination
Saturday
The good thing about Betsy & Milo is that after a full-on ten days of intensive collaboration setting up the new shops, the time when Miles and I need to be joined at the hip is at an end. The new shops look lovely. We have phased openings, in Falmouth on Tuesday, Stoneybridge on Thursday and Abbots Sands on Saturday, with me taking Pumpkin in his trailer so he can stand outside each shop in turn and do his usual crowd-pulling beach walks.
With four shops ticking over nicely, Milo and I go back to our own areas. He oversees the baking team, and is in charge of the staffing, and he also takes care of the business and money bits, because that’s his area of expertise.
When I’m not walking Pumpkin along various beaches selling buns, I’m in the St Aidan shop serving customers and sourcing beautiful things to sell, or tearing around afterhours adding stock and tweaking the layouts. As the word gets around the local makers, sourcing stock gets easier too.
Other than that, I’ve taken responsibility for Fudge’s walks, which means I can do them without having to contend with Miles and his incessant remarks about my quirks. We have a sweet two weeks of tiptoeing around each other, keeping our distance, which actually makes me wonder why it wasn’t like this all along. I even have time to pull in some in-depth interviews with local makers that Fenna is interested in for future magazine editions. I also put together a simple Betsy & Milo website and start adding content every day like videos of bits of swirling sea foam, and stay on top of the other socials, and Pumpkin gets his own Insta page too.
As the holiday season approaches there are more and more jobs to fit in for the shops. I’ve never worked so many hours, never been as tired or slept so well. Some days I’m in such a rush to get dressed I only have time to pull on my cut-off shorts and a T-shirt, but it’s only for a short time, so no one seems to mind.
The days pass in a blur, with the only surprise being a lot of thunderstorms, but as they’re mostly in the night, apart from the field having puddles in places, they don’t impact us a lot. TwoSaturdays later I’m on my way out to the beach when I literally collide with Miles in the kitchen. I have to say, my entire body feeling like a champagne bottle with a cork that’s about to pop every time I see Miles in person is still a problem, which is why it’s great I’m keeping my distance. Today is way worse, because he’s wearing a grey suit, which is crazy for a sweltering day in July, but gives him a kind of sexual supercharge that makes me go rigid when I stare at him.
He starts with his usual update. ‘The baking is all done, Zofia is helping at the Net Loft, there are pastries here for you to sell on the beach with Pumpkin, and I’m off out for a meeting in Falmouth.’
