Page 13 of The Perfect Blend
"Hey, my pleasure. Between me and you," he confided, lowering his voice, "it's the best looking shop front on the street."
I laughed. "That honour definitely goes to the hairdressers," I said, nodding to the shop three doors down. They had rigged up the lights into a snipping pair of scissors. "However,” I continued in a grandiose tone, “I can't really argue with a ladder-bringing-hero who scales great heights to bring Christmas cheer."
He smiled and started taking the ladders back to his car - his beat up land rover defender. Now that I thought about it, It looked like the same one that used to be owned by the late Mr. and Mrs. Spencer.
"If you could be so kind as to repeat such high praise around the village, I'm sure it would go a long way to rectify my public image," he said.
"Hm, I don't think my word alone holds that much sway. There's been some serious gossip going round." I admitted apologetically. "If you’re not busy now, you could come inside and warm up? We can mull over the root of the problem together.” I hoped fervently that he wasn’t actually planning anything objectionable for the farm or it would make this reconciliatory reunion we’d just managed a bit moot.
"I'd like that."
Together we went back into the shop and he started making his way to the cute booth by the window.
"Actually," I said, "if you don't mind, I'd rather go upstairs to my place. I always feel a little on display here when it's dark out since there are no curtains."
He raised his eyebrows, "Sure, lead the way."
I locked the door and headed towards the back of the shop, ignoring the fact that what I'd said potentially sounded like yet another come on - lord knows how I was managing Freudian slips left, right and centre around Zach.
"After you," I said, pulling open the door to the back stairs, flicking on the lights and gesturing like I'd just performed a magic trick.
"Why thank you,” he said, slipping past me to tread up the creaky steps beyond. I followed him up, switching the shop lights off and closing the door as I went.
The top of the stairs opened straight into the open-plan kitchen - dining - living room, which took up the back half of the flat. Zoe called it cute, Sharon called it tiny and the estate agent had called it snug. It had been a bittersweet moment when I had bought the coffee shop from my landlord. I had only afforded it because of the life insurance my dad and I were beneficiaries of when my mum died. I’d have swapped it all in a heartbeat for more time with her, but it was nice to feel like she was still with me, a part of my success. Sometimes when I fired up my coffee machine or served a customer, or just pottered around my flat, I could feel her with me and knew she was happy and proud of me.
In my little flat, the kitchen took up the side wall, with the dining table positioned against the back windows. When eating, I liked to peer out over the rooftops to where I could just about make out the hills beyond. The living room consisted of an armchair and a blue loveseat which were angled toward my pride and joy of the place - a working fireplace. It had been completely closed up when I had bought the house. In fact, the whole upstairs had just been a set of offices. While renting the coffee shop downstairs, I’d daydreamed about renovating the upstairs. So, when I finally managed to buy it, I enjoyed getting stuck in and bringing those daydreams to life. I'd stripped the walls back to the brick and restored the fireplace. I might never be able to afford my dream house up in the hills, but I liked to pick elements of old English farmhouses to breathe life into wherever I was living, giving it the character that always made me feel at home. The furnishings were antique and worn, with cheerful throws and plants here and there. I loved it.
"Wow," said Zach, "it's great up here, it feels just like a cosy country cottage. I love the fireplace.”
I smiled. "Me too. There's a fire already laid and matches on the mantel, can you light it whilst I fix us some hot drinks? "
"Sounds great," he said, and strolled over to kneel at the hearth. I was struck by how strange it looked to have Zach Spencer lighting my fireplace after all these years, and yet just how normal it felt too.
I popped the kettle on. "Are you going to start re-arranging the sticks to your optimum design?" I asked, recalling fond memories of us fiercely fighting over the best way to light a fire as kids.
He laughed. "I notice you've stuck to your guns with your design," he said, lighting the carefully arranged pile of sticks and newspaper. "It's good to know you weren't only being stubborn back then, you're actually convinced of your methods."
It was my turn to laugh. "Of course!" I said indignantly, "This is the superior design! I won't be told otherwise. Triangles always win!"
Zach smiled and settled onto the loveseat, watching the flames grow. I turned away to finish up the drinks and brought them to the fireside.
"Hot chocolate," I said with a flourish, passing him his cup and settling down into the armchair. "I figured if you weren't into coffee, I wouldn't caffeinate you in the evening, even if I am itching to put you through my bespoke coffee matching experience. I'm sure we could make a coffee lover out of you yet!"
"Hmm," he said, studying his mug, a souvenir shaped like a boot that I had picked up from a Christmas market years ago. "If I decide to trust anyone with that task, it will be you, but I'm glad you made hot chocolate instead. It's delicious."
"Thank you." I smiled at him over the rim of my mug, looking into those blue eyes from under my lashes. Was it a trick of the firelight, or did they seem to darken?
"So tell me about the farm, Zach. I've heard all sorts of things about you bribing the planning committee. Big fancy extensions, home cinemas, demolishing things."
Zach groaned and sunk further back into the sofa. "Bloody hell," he said. "You askonebloke about the possibility of convertingonebarn and suddenly you're knocking the whole farm down."
I made my eyes big and round. "So youdowant a home cinema?!"
"Ha! No. I want to turn the furthest most barn - down by the road, into a farm shop with parking. I would like to use what I've learned in my co-operatives and work with local producers to make Bluebell Ridge not only a working farm, but a space to support all the great local businesses."
I felt my excitement stir to life within me at the sound of his plans.
"That's a fantastic idea. I've been thinking about setting up something like that for years!” And it was just the right time for such a project. “Local produce, crafting and goods are back on the up. But around here we don't have anywhere to really drive the hype and sell the goods. I've always thought one of the farms would make a great trip out, a place for a cafe and a shop, maybe even a little play area for the children!" I could feel myself getting more and more animated as I continued. "Down here in town, smaller shops are making a comeback. The monthly market is back, but up in the hills near us there's nothing exciting going on. And imagine - Bluebell Ridge back as a working farm! It's been so sad watching the farms turn into houses one by one over the years. This is such a great idea to contribute to the revitalisation of the area!"
