Summer at the Little French Cafe by Karen Clarke

Author:Karen Clarke [Clarke, Karen]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Romance
ISBN: 9781786817990
Google: wieUDwAAQBAJ
Goodreads: 45480816
Publisher: Bookouture
Published: 2019-06-27T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eighteen

The second my eyes pinged open the following morning, all I could think about was heading next door to talk to Marie’s guest, Miranda. I’d wanted to go round the night before, but worried I’d had too much to drink and would say the wrong thing – start demanding explanations and upset Marie. Hearing voices from her garden, I’d shot through the house and outside and strained to listen from the patio, but the accents had been American, the conversation punctuated by gales of laughter, and I’d known it wasn’t them – Ted and Miranda. Surmising they’d gone straight to bed, I’d done the same, and although I’d expected to lie awake thinking things over – as well as reliving my oyster shame and the almost-kiss with Henri – I’d immediately succumbed to sleep.

It wasn’t until I was outside Marie’s front door that I fully registered I had a hangover headache, and wished once more that I’d resisted the Chablis. The cup of tea I’d forced down after my shower had done nothing to relieve the metallic taste in my mouth.

The sun was too shiny, and as I fumbled putting a pair of sunglasses on, I wondered how Henri was feeling. We hadn’t exchanged numbers, so I couldn’t call or text him to ask. Maybe he’d turn up with some fishy delights for Marie. That reminded me that I’d agreed to go out on his fishing boat, and the thought set up a sickly surge in my stomach.

I knocked on Marie’s door, hoping I’d got the timing right and her guests were having breakfast. I was keen to get it over with now, like a dental appointment, but was almost relieved when she didn’t answer right away. Maybe I could try again later, and go back to bed for a bit. I was turning away when the door swung open, and Marie appeared in an off-white, short-sleeved blouse, and a denim skirt half-covered by a floral apron.

‘Elle!’ She sounded so startled, I wondered whether my top was on back to front, or I had lipstick on my teeth. In an effort to disguise my hangover pallor, I’d dug out a tube of Muted Coral that was supposed to complement freckles, and worried I might have piled it on too thickly.

‘Morning,’ I croaked, and cleared my throat. ‘Hope you don’t mind me calling.’

‘Of course not,’ she said, breaking into a smile. ‘What a wonderful surprise.’ She stepped back. ‘Would you like some breakfast?’

I’d been relying on her to ask, unable to think of another reason for appearing at her door this early. ‘That would be lovely.’ Perhaps it would settle my churning insides.

‘You had a good time with Henri?’ she said as I removed my sunglasses and joined her in the hallway, grateful to escape the sunshine. ‘I saw you on the big bike.’

I couldn’t work out her tone, but her expression was pleasantly enquiring. ‘I met him the morning he brought you some fish,’ I said. ‘He… seems nice?’

I hadn’t meant to sound as if I was asking, but she nodded.

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