Page 2 of The Perfect Blend
“I’m so sorry, are you alright? That wasn’t very clever of me,” I chuckled, smiling apologetically up at the guy.
He offered a tight, polite smile in response, but his blue eyes were flinty and the awkwardness made me cringe inside. His strong features framed by dark curls may well have been handsome, but right now the chill projected from them rivalled the weather.
“Let’s get unravelled, shall we?” His voice was deep and pleasant, the accent definitely southern.
Inside I cringed even further - could he have overheard me talking about snooty southerners and have taken offence? Should I apologise and explain, or would that dig my hole even deeper?
“Ah, of course, sorry.”
I started working on untangling us as the cold seeped up from the ground and froze my bum. Unfortunately, my bulky walking boots made it a little tricky, and it took a minute or so of manoeuvring with help from Mr Tall, Dark and now Probably Offended. Meanwhile, Beanie sat beside us clueless at the chaos she had caused. Although, to be fair to her, this probably could have been avoided if I had just paid better attention.
Few words were exchanged and by the time we were both separated and standing, the mood seemed as frosty and awkward as it had been when we started. Surely he couldn’t be this put out by us falling over? I mentally recounted my conversation with Zoe and tried to figure out just how bad it would have sounded out of context.
“I’m sorry again, about all this,” I said with a sweeping hand gesture, hoping that was a broad enough apology to cover whatever the actual problem was.
“Accidents happen,” he said, bending down to pick up my coffee mug, glancing at the writing on it before handing it back to me. “Though I’ve got to say, if this place permits anything as ridiculously hipster as a ‘Bespoke Coffee Matching Experience’ they would be hypocrites to turn ‘pitchforks’ against the improvements being made to Bluebell Ridge Farm.”
I wanted the ground to swallow me up as I hastily put two and two together. So this guy wasn’t any old southerner, he must be the new owner of the farm. And he had just overheard me suggesting we run him out of town. I cringed a little inside, although I also wanted to pick up the gauntlet he’d just thrown down before me and chuck it right back at him. The sheer arrogance of ridiculing a local independent business like my coffee shop in the same breath as advocating for some soulless development of a piece of local heritage. A place I had more ties to than this Southerner.
“Improvements are always welcome of course,” I said sweetly, “when they’re done to preserve the farm for future generations, not to remodel it for the sake of someone’s ego.”
The guy’s eyebrows flew upwards at that. “Ego?” he said incredulously, and I felt a fleeting shot of satisfaction that I’d hit my mark.
“Right, well,” he continued after a beat. “I see I’ve got my work cut out for me to pull this place out of the dark ages.”
My mouth dropped open and before I could come up with a response to that, he beat me to it.
“Enjoy your walk, and what’s left of your bespoke coffee.”
Mr Tall, Dark and Rude turned on his heels and stalked off down the field.
I stared after him, gobsmacked, then finally turned to look at Beanie, who was gazing happily up at me.
“That was awful, and it’s all your fault it happened. I’m glad he hates the sound of my coffee shop, because if I ever see him again it will be too soon.”
Chapter Two
Perhaps, if I’d lived in a big metropolis, we might never have crossed paths again. But life just doesn’t work out that way in a small town like mine. Two days later, I drove into the car park of the big Tesco supermarket for my weekly shop. I always tried to buy most of my produce locally, especially the fresh stuff, but sadly there were always those few items which I just had to get from a big supermarket. This time I’d written a comprehensive list and would absolutely not forget a thing. It’s always the most frustrating feeling to get back home and realise you have forgotten that one must-have ingredient for the recipe you are planning.
I spotted a space next to a big old school Land Rover Defender and slid into it, feeling chuffed at the spot. It was only a row over from the entrance and was usually always full. I got out, pulled a trolley from where it sat nested with its brethren and went inside.
The brightly lit building and its dated terrazzo tiling hadn’t changed from when I’d come shopping with my mum as a kid, but they were always moving the aisles about. Glancing at my list, I took a guess at which aisle the Asian cuisine ingredients might be on and headed off. I was nearly right, one aisle off, and when I arrived I immediately started scanning for coconut milk. I could swear it was somewhere in the middle last time I was here, but alas, no, Tesco was once again having a laugh at my expense by moving things around.
After a minute or so of searching, feeling more and more like I was just being stupid and it must be right in front of me, I finally spotted it. Well, I spotted the empty place where it should have been. I really didn’t feel like tracking down someone to ask if they had any more. I cast my eyes about and spotted a tray of refills on the very top shelf. A tin had already been taken, leaving the plastic wrapping open for me to grab one myself, if only I could reach it.
I scooted close to the shelves and pushed up onto my tiptoes. I was stretching up as far as I could and whilst my fingers brushed the packaging, I couldn’t quite grasp a tin.
I felt a presence at my shoulder and a man’s hand appeared above mine, attached to a nicely tanned and muscled forearm with a shirt sleeve pushed back along it.
“Please,” came a smooth, easy voice, “allow me.” The hand grabbed a tin from the packaging and retreated as its owner stepped back, the presence at my back easing away.
“Thank you!” I said, turning around. My appreciative smile froze on my lips as I took in my helper. In front of me stood Mr Tall, Dark and Rude. His voice had sounded so much warmer than when we’d last spoken that I hadn’t recognised him. So, he could be nice when he wanted to be.
He looked stupidly good against the mundane surroundings of the supermarket, like maybe Tesco had been filming an ad here and he’d just wandered off the set.
His blue eyes narrowed slightly as he realised it was me and I felt the awkwardness expand to fill the space between us. I could almost hear the whistling of ‘The Good, The Bad and The Ugly’, as we faced off against each other in the Wild West of the Asian ingredients aisle.
“Here’s your coconut milk,” he said, his tone cold as he handed over the tin.
