Escape to the Little French Cafe by Karen Clarke

Author:Karen Clarke [Clarke, Karen]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781786817976
Publisher: Bookouture
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Fourteen

I completely lost track of the next few hours. After I had assured Jay I didn’t just eat vegetables, he led me outside to a balconied terrace with a clear view across flat green fields to the sea. The sun had tinged the sky apricot and the air was soft and full of competing scents – specifically, mimosa and barbecued meat.

Jay confessed that Simon had shopped for the ingredients, but only because he hadn’t had time himself. ‘I hate letting people do things for me, but it won’t be for much longer,’ he said. ‘I fully intend to do my own shopping in future.’

‘You might have got more used to being looked after than you realise.’

‘Believe me, Natalie, I haven’t,’ he said, looking at ease as he flipped a thick burger, his brow lightly furrowed with concentration. ‘I know actors often say they’ve never forgotten their roots and where they came from, but I can promise you, hand on heart, I haven’t.’

‘That doesn’t mean you want to still be that person.’

He considered this for a moment. ‘I often hated my circumstances, but never myself,’ he said. ‘I always found ways to be happy, even when things were really bad.’

‘Like watching a sunset?’ I teased, sitting at the table he’d dressed with silver cutlery and a fat candle in a jar, feeling as if I could stay here forever as I relaxed more and more in his company, helped along by the glass of fruity red wine he’d poured, and which I’d drunk too quickly.

‘Yeah, something like that.’ He gave me a lazy smile that made my heart trip. It kept happening. We’d chat for a while about ordinary things while we ate and drank, exchanging stories about growing up (he had some happy memories despite the tough times), laughing as we discovered things we had in common (loved Brussels sprouts, hated being cold, hadn’t watched Game of Thrones), then he’d give me a look that made my breathing falter. It was so different to anything I’d experienced in the past. I had a comfortable friendship with Charlie, and with Matt… well, we’d had more differences than similarities. He often used to say, why are you like this? and it wasn’t until after we’d broken up that I’d realised, if he’d had to ask, he couldn’t be right for me.

It was hard to fathom that Jay might feel the same way I did, but when he refilled my plate and handed it back and our fingers brushed, I could tell from his startled look that he’d experienced the same fizz of electricity I’d felt, from my fingertips to my toes.

‘Funny how we have fingertips, but not toetips,’ I jabbered, trying to gloss over my reaction to his touch. ‘Yet we can tiptoe but not tipfinger.’

‘What are you talking about, you mad woman?’ Jay’s look of baffled amusement almost made me snort out a mouthful of wine.

‘I’ve no idea.’ I broke down in helpless giggles.

Jay laughed softly, his eyes not leaving my (probably ruddy) face, then he reached over, removed my glass from my hand and pulled me to my feet.

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