The Cosy Coffee Shop of Promises

‘So shouldn’t we be cutting down the width of it now?’

His fingers interlaced with hers and turned the onion around, before lifting the knife and cutting through the vegetable, sending little squares tumbling. Tumbling like her willpower. All she had to do was turn around, one hundred and eighty small, tight degrees, and she would be face to face, body to body, heart to heart, with a man she was damn sure could make her forget about her earlier phone call, about what was to come.

She let out a shaky breath.

‘Are you okay down there?’ Tony’s words were smooth, gentle. They mirrored the way she’d spoken to him earlier, when she’d had to bring him down from whatever fears he faced.

‘Fine. I just…’ She trailed off, unsure whether she could trust Tony, whether he would understand how one person could turn your world upside down, could shake things up, could leave you scrambling to put together the pieces for years after. Perhaps even a lifetime.

The slam of The Bullion’s heavy, oak front door hitting the wall followed by the dull rumble of feet on threadbare carpet snapped Mel out of her reverie. ‘Oh my God, it sounds like a whole rugby team just barged in…’

‘Oh, shit. Bollocks.’ Tony pushed her arm, still wrapped round him, away and crossed the kitchen to the bar in two long strides. ‘It’s not the sound of rugby players. It’s actual rugby players.’

Mel moved to where he was standing and watched as a wave of short, tall, slightly overweight middle-aged men rushed to the bar. ‘What kind of rugby team are they?’

‘The kind that come every second year for the annual grudge match. It’s this weekend. The Randy Rabbits vs The Bad Boys of Babbler. And the opposition are meant to be staying at The Bullion.’

‘And you forgot this?’ Mel looked up at Tony and registered the shock on his face, emphasised by the slight shade of green his skin was giving off.

‘How the hell did I forget? I can’t send them away, I need their cash,’ Tony said to no one in particular. ‘The beds aren’t made. I didn’t order extra food. I don’t even have anyone who can help me out at the bar. Jody’s busy with the boys…’

Tony glanced down at Mel. ‘But you. You’re here. You could help me. You’re my fiancée, after all.’

Mel shook her head and backed away from the madman in front of her. ‘That’s not part of the deal. That’s not what I signed up for. And besides, I have to be in bed soon. I’ve got a business to run, too, remember? And I have to be up early to bake.’

‘You promised, Mel. You promised you’d help me save The Bullion. And look, there’s a whole team of hungry men out there. And we’re making a lasagne. We’ve got the ingredients. You just have to do that… and then maybe sort out the bedrooms for me. Come on, Mel. You’re my fiancée. You have to.’ Tony reached for her hands and held them in his to his heart, which she could feel thumping through his navy jumper. ‘Don’t make me beg. It’s just… there’s no one else.’

There’s no one else.

Damn it. Couldn’t he have chosen another line? Mel knew all too well what it was like to have to fend for yourself. There was no way she could turn him down.

‘Fine,’ she sighed. ‘But you’re still cooking the lasagne. I’ll finish off the onions while you get that lot out there sorted for drinks, all right?’

She waved him off and went back to prepping dinner, the chopping and dicing soothing her jangled nerves. Between her new and unexpected attraction to Tony and her mother’s impending arrival she was out of sorts. Gone was her perfectly ordered life of waking up, baking, serving customers, then reading or watching a show and going to bed. Instead, here she was, teaching a man to cook a lasagne, offering to make beds, and trying her best to help out the one person who’d threatened her security in the first place.

But it was all for the greater good. It had to be.

She scraped together the onions and waited for Tony to come back in to finish off his first cooking lesson. And waited. Then waited some more. Impatient to get going, she poked her head through the door to see him pulling pint after pint. His usually artfully mussed hair was standing out at odd angles, and a sheen of perspiration covered his forehead.

Tony glanced over and caught her eye. ‘I’ll be through in a minute.’

‘You don’t look like you’ll get away at the rate they’re drinking.’

‘Can you finish it off?’

‘No. That’s not the deal. You cook. I’ll pour the drinks.’

‘But I’m a barman. You’re a cook.’

‘And you’re meant to be learning to cook. I’ve got the recipe written down. You just need to follow it. I’ll be here if you need me.’

Tony’s eyes narrowed. ‘Do you even know how to pull a beer?’

‘I’ve been dragged to enough pubs that I’m pretty sure I can copy what I’ve seen.’ Mel picked up a glass and poured the perfect beer with just the right amount of head to prove her point.

‘Fine. But soon as I’m done you’re making the beds and I’m back on the bar.’

‘Fine.’ Mel waved him back to the kitchen, and tried to ignore the tingle of pleasure that bloomed and spread through her when he smiled his thanks.

***

Two hours later the last sheet was tucked in, the last comforter brushed smooth, the last pillow plumped, the last decent fingernail she had on her hands was well and truly ripped to shreds, and each and every last muscle in her body ached.

Mel stretched, hearing cricks and creaks throughout her shoulders and neck. That was a mission, and now she needed a drink. Luckily she was in a pub. And from the rousing chorus of the National Anthem going on downstairs, things were still in full flight.

She plodded down the stairs and pushed through the staff door to see Tony hunched over the bar, his head in his hands, half or even mostly asleep.

‘Any chance of an Irish crème and milk?’ she whispered softly in his ear, not wanting to startle him.

‘Any chance of you sorting yourself out?’ he mumbled into his hands.

She thought to remind him that she’d been up since the early hours, that she’d poured loads of beer and then served up the lasagne he’d cooked to a whole rugby team, and then made up twenty beds, but thought better of it. This wasn’t the Tony the ladies of the village liked to gossip about over their lattes. That Tony had an easy smile, a carefree attitude and, once in the sack, had all the energy of a spring bunny. This Tony? He looked shattered. Beaten. More in need of a good sleep than a roll in the hay.

Mel glanced over at the gleaming monstrosity. Although now that he’d promised not to step on her turf, the coffee machine didn’t seem quite so evil. And right now it could come in handy. She walked down to the end of the bar, ignoring the catcalls as some of the team realised there was a woman in their midst. She stood in front of it and ran her hand along the cool, gleaming steel. Switch on, pour milk in jug, and steam. The ritual was as soothing as ever. She frothed the milk so it was just warm, not hot. Then, pouring it into a mug, she took it down to Tony.

‘Here.’ She pressed the cup against the back of his hand.

He jolted in fright.

‘You need this.’

‘Does it have caffeine in it?’ He turned his head and gave her a sleepy half-smile. ‘Because I really need caffeine. A truckload of it.’

‘If you’re going to be dealing with this rabble…’ She nodded towards the players who, for some unknown reason, had decided to build a human pyramid. ‘You’re going to need a good sleep. Take it. It’s just warm milk.’

‘You’re too good to me.’ He took the mug in one hand and cupped her cheek with the other.

‘Well. If that’s not love’s dream right there, I don’t know what is!’

Mel froze. She knew that voice. Brash. Loud. Demanding. That voice wasn’t meant to be here until tomorrow. She jerked her head away from Tony’s hand, mortified to be caught in such a tender, intimate moment …

‘Are you just going to stand there looking like a gormless wonder, or are you going to get your behind over here and give your mother a hug?’

Hurricane Val had hit.

CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_4317094f-f074-5afb-af25-29bd403f5a4e)

‘Mum, I didn’t expect you so soon. What a surprise.’