Page 19 of The Perfect Blend
“Robin, Beanie,” he called out. “Welcome back to Bluebell Ridge Farm.”
I smiled up at him as I stepped into the pool of light thrown by the open door.
“Thanks so much for having us, it feels so wonderful to be back here again.”
Zach stepped back, ushering Beanie and me inside, before he led us through to the kitchen. I felt like I was walking back in time to my childhood, with only a few new unfamiliar things here to undermine the illusion. The heels of my boots clicked on the ancient stone flag floors as I passed through. Zach gestured for me to take a seat at the table by the fire. The large Victorian cast iron range filled the fireplace, it was my favourite feature of the kitchen, it always had been. The flames in the grate seemed to dance happily, and the entire room felt alight with warmth and nostalgia. Mr and Mrs Spencer still lit the fire back in the day, but for cooking they relied on an old gas oven. I always dreamed of cooking in this kitchen, of standing at the sink staring out of the window at the view of the fields beyond. On the table, Zach had laid a place for each of us, set at a right angle, with wine glasses and candles burning in a candelabra taking centre stage right in the middle.
“It’s really nice to have someone to share this place with for an evening. I’ve been drifting around with only my memories for company for a while now.” It stung a little to hear him describe his life in such lonely terms.
“This place certainly has a lot of those. After all these years and it still looks the same, well apart from the few additions I can tell are yours,” I said, nodding towards a herb planter by the kitchen sink. “I don’t think Mrs Spencer even knew what basil was, let alone a chilli plant.”
Zach smiled and nodded, “The house sat empty for a few years after Uncle Jim died, but it was in the will that the furniture was to stay with the house just as it was. It’s been a proper task to clean away the dust and air out the house.”
“I love that the furniture stayed with the house,” I said, running my hand along the wood of the kitchen table, worn smooth by countless hands of generations of Spencers. “It keeps the sense of history alive.”
Zach nodded, “I’m really very lucky to have inherited it all. Or to even have it at all.” He said, rising from his seat. “Are you hungry? I thought we could start with tea and then go take a look at the barn.”
“Tea? So you do remember what we call the evening meal up here even though you’re all Southern,” I teased.
He laughed, “Breakfast, Dinner and Tea. I remember - how could I not when you reminded me so relentlessly about it the first year I stayed at the farm?” he said, sending a teasing smile back my way. “Shall I take that as a yes to food?”
“Absolutely,” I said. “I’m famished. I didn’t get a chance to even catch a bite since breakfast this morning. Everything was nightmarishly hectic today.”
He frowned as he turned to face the Victorian range. “Sounds rough,” he said. I watched him open the old oven door and take out a casserole dish that was wafting over the most amazing smell. My stomach rumbled loudly.
I blushed hard as Zach walked towards the table, but he just smiled and said ‘glad you approve of my cooking.’
“I’m so happy you’re actually using the range!” I said, “Do you remember your Aunt Dot used to be so adamant it was useless.”
He sat down next to me and began serving the food - a delicious looking combination of slow cooked beef, potatoes and veggies.
“I do,” he said. “I also remember you trying to prove her wrong, mixing up some concoction and putting it in the oven, forgetting all about it until Uncle Jim started saying he could smell burning.”
We laughed together at the memory. I must have been around nine, and when Mr Spencer had commented about the burning smell, I had jumped up from where I was making paper chains with Zach and ran over to try and rescue my experiment. It was charred black and had to be thrown outside, I was very put out.
“Oh!” said Zach, jumping out of his seat, “I forgot to offer you a drink. Would you like a glass of wine with your food? I have a really nice Sauvignon in the fridge.”
Gosh, he looked so cute when he was flustered. “I’d love one thanks,” I responded quickly. Despite my interest in wine after the day I’d had, the food sitting in front of me smelled like heaven and I was eager to tuck in. But, my Mum had always taught me it was bad manners to start before everyone was seated, so I waited patiently whilst Zach expertly poured two glasses of wine and sat back down.
“This looks lovely,” I said, and took a bite. I groaned as the flavours melted in my mouth. “Tastes divine Zach, thank you. An entrepreneur and a chef? You’re too good. Have a couple of flaws, won’t you?”
He chuckled nonchalantly, but I noticed just the teensiest blush high on his cheeks.
“Thank you, it’s my pleasure to cook for you,” he said, and suddenly there was another reason to be attracted to him. Skilled in the kitchen and happy to cook for me, Zach sure was checking all of my boxes - even the ones I didn’t know I had.
“But you were telling me about your day,” he continued.
“Oh, you don’t want to hear about that,” I said, with a small awkward laugh. In my last relationship, it was like pulling teeth to get Pete to be attentive and interested in the little things that made up my day. I didn’t want Zach to be bored by it all.
“I do want to hear about it,” he said, and I kept my eyes on the food. “Hey, Robin?” He paused until I looked up at him, finding an endearing expression of earnestness on his face. “I actually do, so if you’d like, won’t you tell me all about it?”
And so I did. It was such a lovely feeling to just talk to someone about my day and have them actively listen. It was the perfect tonic after a hard day and a thought came to me unbidden, that this was something I could really get used to.
“I can’t believe you managed to get that order sent in the end, it sounds like a nightmare.” Zach was commenting on my tale of woe regarding a massive order for a nearby office’s Christmas Coffee Break, which nearly ended in disaster.
“What can I say, Joe the taxi driver really came through for me.”
“Yeah, that and your impeccable crisis management skills.”
