various excuses that would be mutually painless. ‘I’ve been up to my eyes with the concert and the trip.’
Mike nodded.
‘I’ve got a couple of dressers in at the moment, one’s out the back in the store, that’s quite nice, small, pine, probably turn of the last century, classic two-drawer two-cupboard. Or I’ve got a really lovely early Victorian one if you’ve got the room. It’s Irish, very rustic and huge.’ She guided him back into the shop, where one wall was dominated by a dresser that was nearly eight feet long and almost as tall, currently decked out with various bits of blue and white china.
‘Wow, that is amazing,’ said Mike appreciatively, running his hands over the deep wooden dresser top that was cut from one great plank of timber. The front edge was uneven where it followed the profile of the tree, and the wood itself had aged down to a rich, dark ginger; it showed signs of a combination of long use and great care.
‘It’s one of a kind.’
Mike nodded and stood back to take it in. ‘Nice…’
‘But a little too big for what you had in mind?’ suggested Cass.
‘No, actually not at all,’ he said, still looking it over. ‘I’ve just finished converting an old chapel in Steepleton and it would look great in there. I’ve got a really nice kitchen—I’m like your mother, I love to cook.’ As he bent down to open the row of doors he revealed a neatly combed-over bald patch, confirming her suspicions that he was nothing like her mother. ‘Actually, it would be perfect. Assuming we could come to an agreement about price.’
Cass watched him thoughtfully as he worked his hand and eye over the old wood. The dresser was one of those things she loved but hadn’t been able to shift. Handmade by an unknown craftsman, it was beautiful if somewhat quirky, with oversized half-moon metal handles and shelves with fronts that followed the shape of the tree the plank was cut from rather than being squared off. Mike picked up the price tag, a little white parcel label tucked discreetly through one of the handles.
‘Will you take an offer?’
Cass considered it for a moment.
‘What I mean is, is this your best price?’
‘It is if you want me to arrange to have it delivered, it is. It weighs a ton,’ Cass said.
Mike hesitated, but if he was expecting Cass to waiver he’d picked the wrong bunny. ‘Fair enough. Would you mind if I measured it up?’ he asked, pulling a tape and pad out of the pocket of his Barbour.
‘Be my guest,’ said Cass. ‘Is there anything else I can interest you in?’
Mike set the tape out along the top of the dresser and Cass instinctively caught hold of the dumb end. ‘How about lunch?’ he said, as he jotted the numbers down.
‘Oh very smooth,’ she said.
Mike’s eyes were alight with mischief. ‘I like to think so—I really enjoyed supper with Rocco and your mother the other night, but it would be nice to talk to you without the dynamic duo filling in the blanks.’
‘And hogging the limelight?’
‘Exactly,’ said Mike.
‘So, looking at my dresser was just a cunning ploy to ask me out?’
‘No, I really do want one and Rocco was right, this would be perfect in the new kitchen. It’s one of the nicest ones I’ve seen in a while. Presumably it comes to pieces?’
‘Uh-huh—the shelves slide out and the top lifts off the base, which divides into two, the bun feet unscrew and finally the fretwork trim and finial top lifts off—mind you, it’s still not exactly a flat-pack.’
‘Will you hold it for me while I just double check that it will fit?’
Cass nodded. ‘Consider it done.’
‘When could you arrange to have it delivered?’
‘Probably by the end of this week—as long as we’re talking cash.’
Mike nodded. ‘Okay. And how about to lunch?’
Cass smiled; the bottom line was that Mike still wasn’t her type. ‘It’s a nice offer, but I don’t close at lunchtime. And I’m hardly dressed for eating out…’ She glanced down at the work shirt and jeans she was wearing under her apron.
‘It is short notice,’ said Mike shifting his weight from foot to foot.
Cass suspected he was about to add, Maybe another time then or, Ah well, never mind, worth a shot, or maybe even suggest they made it dinner instead in which case she had better come up with a good excuse quickly, when he said, ‘Actually, I don’t mind what you’re wearing. I was thinking maybe just grabbing soup and a sandwich. Local greasy spoon.’
‘You really know how to impress a girl,’ said Cass wryly.
Mike laughed. ‘I thought I’d aim low and see what kind of reception I got, bearing in mind you didn’t ring me back.’
Cass winced. Although Mike hadn’t been the only customer she’d had in during the morning, there weren’t that many people about and lunchtime rushes were rare as hen’s teeth except in midsummer. She glanced back at the workshop; there was nothing in there that wouldn’t keep. Right on cue her stomach rumbled. He grinned.
‘Okay, but I can’t be too long.’
His expression brightened. ‘Great, where do you suggest? I don’t know the area very well.’
‘How do you feel about wholefood?’
Cass could see Mike trying hard but he couldn’t quite hold back the grimace. ‘Fine,’ he managed. ‘Are we talking lentils here?’
‘Not necessarily. My friend runs a really good cafe just across the road. They do some fantastic food and all of it is sickeningly healthy.’
‘Okay, sounds like a plan,’ said Mike. ‘Although I should warn you I don’t do tofu.’
‘Me neither. I’ll need to lock up,’ said Cass, heading back towards the workshop. Buster looked up at her as she picked up her handbag from under the bench and brushed the dust off. ‘I’m expecting you to keep an eye on the place,’ she murmured, bending down and scratching him behind the ears.
A few seconds later Cass followed Mike out into the street and pulled the shop door to behind her.
‘So,’ he said, as they fell into step. ‘How’s the singing going?’
‘Are you sure you want to know?’ She looked him up and down; it was no good. Something about Mike irritated her, which was never a good sign. How was it her mum had ended up with Rocco while she attracted men like Mike?
He smiled. ‘Uh-huh—your mother and Rocco tell me that you’re brilliant.’
Maybe it was because he was acting as if they already knew each other, maybe it was the way he appeared to be fiddling with something in his jacket pocket, maybe it was the sniffing.
‘My feeling is that they’re probably biased,’ said Cass, as they headed across the green towards the cafe on the corner.
‘Great shop. I’d really like to take a good look round sometime.’
‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘Feel free.’
‘How long have you lived here?’
‘About twelve years.’
He glanced back over his shoulder. ‘Good spot.’
And he was too cheery.
‘I think so.’
‘Cool,’ said Mike, which didn’t deserve comment.
Cass’s shop was long and narrow, a sitting-room’s width with