Millie Vanilla’s Cupcake Café

‘Hope he comes in when I do a shift on Saturday, then. He can have my extra-extra-special service.’ She waggled her eyebrows comically.

‘Oh, Zoe,’ Millie put her head on one side with pretend concern. ‘Whatever has he done to deserve that?’

Clare poked her friend in the ribs and cackled. ‘Yay, Millie’s got you there, Zo.’

Something drew Millie to the door. She watched as the man strode towards the harbour, the low sunshine lightening his blond hair. He had a loose-limbed style that was very sexy. Confident, assured of his place in the world. Arrogant almost. As if sensing he was being watched, he turned back to the café and raised a hand.

Millie ducked out of view, blushing furiously. She still hadn’t a clue who he was.

Chapter 2 (#u08bb6896-9b2e-51e4-8a91-0d13b06c0a4b)

Millie didn’t have long to wait until the gorgeous stranger returned. He came in a few days later on a bright, cold morning when the wind whipped up white horses.

‘Good morning again,’ he greeted her cheerfully.

‘Morning.’

He extended a hand. ‘As I know your name, I think I’d better introduce myself. Jed Henville.’

‘Nice to meet you.’ Millie wiped her hand unnecessarily on her apron (bright pink with turquoise stars today). ‘Emilia Fudge. But everyone calls me Millie.’

She waited for the laugh. For a quirk of amused eyebrows. For the jokes over her name being as sweet as her cakes. None came and she blushed with gratitude. This guy had class. ‘What can I get you today?’

Jed grimaced. ‘I shouldn’t have anything, really, as I’ve just had a rather mediocre English cooked breakfast. But when I was in the other day, I couldn’t help but notice you do raisin toast. It’s my all-time weakness. Is that homemade too?’

‘Alas, I can’t lay claim to being a bread-maker. My pal Tessa makes all the bread I serve in here. But it’s very much made in her home. She’s a fantastic artisan baker. I’ll get you some of her fabulous raisin toast, then, shall I? Would you like some coffee with that?’ Millie smiled and wondered where he’d eaten his very ordinary breakfast and if he’d shared it with anyone. Who was he and why was he in Berecombe? It was a sleepy place and not considered as trendy as Lyme Regis, further along the coast. At this time of year any stranger stood out a mile, especially one as good-looking as him.

‘Thank you. I’d love a large latte. It’s cold today; I need warming up!’ Taking off his stripey scarf, he settled at the same table he’d sat at the other day and spread out a broadsheet newspaper.

He was less formally dressed today, in dark moleskin jeans and a buttery suede jacket. With his out of season suntan, he looked just as buttery and edible himself. So he was in need of being warmed up? Millie could think of one or two things that might do it. She gave herself a shake. Honestly. Grow up, woman! She was as bad as Zoe and her gang going weak at the knees at the sight of a hot man. She ran into the kitchen and put herself to work as a distraction.

The morning passed peacefully enough. Jed had eaten his toast and drunk his latte with enthusiasm, declaring both delicious and had thrown on his scarf and jacket and departed. As she cleared his table, Millie was prevented from watching where he was headed by the arrival of Arthur Roulestone, breakfast regular and owner of Daisy, Elvis’s arch enemy.

‘Morning, my dear,’ he called, as he came in with the puffing retriever in tow. He followed her look. ‘Stranger in town, then?’

‘Morning, Arthur.’ Millie picked up the tray and paused, with her bottom pushed against the kitchen door. ‘You don’t happen to know who he is, do you?’

‘No idea.’ He tapped his nose cheerfully. ‘I can keep my ear to the ground for you, though.’

‘Thanks.’ Arthur was a member of Berecombe’s town council. What he didn’t know wasn’t worth knowing. ‘Your usual?’

‘Bless you. A trifle chilly out there today.’

‘Isn’t it just? But I love these crisp days,’ Millie shouted from the kitchen.

‘I’ve heard we might have snow later.’

‘Snow?’ Millie put the tray down on the draining board and poked her head out of the door. ‘It never snows here. We don’t even get so much as a frost.’

‘Not strictly true. I can remember it snowing one winter when I was a boy. Covered the beach. Magical. Funnily enough, I always find it’s the coldest just before we get the first of the spring days.’

‘Some warmer weather would be welcome and good for business too. But snow, eh? How exciting! Must have been years ago. Before my time.’

‘Thank you for reminding me what an old codger I am.’

‘Sorry, Arthur. Extra sausage? And one for Daisy as an apology?’

‘Accepted with pleasure. Organic sausages from Small’s farm, I assume?’

Millie nodded and disappeared into the kitchen.

Arthur went over to the table Jed had just vacated. ‘Ah,’ he called through to her. ‘I see your mysterious customer has left his newspaper. I might just have a quick look.’ He bent and picked it up. ‘Oh, how disappointing. The Financial Times. Not quite my choice of reading matter on a Friday morning.’ His brows rose over his steel-rimmed specs. ‘Might be a clue to his identity, however! A businessman, perhaps?’

‘Perhaps.’ Millie stepped around Daisy as she brought over Arthur’s mug of tea. ‘Strong builder’s as usual.’

‘Bless you, my dear.’

‘And how’s the old girl?’ She bent to tickle Daisy’s ears. ‘I hear she’s been annoying Elvis again.’

‘Well, at least it shows there’s some life left in her. She’s getting on a bit now. Like me.’

Millie saw emotion contort Arthur’s face. She straightened. ‘Oh Arthur, you’ve both got years ahead of you yet.’ Goodness knows what the old man would do when Daisy went. They were devoted to each other. ‘And if she can still chase after a poodle, there must be hope.’

‘Indeed. However, I fear Biddy does not quite see it that way. And Elvis is an assistance dog. Daisy shouldn’t interfere when he’s working.’

‘I think they’re secretly very fond of one another,’ Millie said, reflecting that the same could be said of their bickering owners. ‘And don’t worry, Biddy’s fine. Never happy unless she’s got something to moan about.’

‘As my granddaughter Zoe would say, ain’t that the truth?’

Laughing, Millie went to get his breakfast ready, confident her cooked English could never be described as mediocre.

Chapter 3 (#u08bb6896-9b2e-51e4-8a91-0d13b06c0a4b)

Early on Saturday morning, when the sun was just rising over the bay, Zoe crashed in to begin her shift.

‘Like your hair, Zo. What colour is it this time?’

Zoe pulled a lock of her purple fringe and went cross-eyed looking at it. ‘Plummy Aubergine.’

‘Nice. Although I quite liked the shocking pink.’

‘Mum didn’t,’ Zoe said gloomily as she tied on her apron. ‘And school hated it. Threatened to suspend me if I didn’t tone it down.’

‘And Plummy Aubergine counts as toning it down?’

Zoe scuffed her platform trainers. ‘Mmm.’

‘Well, this is an important year for you. Getting your grades for university and everything.’