Page 8 of The Perfect Blend
“Thankyou,girls. Enjoy the market and give my love to your mum, won’t you?”
They nodded and melted back into the crowd, which meant I had to address the elephant in the room queuing patiently behind them.
I busied myself for a second as I put away the money. If I could handle rude customers on a busy day in the shop, surely I could handle one confusing man. I looked up at him with my brightest, most professional smile pasted on my face. His own face was as irritatingly handsome as I remembered. His tailored coat stressed his lean, muscled build, the soft cashmere of his scarf softened the whole ensemble. I found it vexing that he could look this good and yet be such an arse.
“Hello, what can I do for you?” I said, voice perfectly moderated and polite.
“Hey, not-Raven, I’ll have a hot chocolate, please. More a fan of chocolate than coffee, I’m afraid.”
His tone was surprisingly nice, his demeanour different from both the haughty man I’d met out dog walking or the self assured rude flirt I’d had the displeasure of bumping into since. It was such a change; I didn’t know what to make of it.
“You don’t say,” I replied, thinking of his derisive comments about my coffee business. “I could always set you up with my bespoke coffee matching experience,” I said, my professional smile taking on a sly edge. “It’s got five star reviews online by everyone from teenagers to grannies, not a hipster in sight.”
He coughed awkwardly at that and looked away, giving me a lovely view of his chiselled jawline. I might have to have a strict talk with myself later about not finding walking red flags attractive, even if they are ticking all of my boxes. Instead, I started making his drink. I never could resist a strong jawline, and I should definitely stop ogling this man in the middle of the Christmas market.
“I actually came by to apologise for that,” he said, and turned to look me straight in my eyes. “It was very rude how I handled myself last week. I felt angry at being judged for my hopes for the farm, but that’s no excuse for behaving that way, and I’m sorry for that.” He cleared his throat and continued. “And if I’ve acted a bit, er, full of myself since then, I’m sorry for that too.”
I nearly dropped the hot chocolate I was making. I was so surprised. The men I dated always turned out to be the type to avoid taking any responsibility. They acted as if they were allergic to the very idea of apologising, as if emotional introspection was the plague. But here was a man, easily admitting he had been in the wrong after only meeting me a handful of times. It was as refreshing as it was confusing. I supposed now it had to be my turn.
“I’m actually very sorry that I made you feel judged,” I said, adding whipped cream and marshmallows to his hot chocolate on autopilot. I cast my mind back to our first meeting, which seemed so long ago now, even though it had been barely a week since. “It was a silly conversation I was having with a friend about some village gossip, which I know is nearly always an exaggeration. I’m very embarrassed about it. I do sincerely want the best for the farm. And while you might have been a bit full of it at the restaurant, I’m a forgiving woman.” I let my professional smile slip into a genuine one as I handed over the drink. “Truce?”
His face softened. “Truce. Can I pay by card? Sorry, I don’t have any cash handy.”
“Of course,” I said, priming the card reader. “You know, it’s almost a shame you’ve been so nice. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve replayed our last conversation in my head whilst in the shower and imagined more satisfying conclusions.”
He smirked and raised his eyebrows at me, and I suddenly realised how that must have sounded.
“I mean, not like that,” I stammered, feeling my traitorous cheeks flush as my mind joined his in the gutter. “I mean, I came up with so many good comebacks I could have shouted at you before you walked off. There you go. Just tap your card at the top there.”
He dutifully did so and took a sip of his hot chocolate, icy blue eyes smouldering as he gazed at me over the brim of the cup. “Delicious, thank you.”
I swear he was doing it on purpose, that look was almost too innocent. The thoughts racing through my mind however were far from it, my cheeks still burning from the stupid shower comment.
I couldn’t look away, the eye contact became almost too intense to hold. Is it weak to look away first? “You’re welcome,” I said instead, before glancing down at the cart to ease the tension I had built up in my mind.
“By the way,” he said, “this is a bit left field but, your last name wouldn’t happen to be Bell, would it?” He tapped at the napkins with my coffee shop logo printed on them - ‘Robin’s Roost’.
How odd. “Yes, I’m Robin Bell.”
His face broke into a broad beam that seemed to light him up from the inside. “Blimey, what a coincidence. I’ve been wondering since you told me your name the other night. Nice to meet you again, Robin.” he said, “I’m Zach Spencer. We used to play together as kids when I came up to Bluebell Ridge Farm for the Christmas holidays.”
“Oh my goodness, no way!” I half-shouted, earning a few looks from passing shoppers. I felt like I’d been hit by something heavy. Despite the sudden nervous swoop in my stomach, I felt a smile spread across my face. This was unbelievable. “I would never have recognised you, it's been what -” I did some quick mental maths “fifteen years?”
“About that, yeah. My last Christmas at the farm was when I was fourteen. This is my first one since then, actually.”
Looking at him, I could just about see the resemblance to the teenager I had last seen, and it shook me to my core. Zach Spencer was a boy I’d spent many hours playing with when I was younger, up at Bluebell Ridge Farm. We climbed hay bales, chased chickens, made paper Christmas decorations with his Uncle Jim and had fierce debates over how to build the best fires. He was a skinny colt of a boy back then, all arms and legs, but he still had the same striking blue eyes and thick dark hair. It made sense, I supposed, that he would grow into his height and fill out. I just never expected him to become this good looking. I’d tried not to think of him at all, actually. It was a shock to find out Mr Tall, Dark and Rude was the same person. Talk about a blast from the past - the guy I’d been trying to get out of my head for the past few weeks had once been the boy with whom I’d shared my first kiss. It was equal parts mortifying and exciting. I felt a bit scrambled by it all.
“Hey Robin, could I get two coffees for the blokes outside selling the Christmas trees? They look half frozen.” It was Dave Jenkins, the local handyman, who finally broke the intense staring session that Zach and I had going on. Just as I was taking all of him in, he was watching me right back, and a small but vocal part of me secretly hoped he liked what he saw. I pushed it down; we were way past that nonsense with no return ticket.
“Sure Dave, just one sec,” I gave him a quick smile and turned back to Zach.
“Well then, welcome back for Christmas, Zach. I hope it’s a good one.”
“Thanks Robin, same to you.” He smiled and held a hand up in farewell before he turned away and disappeared into the crowd. I refocused on the gruff-looking guy in front of me.
“Two coffees, wasn’t it Dave? Any milk or sugar?”
∞∞∞
