“Probably not.” I blinked tiredly, fully taking him in, well aware I had chocolate mousse crusted into the ends of my hair.
He looked different. Still impeccably dressed, but he’d switched the shirt and tie out for a crew-neck jumper. It looked soft. Expensive.
This was casual Alistair.WeekendAlistair.
I’d been doing a good job of pretending that Alistair Macabe wasn’t insanely attractive. Used words likeinteresting. I’d registered his allure in a roundabout way. Anot for meway.
Like when Ryan Gosling did theDirty Dancinglift inCrazy, Stupid, Loveand your stomach flipped, because he was basically not from this planet. Then you remembered –Oh right, he’s a movie star– and carried on with your life.
That was usually how I felt about Alistair.
I didn’t know if it was the kiss, or my lack of sleep, but today he felt . . . tangible. So real, I could reach out and brush my finger along his sharp jawline. Leave a fingerprint on his too-full bottom lip. Push his glasses up his nose. Slide them off.
His eyes flicked over my face, like he was remembering it too. Then he pointed at me. “You have a—” I followed the direction of his movements, patting my head and –shit!I still had the oversized roller in my fringe.
Tugging it free, I held the door open with a flour-crusted hand. “Sorry, it’s been a long morning. Or night, really.” I’d gotten maybe an hour or two of sleep on the sofa. Most of the night had blurred into a rhythm of rolling, shaping, proofing and filling every configuration of pastry known to man.
Around three, while crying into a bowl of curdled raspberry crème pât, I accepted I was being a wee bit ambitious and nixed the fruit tartlets.
Alistair stepped inside hesitantly, unable to hide his curiosity as his eyes pinged around the space, a mirror image to his. And also about ten times messier.
“Don’t look at the kitchen,” I pleaded, which of course made him look at the kitchen. Bowls from my frenzied prep were strewn over the counter. Flour dusted the floor. Chopped fruit and chocolate dotted the counter. Every cupboard door stood open, the contents strewn out over the dining table.
I half expected him to shape-shift into Gordon Ramsay and call me an idiot sandwich.
“Did your dishwasher explode?”
“I wish. Maybe then our landlord would actually replace it.”
“It’s broken?” His attention snagged somewhere around my knees.
“Not broken exactly.” I tugged my long sleep T-shirt further down my thighs. “Some kind of filter issue that stops it cleaning properly. I’ve been bugging the rental company for weeks.”
He nodded, calm as ever, and slid his hands into his pockets. “Is this the reason for the bad morning?”
“No. I submitted our application for the Cairn & Crust three days ago, and I haven’t heard back.” Rubbing my temples, every worry in my head spilled out in no particular order. “Then I had to field questions from your siblings yesterday about us dating and I didn’t even know you’d told them—”
“Heather kind of figured it out all on her own.”
“I’m a terrible liar. Like,a poker table laughs to see me comingterrible. Everyone’s going to see straight through this. Obviously, we aren’t a couple. I mean, look at us, Alistair!” I laughed a little manically. “We makezerosense. So, I got home and started prepping for the food market.” My voice was spiralling into something only dogs could hear but Alistair nodded like he was trying to keep up. “And everything just kind of went to shit. I underestimated the baking times, ruined the crème pât, and I forgot to bring the ventilation crates home from Brown’s. I have a hundred pastries and nothing to transport them in. I got maybe two hours of sleep, and today was supposed to be perfect and now I’ve wasted all this money and all these ingredients. Annabelle’s going to steal all our customers, and Brown’s will be forced to close, and it’s all my fault,” I finished, with a little sob.
Alistair’s hands found my shoulders, and I realised I was bouncing on my toes.
“Hey, breathe.” He was somehow gentle but stern. I suddenly understood why he made a fantastic doctor, because my racing mind came to a screeching halt. “It’s going to befine. Firstly, if our application gets denied, I’ll ask Callum to pull some strings; he has friends on the council board.” I nodded, breath still choppy. “My sister is nearly thirty-two years old and still a little shit-stirrer.” He didn’t say it with malice. “Whatever she says, ignore it. Ignore all of my family in fact. What else was there . . .oh, I’m going to text Mal and see if he can pick up the crates – he makes early deliveries on a Saturday so he’s probably in the village already.” He pulled out his phone. “The market doesn’t start until ten, right?”
“Right,” I said a little breathlessly.
“I’m not sure there’s anything I can do about Annabelle stealing customers from Brown’s. Maybe send Annabelle a strongly worded email?”
“Youaregood at those.”
His lips curled. “Anything else I need to fix?” Like it was that easy. Hand him a problem and he finds a solution.
He hadn’t addressed theno one’s going to buy thiselephant in the room. We just weren’t . . . right. The last thirty seconds had proved that.
I trembled with doubt where he didn’t.
Was uncultured where he wasn’t.
