The words washed over her.
As her breathing slowed, the ache in her chest eased to something bearable.
Tomorrow is a new day,she told herself.Let the adventure begin.
Chapter Four
By half past twelve, Beth wondered if she’d made a mistake.
Not a catastrophic one – no kitchen fires, food poisoning or customers storming out threatening legal action. Just a creeping, insidious feeling that lodged in her chest and whispered:You’re not ready for this.
She stared at the tray of pies cooling on the stainless-steel counter. Venison and mushroom. Exactly what Beth had come up with when she pitched her menu ideas.
They were cooked to perfection, with golden pastry and rich filling. She’d tasted one herself, forking up a delicious mouthful.
And yet…
Something felt off.
‘They look amazing,’ Rose said, popping her head round the door. Her cheeks were already flushed from carrying plates out and chatting to customers. ‘Angela’s chuffed.’
Beth smiled automatically. ‘Good.’
Rose lingered. ‘Are you OK?’
There it was. The question she’d been dodging from the moment she arrived in Cranley.
‘I’m fine,’ Beth said, a little too brightly. ‘Just … first-week nerves.’
Rose nodded, unconvinced but kind enough not to push. ‘Shout if you need anything.’
Beth waited until she’d gone, then placed her hands flat on the counter and let her shoulders sag.
The kitchen was quiet in that rare, in-between way. Not rush, not rest. The extractor fan hummed. A pan ticked softly as it cooled. Outside, she could hear voices from the bar – laughter, the clink of glasses, the low, comforting murmur of people who knew where they belonged.
Then a child laughed.
The sound sliced through her without warning. Her nerves jangled and she felt the room tilt around her.
Beth stilled, her breath catching. It wasn’t particularly loud. It wasn’t even near. Just a high, unselfconscious giggle, followed by an adult voice saying, ‘Careful, sweetheart.’
She closed her eyes and pushed down the wave of internal panic.Get a grip.
Children existed: they always would. She knew pretending otherwise was beyond ridiculous. Most days she carried the knowledge like a smooth stone in her pocket – always there, but manageable.
Today, it felt jagged round the edges.
It shouldn’t still hurt this much.
She forced herself to breathe, counting silently.One. Two. Three.
When she opened her eyes, she caught sight of one of the small chalkboards Angela had prepared to showcase the new menu. It listed the options, withMade by Beth, With Lovewritten underneath.
Beth snorted softly. Love. If only it were as simple as dishing up food to starving punters.
She busied herself with washing things that didn’t need washing, wiping surfaces already clean. Keeping busy helped. Thinking was dangerous.
‘Beth?’ Angela appeared in the doorway, baby Ruairi balanced expertly on one hip. He stared at Beth with solemn intensity, as if judging her worth.
