Page 30 of Love Letters on Hazel Lane

‘No, it has to be real cinnamon. You sprinkle it on some bread soaked in milk and put it in the oven on a low heat. It’ll slowly infuse through the house.’

This had to be the most ridiculous piece of dating advice that Jo had ever heard.

‘Can you eat the bread afterwards?’

‘No idea,’ said Kate. ‘Anyway, you’ll be far too busy gazing into Tarquin’s deep brown eyes to want to eat the bread.’

*

It was Thursday before Jo heard from Tarquin; she was starting to wonder if he’d forgotten her.

What shall we do tomorrow? Fancy getting together for some Scrabble?

Scrabble? He wanted to play Scrabble?

He must like her.

As she walked back to Hazel Lane from the station, up the hill and past the allotments, Jo decided that she wouldn’t just send him a boring, old text message. When she reached home, she laid her Scrabble board on the little dining table and spelled out YOUR PLACE OR MINE with the letter tiles. Then she took a C, turned it back to front and added a dot underneath with a black marker pen to make a question mark.

YOUR PLACE OR MINE?

It wasn’t exactly flirty, but it was original. Cute, even. He had said she was ‘adorable’ when she’d first admitted to liking Scrabble. Hopefully, he’d think this was adorable too.

She got out her phone, took a photo and WhatsApped it to Tarquin before she could change her mind.

She didn’t have to wait long for his reply.

Your place. Friday evening. I’ll be in Hebbleswick on Friday afternoon anyway to check out some potential development opportunities.

*

Jo sprinkled a liberal amount of cinnamon on a hunk of old bread that she’d been saving for the ducks and then poured over the last of the milk from the fridge. She popped it into the oven at one hundred sixty degrees – Kate had said a low temperature and that was low, wasn’t it? – and went upstairs to get changed.

*

She hurried to the door as soon as she heard his knock, but then, as per usual, it took her several seconds to open it. It really did need fixing. She made a mental note to hassle the landlord again.

‘You ought to get that sorted,’ said Tarquin when she finally managed to open it.

Presumably, since he worked in property, he could have fixed it easily enough, but he didn’t offer.

He stepped across the threshold, kissing her on both cheeks.

Not only late, she thought, but also empty-handed.

She felt a pang of disappointment. Surely you didn’t tip up at someone’s house without bringing a bottle of wine or a bunch of flowers.

Although… well, maybe that was a good thing.

Si had showered her with gifts. Small things at first: a box of chocolate or a bouquet. Then bigger things. A charm bracelet. An enormous bottle of perfume, something by Yves Saint Laurent, wasn’t it? And a Space NK advent calendar. Jo wasn’t into cosmetics and had been a little surprised that he hadn’t known that. But it was kind of him, she’d thought at the time. He was trying to please her. To spoil her.

Love-bombing, Gemma had called it and, with hindsight, she’d been right. Jo wished she’d heeded her friend’s warning.

So yes, it was definitely a good thing that Tarquin was empty-handed. A sign that he was a normal, decent man.

And an attractive man at that, she thought, looking at him standing there in her scruffy little lounge, in his mustard-coloured trousers.

‘Wine?’ she said.