After her meltdown yesterday, she was even more conscious of how perfectly put together he seemed, with a sports jacket over a wrinkle-free shirt and a new haircut that suggested he’d gone straight to the barbers after the hospital visit.
And here I am, wearing the same dress and earrings combo I’ve pulled out on three of the last five workdays,with cappuccino froth on my apron and hair that should have been washed two days ago.
It was almost satisfying to spy a red, raised shaving cut on his chin.
‘Morning,’ she said, forcing herself into hospitality mode. ‘Can I get you a table? Menu?’
A hot night between the sheets?
Clem’s cheeks flushed at the unbidden thought. Where on earth had that come from? She reached for the iPad to take his order, sending a small white milk jug crashing to the floor.
‘Just a takeaway long black, thanks. Also, Ian asked me to check the honey supplies, said you were low last time he and Louisa dropped in. I’ll make a note of what varieties you’re short on,’ he said, heading to the display.
‘The honey. Yes! Absolutely. Knock yourself out.’
She crouched down, swiping at the spilled milk and giving herself a mental kick up the butt.
He’s here on business, nothing else.She dumped the broken jug and its tiny handle in the bin, along with the milky paper towel, and tucked the loose tendrils of hair behind her ears.
Business. That’s what this is. You make the coffee, and sell the honey. That’s all that’s going on here.
He was writing notes in a small notepad when she stood up and started on his order.
‘And I wanted to check you were fine after yesterday.’
Clem silently groaned. She’d hoped he’d forgotten that not-so-stellar moment.
He’s here for coffee, a honey stocktakeanda welfare check.Could this visit get any worse? Maybe Emily could dash in, looking all kinds ofCountry Stylecapable, and drape her arms around his neck. Clem banished the thought and focused on grinding the beans, tamping the coarse grounds down and fitting the portafilter.
‘Yeah, sorry about that, I’m not a huge fan of hospitals.’
‘Glad I’m not the only one who hates them,’ he said, pocketing the notebook. ‘I’d rather perform on stage than spend the night in one of those rooms with all those beeping machines.’
‘Thanks for letting me sook on your shoulder, that was good of you.’ She was also grateful he hadn’t pressed her for details, and handed over his coffee with a shy smile before reaching across the counter and squeezing his shoulder. It was meant to be a brief ‘thank you for being a kind soul’ gesture but with his eyes locked on hers, and his body so firm under her touch, she felt a rush of adrenaline. Clem cleared her throat and jammed both hands in her pockets.
‘And speaking of the stage, Harri’s rehearsing an audition piece for the Penwarra Players. We’ve never done anything like this before, I’m still not sure how it works.’
He looked at his watch. ‘I’ve got to run, but I’ll call in this weekend, if you’ll have time to chat between orders? I can tell you about the theatre group, give Harri a few tips for auditions.’ Clem nodded. Oh God, now I’ve gone and made him awkward. ‘Only if you’ve got time. No pressure!’
Stop talking. Let the poor guy leave.
‘Might see you Saturday.’
Clem watched him take the cafe steps two at a time, realising she had no evidence one way or another of whether Emily was still in the picture. And if she was, then Clem had absolutely no business looking forward to the possibility that he might visit this weekend.
Spencer had had more than enough questions from the Year 9s in his English and Drama classes this week, and more attention than he’d like from a particularly bold and cheeky group of students who were fascinated by reality TV.
It was dumb luck that he’d chanced upon the same group of girls at the supermarket on Saturday morning. They followed him down the aisles, trailing twenty metres behind him and giggling, until he got sick of ignoring them.
‘Girls,’ he said coolly. ‘Can I help you with something?’
‘All good, just hanging out before netball. You buying the fancy body wash for your new girlfriend, Sir?’
‘Mmm, she must like croissants for brekky, and smoked salmon. That’s some fancy stuff, Mr H, I love that for you.’
‘When are you going to bring her into school? Is that why you got your hair cut?’
Spencer looked in his trolley. He always used the coconut and lime shower gel, and the fine foods were destined for a late lunch at Jeff and Mia’s house on Sunday, but he wasn’t about to explain himself.
