Page 60 of Snowflakes Over Micklewick Bay

‘Welcome back to Micklewick Bay, Hannah, lovey. It’s good to see you again. I hope you’re here to stay,’ said the man who’d challenged Darryl.

‘Aye, welcome back, lass,’ said a woman wearing a polka-dot raincoat.

‘And you don’t need to worry about bumping into that loser, I reckon he’ll be languishing in prison for quite a while if what I’ve heard about him is true,’ said a man who Hannah remembered used to work in the fish and chip shop on the bottom prom.

Florrie looked at her, a broad smile on her face. ‘And if you needed any more reasons to return to Micklewick Bay, here’s a great big one for you: the support of the town.’

‘You might want to edit that, Florrie, I reckon an even bigger reason’s just arrived,’ observed Maggie.

The friends followed her line of sight to see Lachie striding up the square, totally rocking his kilt – as Auntie Coll would say – and looking impossibly handsome. Hannah’s heart started leaping wildly in her chest, the feelings of last year making a bid for freedom.

THIRTY-SEVEN

SUMMER

Hannah and Birdie had moved to Micklewick Bay as soon as probate had been completed on her aunt’s estate. Birdie had settled into Seaview Cottage immediately, striking up friendships with her neighbours just as Hannah hoped she would. Birdie’s friendship with Jean Davenport had deepened and the pair had become inseparable.

Hannah had recently taken the keys to a characterful fisherman’s cottage in Old Micklewick not far from Seashell Cottage where Lark called home. It had been a hectic time, dealing with a property purchase and a restaurant renovation, but she’d somehow got through it and had even managed to host a housewarming party for her new group of friends and their partners. The Hannah of less than a year ago seemed to be slipping further away as the new version emerged, her confidence growing by the day. Just as her aunt knew it would.

Lachie had stuck around. And though Hannah had been secretly thrilled by this, she’d still kept him at arm’s length. Granted, there’d been several moments, just the two of them, when she thought he might kiss her, but something had held him back and she’d been glad of it. She had too much going on in her head to start worrying that her heart might get broken again.

That said, she’d been glad of his presence on so many levels. His input as regards the kitchen had been invaluable, as had choosing the décor of the restaurant, the layout, too. It turned out that he and Bear got on like a house on fire, the pair of them mucking in with the renovation of the pier café. It would seem being the son of a laird didn’t mean he wouldn’t roll up his sleeves or get his hands dirty. And from what Hannah had seen, there wasn’t much he couldn’t turn his hand to. ‘He’s the perfect man,’ Birdie had said, a wicked gleam in her eye. Hannah hadn’t bitten and had simply ignored the comment which had her friend chuckling.

When it had come to choosing staff, Lachie had been a godsend. Hannah hadn’t known where to start or what to look for – or, probably more importantly, look out for – but Lachie had stepped in. He’d waded through the CVs and followed up the references, and he’d interviewed any likely candidates that had managed to get through his thorough screening. He knew what red flags to keep an eye out for.

‘Aren’t you tempted to give Lachie the head chef job?’ Florrie had asked one day when they’d got together over chocolate brownies and a pot of tea in the bookshop’s tearoom.

It was a question Hannah was regularly asked.

‘He’ll be heading back home to Scotland, so it wouldn’t make sense. I want to get a team established in the kitchen that work well together. I don’t want to have the dynamics disrupted when he leaves.’ It was only eighty per cent true. While she’d love nothing more than to have Lachie as head chef in her kitchen, especially with all the exciting dishes of foraged food he’d told her about, another part of her was fearful of falling in love with him again, especially knowing he was going to leave at some point – his father was still living with the after-effects of the stroke he’d had, but Lachie’s brother, Duncan, was standing in for now. And there was always the risk he wouldn’t come back.

She was going to enjoy his presence without the added burden of getting hearts involved for the rest of the time he was here in Micklewick Bay. It was as much as she was prepared to commit to.

It was a rainy day in November when her fears were realised and Lachie left for Scotland. ‘Duty calls,’ he’d said. ‘I’ve put it off for longer than I should have.’ As hard as she’d tried not to cry, Hannah had fought a losing battle and tears streamed down her cheeks.

‘Thank you for all you’ve done, I couldn’t have managed without you,’ she’d said, looking up at him through teary eyes.

‘I’ve enjoyed every minute. And I reckon you could’ve done it all on your own. You’re tougher than you realise, Hannah Merryweather.’

‘I’m really not.’ Her bottom lip had wobbled and before she knew what was happening two strong arms had wrapped themselves around her and she’d found her head pressed against Lachie’s solid chest. The feelings such close proximity had aroused in her had sent her head into a tailspin. Her heart was willing her to scream, ‘Don’t go!’ but her head was telling her to stay quiet; that would be unfair, he had to go, he had family commitments and duties to fulfil.

She’d eased herself back and looked up at him, the pain in his eyes tearing at her very soul. He’d rested his hands on her shoulders and bent to kiss her cheek, lingering for several moments before whispering in her ear, ‘I’ll never forget you, Hannah.’

As she’d watched him walk away, she’d thought her heart was going to break in two.

THIRTY-EIGHT

PRESENT DAY – TUESDAY 1ST DECEMBER

Hannah stood in the centre of the restaurant, her chest bursting with happiness. Months’ worth of hard work had paid off and the once derelict greasy spoon café had been transformed into a stylish restaurant, with thanks being owed to the interior designer who had listened to Lachie’s brief, taking on board the clear picture of what Hannah wanted. A row of booths lined the outer walls, the seating covered in tastefully battered leather, while matching chairs were set at chunky oak tables that were covered in crisp white tablecloths. The original Victorian pine floorboards had been sanded down and polished, the wainscotting stripped back to its original pine adding a suitably rustic aesthetic along with the wicker lampshades that hung from the vaulted ceiling. Great panoramic windows treated diners to breathtaking views of the rolling sea with Thorncliffe and Old Micklewick in the distance. And, just as Alex had suggested, the wall separating the kitchen from the dining space had been taken down and replaced with one half the height, affording diners a glimpse of the chefs at work.

Hannah was as thrilled with the restaurant’s branding as she was the décor. The logo featured a pared down drawing of Micklewick’s iconic pier, the words ‘The Pier at Micklewick Bay’ circled around it, both in a rich sea blue. It featured not only on the signage, menus and napkins but also the aprons that would be worn by the serving staff along with their Breton tops with matching sea blue stripes. They’d all been born from Lachie’s suggestions. Everything about The Pier at Micklewick Bay had, right down to the cutlery.

She hadn’t seen or heard from him since the day he’d left, but he’d occupied her thoughts more than she cared to admit. She tried to tell herself she didn’t regret him leaving, that they were never meant to be, but she knew that wasn’t true. Her heart ached for him in the moments when the hectic whirl of the restaurant preparations hadn’t occupied her mind and given her a moment to think. Then she’d tell herself she didn’t have time for a man in her life, that she had way too much on her plate for love.

Who was she trying to kid?

THIRTY-NINE