fiercely at them once more.
‘I’d better get back to work,’ Gracie whispered apologetically.
‘Okay. Oh, I might be a little late for the next meeting – I have a seminar that afternoon which is likely to overrun. Could you tell Estelle for me?’
‘Of course.’
‘Thank you.’
‘My pleasure.’
‘See you there then.’
‘Bye, Reggie.’
‘Bye, Gracie.’
Gracie watched him walk out of the door into the dazzling spring sunshine, and realised she was smiling.
Outside the library, as Reggie strolled down the path and back out onto the street, he found himself mentally replaying what had just happened.
His mind had been full of the research notes he needed to make today, and seminars that he thought it might be useful to attend, so his only thought when entering Clifton library had been to pick up a copy of Lady Chatterley’s Lover as quickly and as painlessly as possible.
Then he’d bumped into Gracie, and what had started out as a somewhat hostile encounter had quickly turned into something … what, exactly? Fun, Reggie supposed, the realisation taking him by surprise. ‘Fun’ and ‘Reggie’ were not words which usually went together.
But he’d enjoyed chatting with Gracie; he found her intelligent, sparky and challenging, and she’d made him feel the same. The way she’d teased him when they’d somehow ended up talking about the most outrageous of subjects … it was a long time since he’d laughed like that.
Reggie made his way towards the city centre, a spring in his step as he marched along. It was almost as though he’d made some kind of a breakthrough back there, managing to be self-assured and humorous – flirty, even. The sensation was all too rare, but he liked the person he became when he was relaxed and confident.
To Reggie’s surprise, he found himself fervently hoping that Gracie liked it too.
9
The delicious smell of baking filled the flat; an intoxicating blend of warm scones, freshly mixed chocolate brownies and rich coffee cake. The windows had steamed up from the heat of the oven, the atmosphere cosy as Estelle moved busily around the kitchen, humming away to Radio Bristol which was playing quietly in the background. She peered through the door of the oven to check on her cupcakes which were rising nicely, then moved back to the cluttered work surface, pouring a large bowl of cookie dough into the food mixer and turning it on.
The living space above Cafe Crumb was small and comprised of two bedrooms – one each for Estelle and Joe – and a bathroom, with the front door opening directly into the tiny living-cum-dining room. But by far the largest room was the kitchen; Estelle had had it specially extended, she needed the extra space for all the baking she did for the cafe. It was undeniably hard work – every night after the shop closed Estelle would whip up fresh batches of a dozen different cakes and sweets, ready to sell the next day. On Sundays, after watching Joe play football, the rest of Estelle’s day would be taken up with making industrial-sized quantities of pastry to freeze and use later in the week, as well as preparing stock for the next day and putting the last week’s accounts in order. Sometimes it seemed never-ending.
But Estelle enjoyed her hectic routine. There was something calming and deeply satisfying about weighing all the ingredients, mixing the dough and rolling it out, then loading everything into the oven and seeing the alchemy which took place as buns rose like magic, and pastry turned flaky and golden.
This Tuesday evening, with Joe away at the U15 match in Bath, Estelle was on her own. Tony had picked him up in the early afternoon and would be dropping him back soon, Estelle realised, as she checked the clock on the wall.
She sprinkled the counter top with flour and had just begun rolling out the cookie dough when she heard Joe’s key in the lock.
Estelle came out of the kitchen to greet him, brushing her hands on her flour-covered apron.
‘How’d it go, love?’ she asked, as he sauntered in, leaving the front door open.
‘Fine. We won,’ he replied with a grin, as Estelle shrieked in delight.
‘You little star!’ she exclaimed, running over to give him a hug. Joe endured his mother’s squeezes for a few seconds, before wriggling free.
‘Oh, I nearly forgot, Tony’s here,’ he added casually, grabbing a muffin from the rack that was cooling on the side before disappearing into his bedroom.
‘What? Joe—’ Estelle began in confusion. She stepped forwards and saw Tony standing outside the front door, waiting at the top of the metal stairway that led directly up to the flat from street level. He was wearing dark jogging bottoms with a grey hooded fleece, and the sporty look emphasised his fit, strong body. Much to Estelle’s shame, she realised that since reading Ten Sweet Lessons she’d begun paying far more attention to the male physique, and her eyes scanned over him appreciatively.
‘I’m so sorry about that, do come in,’ Estelle told him, suddenly very aware that her face was flushed from the heat of the oven and she was wearing her scruffiest old clothes.
‘That’s alright,’ Tony waved away her apology.
‘I can’t believe Joe left you outside like that! I’ll have a word with him later,’ she promised, as she smoothed back her hair, conscious of what a state she must look.
‘Oh, it’s no problem,’ he repeated. ‘I know what teenagers can be like.’
‘Well, thanks so much for dropping him back,’ Estelle said gratefully. ‘What was the score? He didn’t even tell me.’
‘Six-four,’ Tony beamed. ‘It was a great match, and Joe scored a hat-trick.’
‘Did he?’ Estelle exclaimed, thrilled. ‘Oh, I wish I’d been there.’
‘You’d have been very proud. He’s a great little player.’
‘I’m just pleased that he’s found something he’s so passionate about. I wish he got that excited about doing his homework,’ Estelle laughed. ‘Can I get you anything to drink?’ she offered, realising that they were standing awkwardly just inside the door. ‘A cup of tea or coffee? Something stronger?’
‘I’d better not,’ Tony declined. ‘I’ve got Chris waiting outside in the car, so I can’t stay long. I just wanted to come up with Joe and make sure he got in okay.’
‘Oh, of course,’ Estelle nodded. ‘But at least let me give you some cakes to say thank you. I’ve just made a fresh batch of Chelsea buns,’ she told him, moving through to the kitchen. ‘You said they were your favourites – is that right?’
‘Well remembered,’ Tony beamed, as he followed her, his eyes lighting up at the rows of cakes arranged on wire cooling trays. ‘I suppose it would be impolite to refuse.’
‘Absolutely,’ Estelle agreed, as she picked up two enormous Chelsea buns, bursting with fruit and coated in icing. ‘Now I’ve only just finished glazing these, so they’ll still be a bit sticky. I’ll give you a couple – one for Christopher too,’ she explained, as she slotted them in a paper bag and expertly twisted the corners so that the paper sat safely above them.
‘Mmm, they smell wonderful. It’s a real operation you’ve got going here,’ Tony observed, staring round appreciatively at the piles of meringues, fairy cakes and flapjacks. ‘Like I said, I didn’t realise you owned Cafe Crumb. I’ll definitely start popping in more often.’
‘Oh you must,’ Estelle insisted. ‘And Lord knows I could do with the extra business.’
‘Things a little quiet, are they?’ Tony asked