Page 79 of The Sugar and Spice Bookshop Bakery

‘Weekends?’

‘I’ll be working weekends.’

He sits back down. ‘I suppose. But people do make long-distance relationships work.’

‘Some people do, but I’m not sure it’s what I want. Long journeys, stuck on the M1 in endless queues of traffic or on a crowded train. Is that what you want?’

‘Not really.’

They sit in silence. Jack picks at the label on the bottle of wine, peeling it away in tiny pieces. Louise stares down at the woodgrain of the table. Not so long ago, she lived in the same city as Jack, but had no idea he even existed.

‘When do you think you’ll leave?’ she says asks, unable to meet his gaze.

‘Not till I’ve finished all the book nooks. I won’t leave you in the lurch.’

She raises her head and looks at him. ‘Will you stay for my grand opening?’

‘There’s going to be a grand opening?’

‘Of course.’

He smiles. ‘Absolutely. I wouldn’t miss it.’ He pushes the wine bottle aside and reaches across the table, grasping both her hands in his. ‘Not for anything.’ He makes circles with his thumbs, stroking her hands.

‘It’s a lovely cottage,’ she says, glancing around the kitchen.

‘Yeah, I’ll be sad to leave.’

‘You haven’t given me the full guided tour.’

‘Would you like me to?’

‘Yeah, I’d love that.’

He releases her hands and stands up, then looks down, realising that he’s still wearing the apron. He takes it off and folds it carefully, laying it across the back of his chair. Louise stands up too. Jack places one hand on the small of her back, ushering her gently towards the stairs, pausing only to lock the front door.

Upstairs there are two doors. Without a word, Jack leans across her, opening one of them. Louise steps inside.

It’s Jack’s bedroom. It has a white-washed wooden floor, white walls and white bedding. The only touches of colour are a pale green throw and matching cushions on the bed and a huge, modern canvas depicting a single leaf. There’s a small collection of books on his bedside table – all Italian titles – and a wooden slatted blind at the window. Jack lowers the blind, adjusting the slats so they’re closed.

He moves towards her in the semi-light, taking her face in his hands and kissing her forehead. Tears begin to roll down her face, and he kisses them away. Then he breaks the kiss and draws her close, holding her against him as he sways gently, his face lost in her hair.

They stand like that for what seems like an age. When Jack finally pulls back a little, he gazes down at her.

I’ll miss you, she thinks, but she doesn’t say it. Doesn’t need to say it. He already knows.

She reaches for him, unbuttons his shirt, and presses her head to his bare chest. The next minute, he has lowered her onto the bed and is pulling her t-shirt over her head. She tugs his shirt off, then unfastens her bra and slips that off too, and then they’re skin to skin. She runs her hands down his spine, feels him shudder, then slips her fingers under the waistband of his jeans.

His eyes never leave hers. Perhaps because they both know that this time will be the last.

Twenty-Seven

‘Do I sense a frosty atmosphere between you and our favourite architect?’ Maddie says a few days later over breakfast.

Louise winces at the word ‘architect’. ‘Not at all. We’ve decided to cool things down, that’s all. But we’re still friends.’

‘Cool things down?’

‘Yeah, it’s for the best. Once the book nooks are finished, he’ll be returning to London, and I’m trying to stay focused on the bookshop bakery. It’s the grand opening soon. I need to have my mind on the job.’