Page 57

Chapter 32

‘Well, you’ve changed.’

Alyssa looked up from her spot in the allotment, where she was on her knees, sowing seeds. Beetroot, broad beans, Swiss chard – whatever that was. Yes, it felt like a time for new beginnings – at least for her vegetables. Even the spring air, laced as it was with the scent of sweet apple blossom from the nearby trees, held the promise of it. Or perhaps someone was harbouring another stash of that upside-down apple cake.

‘Have I?’ Alyssa replied, shielding her eyes to see Mrs Halfpenny, who was sitting in her purple wingback chair, drinking from a chipped china cup.

She could feel her cheeks colouring slightly, which was all the more obvious when you didn’t bother with foundation. She’d opted for minimal make-up, keen to feel the spring sun on her face, and not even paranoid that people might gasp at her lack of under-eye Touch Éclat. She was getting used to the fact no one around here much cared whether or not she’d faffed with false lashes, or if she wore a hoodie that was only from Primark, or even if her pink hair looked dishevelled in a ponytail that her choppy waves kept breaking free from. And she kind of liked that – for now.

‘Getting stuck in, even though that guy with the camera isn’t here.’ Mrs Halfpenny’s brow creased. ‘And something else. You’re smiling like a noodlehead. Have you been playing hide the sausage?’

Alyssa spluttered. Well, she hadn’t been expecting that. ‘No, you?’ she replied, unable to disguise the wry smirk on her face.

‘Not on your nellie. No one’s getting near my baps. Anyway, we might be improving a bit in the polls, but Hartglove still holds that most loveless award. Though something’s definitely cheering you up, and it’s not those knobbly artichokes.’

Alyssa gave her allotment friend a wink and carried on with her seed sowing. She didn’t exactly know what she was doing, other than a few tips she’d gleaned from Horace, when he wasn’t busy with Anna Farina’s tiramisu. But Mrs H’s words rang a bell in her head that had been sounding more since that first morning in Devan’s bed. Hartglove did deserve more lovey-ness. Alyssa had spent the last week feeling like she was dancing on the ceiling in sequin hotpants. She wasn’t quite sure if she was ready to concede love was a thing – but whatever the hell kind of magic this was, surely everyone deserved a sprinkle.

And she may have come to Hartglove with no intentions other than getting paid. Though for the first time in a long while, she actually wanted to help people. To discover their person or to find their way back to them, if life had thrown obstacles in their path. And it wasn’t just for the social media esteem. Dare she say it – she simply cared. Her hand fluttered to her chest.

‘Got into your heart as well as your bloomers,’ Mrs Halfpenny said knowingly. ‘He is a good sort, that Devan Shaw.’

Alyssa blushed again, remembering plenty of good and unashamedly bad fun she’d been having with Devan. Although they’d spent a lot of time just chatting too, and watching romcoms like they used to, giving them a ‘cheese rating’ out of ten – even though she’d been sworn off love stories for years before she’d come back here. They’d even been getting into quinoa cake.

‘I heard you spoke to Sylvie after our chat in the truth chair. You made peace with your dad yet?’

Was Mrs Halfpenny nodding towards her chair again? Well, Alyssa didn’t have time for that. And anyway, her parents were on their second honeymoon, which was a convenient reason not to have that heart-to-heart.

‘No,’ she said quietly.

She hadn’t been in touch with Sylvie again either – although Devan had told her she’d put her name down to try and find a match through ’Appy Together, which sounded positive. A huge part of Alyssa wanted to fling her arms around her old best friend and get things back to the way they were. But like she’d admitted to Devan – she couldn’t promise she was sticking around. She certainly hadn’t planned to. As nice as this all felt in the short term, how long could she last here? Right now, it was a town with no prospects. It wasn’t close to London, where the bigger opportunities were.

And more than that, she just wasn’t accustomed to letting people into her business for any length of time. What if she felt claustrophobic and wanted to run? What if she was so unaccustomed to dealing with emotional stuff that she didn’t know how? What if she was dreadful at being a good friend or a committed girlfriend or even a loving daughter? Not to mention that staying here long term with Devan may involve whole new stepmum-type role-model responsibilities. What if she simply wasn’t enough?

She shook her head. Bloody hell, she should just get back to concentrating on the vegetables.

‘Talk of the devil,’ Mrs H declared.

Alyssa jumped and turned her head. Phew, it was Devan. She’d invited him to the Apple Blossom Lane gardens herself – and not just for the broad beans.

‘Cup of tea, lad?’ Mrs Halfpenny asked him. ‘And have you brought biscuits?’

‘Custard creams, at your service.’ Devan winked at the older lady and edged the packet out of his pocket. ‘Though I’m sure you have endless supplies of stored apples and cake in that shed of yours.’

Mrs Halfpenny tapped her nose like she wasn’t giving away any secrets.

Alyssa smiled, happy Devan wasn’t completely shaking off his good-boy side.

‘Can I interest Miss Heart in anything?’ he asked, stepping towards her.

She stood, giving his trouser pockets a discreet once-over, in case any more treats were about to emerge.

‘I’ll let you know,’ said Alyssa, her voice sounding huskier than she’d expected as Devan got so close she could feel his warm breath against her cheeks. Did he smell faintly of chocolate spread this morning? Now she was definitely blushing.

They’d agreed to keep their budding relationship to themselves for now, not wanting to put pressure on things nor to be hounded by Teijo for more details. And Devan had Sylvie and Emmalina to think about, so they needed to deal with matters sensitively, and in the right order. Though Alyssa was already enjoying the thrill of their covert operations.

And if she was honest, she wasn’t yet ready to publicly admit defeat on her mission to prove the love app couldn’t make her fall for anyone. She’d spent more than a decade carefully constructing her persona and the fences around her heart. She wasn’t about to let it all come crashing down because he served an exceptionally thorough breakfast. Not to mention that the last time she’d declared her feelings for him she’d been left looking like a noodlehead in turtle’s clothing.

‘You two aren’t fooling me,’ their friend in the purple chair chimed in. ‘You know, Mr Halfpenny used to enjoy his conjugals in the great outdoors, so don’t think I won’t know if you try nipping off. Just watch out for gooseberry bushes. Those thorns wreak havoc on your backside.’