Beth wrapped her fingers round the mic like a weapon and cleared her throat. ‘Evening, I’m Beth. I cook for most of you, so if this goes badly, I can always spit in your soup later.’
A ripple of laughter. Real laughter. She pressed on.
‘People say cooking’s like love: it needs a lot of patience and a bit of heat. That’s a lie. Love burns quicker, costs more, and leaves a bigger mess. At least with a steak pie you know where you stand.’
A bigger laugh. Her shoulders relaxed a fraction. She talked about deep-fried Mars Bars and defibrillators, then customers who say ‘I don’t reallydogluten’ then ask for extra sticky toffee pudding. How dishwashers sound like mournful cows andsoufflés should only be attempted by the very brave or incredibly stupid.
It was glorious. For five pulse-racing minutes she forgot about Luke and his driftwood. And Gigi. She forgot to be afraid.
She looked across and saw Kieran, grinning from ear to ear, and it warmed her from the inside out.
And then, predictably, a certain genie couldn’t keep his hands in his pockets. A softpfftsighed through the ceiling vents and a smattering of gold glitter drifted down, settling on hair and shoulders, beer and cheesecake, turning the pub into a snow globe of sparkle.
‘Oh, for heaven’s sake,’ Beth muttered, as Ed and Angela looked up, baffled.
Kieran reached out and brushed a flake of glitter from her fringe, his eyes locked on hers. ‘Best open mic ever.’
‘Glad you think so,’ she said, trying not to lean into the touch. Her pulse ricocheted like a silver ball in a maze.
Always trust your genie friend,purred the voice in her head.A touch of pizzazz never hurt anyone.
Beth rolled her eyes at no one. ‘Sure,’ she thought to herself. ‘But it might just turn my life upside down.’
Chapter Thirty-Two
‘Oh, Beth.’
Kieran stroked her skin. It felt incredible, as if she’d bathed in every unctuous lotion and potion known to womankind. Like silk spun by the crème de la crème of silkworms, its softness both breathtaking and arousing.
‘Oh, Kieran.’
He stroked her skin again. So incredible, so, so … hairy? Hang on a minute, Beth didn’t strike him as the hirsute type. What the?—
‘Miaow.’
Kieran squeezed his eyes shut. If he kept them like that, reality wouldn’t swipe him in the face. Unlike Prom, who swiped his cheek with a paw.
‘Get off me!’ Kieran sat up and inadvertently knocked Prom off the bed. Prom gave a disgruntled yowl of disapproval.
Now fully awake, Kieran felt guilty about his violence. Not that he’dbeenviolent, but fantasising about Beth whilst petting Prom was all shades of wrong.
‘Sorry, mate.’
Prom arched his back, stuck his tail in the air and swanned out of the bedroom.
‘You’re an idiot.’ Did he mean Prom, or himself?
Whatever.
After a quick breakfast, Kieran considered a trip to Edinburgh. For all its charm, a little Cranley went a long way.
‘Behave yourself, Prom,’ he said, checking windows and doors as if he lived with a furry Houdini.
At the station, Kieran clocked Jinnie and Sam wheeling Dahlia in her buggy.
‘Hi, Kieran, how are you?’ Jinnie adjusted the visor on Dahlia’s buggy, shading her from the July sun.
‘Good, thanks. Just fancied a change of scenery.’
