A Season for Second Chances(66)

“Perhaps you can change his mind?” said floral-fleece, conspiratorially, as though John weren’t standing right next to her.

“I’m not sure he’s very flexible,” said Annie. “Men like John tend to barge through the world,” she added with a wry smile.

“Is that what I’m doing?” John chuckled darkly; there was a glint in his eye that could have been chagrin or humor. “You’re a psychologist now, are you, Ms. Sharpe?”

Annie didn’t know if they were playing or fighting; there seemed to be a fine line between the two. And yet there was something about disagreeing with John Granger that she found most enjoyable; his lack of sugarcoating was refreshingly sharp.

“No,” she said, smiling. “I’ve just met men like you before.”

“Men like me indeed! How many men like me have you met, exactly?”

Annie laughed then. “Truth be told, not that many, actually.”

“Still an enigma, then.” He smiled.

“Yes,” said Annie, looking at him quizzically. His eyes were more blue than gray in this light, with a ring around the iris of a dark green that matched the color of the sea outside. “I can’t make you out at all.”

“Good,” he said.





Chapter 52



When Annie turned the sign over on the door at half past two and pulled the shutters closed on the kiosk, the only sounds left to hide behind were the whoosh of the dishwasher and Enya’s haunting Celtic melodies playing on Spotify. She had grown increasingly comfortable in John’s presence over the course of the afternoon, but now that they were alone she felt suddenly self-conscious.

“Well,” John exclaimed, pulling his hand through his hair as he surveyed the aftermath of the busy café on every table and surface, inside and out. “I guess it would be rude to leave you with all this to clear up.”

Annie laughed. “This is nothing I’m not used to.”

“But today you have a willing servant, so you might as well make use of me.” He smiled.

Annie felt her cheeks redden at the idea but recovered herself quickly. “Even though you wish I’d never opened the café?”

“Even though.” John smiled and then said: “I’m willing to call a truce. Just for today. In honor of All Hallows’ Eve and the spirits that lurk about these shores in the dark.” John crossed the café to where Annie stood by the door. He held out his hand.

“I’m opening the café tonight, as in open for business as well as for dishing out sweets. Does that affect the truce?” Annie asked.

“You’d be missing an opportunity if you didn’t.”

Annie smiled. “Truce?”

John smiled back at her and winked. “Truce.”

Annie shook his hand. She went to pull her hand back, but he held it for a moment longer.

“Just so as you’re clear what a truce means,” he went on, “it means that for the rest of the day, we will refrain from being unpleasant to one another.”

“Not once have I been unpleasant without provocation!” Annie protested. Her heart was beating strangely fast at being this close to him.

“Ordinarily I would beg to differ. But in the spirit of the Halloween truce, I will simply renew my promise to refrain from being unpleasant for the day’s duration. Do we have a deal?”

Annie smiled in spite of herself. “Deal,” she agreed, giving his hand an extra shake for good measure.

“Good!” He grinned. He swooped down on the first table he came to and began gathering up cups and cupcake detritus. “Then let’s clear up this shower of shite so we can make a start on those Halloween decorations. Those wee trick-or-treating bairns wait for no man!” he added in a jovial, extremely Scottish accent.

Annie could not have been more taken aback if she’d seen Neptune himself grinning out at her from the surf beyond.



* * *



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    “Right,” said Annie when they had cleared down. “I’m going to make us a well-earned lunch. Would you like a coffee while you wait?”

“That would be lovely,” John replied. “I’ll get cracking on these boxes.” He reached into one of the boxes he had dragged in from the hall and pulled out what was essentially a basketball-sized knot of black cat fairy lights.

Annie grimaced. “I’ll make it a double shot.”

She furnished him with a large Americano and left him to it. Upstairs, Annie looked through her cupboards and the fridge and tried to find something to cook for an impromptu late lunch. The range oven took half an hour to heat up, but the hob took only five minutes, so she settled on a vegetable frittata and salad.

Twenty minutes later and laden with two plates of rainbow food, Annie pushed the café door open with her bottom and turned to find that John was not there. For a moment, she thought perhaps he’d changed his mind on the truce; maybe he was simply as mercurial as he seemed. She felt strangely deflated. But as she set the plates down on the table, she heard a tap tap tap followed by a curse in a thick Scottish accent coming from outside. Annie followed the sound and found John sucking his thumb while still holding a hammer in his other hand.

“Are you all right?” Annie pulled her cardigan around her; despite the brightness of the day, there was a distinct nip in the air.