by Ella Hayes
ERRIS HELD THE DOOR. ‘Will this do?’
Emilie scanned the space. It was a storeroom, a bit pokey, stacked with bright plastic crates full of empty beer bottles but there was a smallish table against the back wall which looked clean and just big enough for a spot of covert cake assembly. ‘It’s perfect, better than I’d expected.’ She smiled. ‘I hadn’t realised there was going to be a beach bar.’
Erris leaned from side to side, hitching up his shorts. ‘We’ve got our own food, but we hired the bar and the DJ. The private beach comes with it!’ He grinned. ‘Melinda knows how to throw a party!’ His eyes darted to the boxes she was holding. ‘And it looks like you know how to make a cake!’
‘This is the cake!’ Joel was coming in with the big box, pretending to stagger. ‘What Emilie’s got are the decorations.’
Erris’s mouth fell open. ‘Oh, my!’
Joel grinned, eyes darting to hers. ‘It’s going on the table, right?’
She nodded, watching him fake-stumbling towards the table. It was impossible not to smile. Why did he have to be being even more charming than usual just when she needed to distance herself? And why did he have to be looking so handsome? His pale khaki shirt made his eyes seem brighter and bluer and he’d shaved his beard closer. He smelt good. Clean. Sexy. She wanted to fold herself into him, breathe him in, but that was off the table now. She steadied the boxes she was holding. Ever since he’d got back from his solitary sail, Joel had been warm and attentive, sweet and affectionate. It was making everything harder, making her heart ache. She’d kept having to dodge his arms, pretending that she was preoccupied with the cake, anxious about how it would fare in the heat and about her decorations breaking or getting knocked, which had only made him even more attentive, more careful. As they’d gone down the steps to the jetty, he’d kept looking back, checking that she was okay with her boxes, such a sweet, protective kind of light in his eyes that she hadn’t been able to hold his gaze.
‘Erris...?’
Her heart bounced. ‘Go!’ She parked her boxes lopsidedly on a beer crate, then steered Erris towards the door. ‘Melinda can’t know we’re here! Go!’
Erris tapped his nose, grinning, then moseyed out into the narrow passage.
She shut the door behind him, pausing for a beat. The prospect of being alone with Joel in such a small space was making her belly quiver. She took a breath and turned around.
He was standing by the table, a new looseness around his shoulders. He seemed relaxed, happy, as if he didn’t have a care in the world. He smiled. ‘What can I do to help?’
She swallowed. If only she didn’t need any help, then she wouldn’t have had to be cloistered in this little room with him, but the table was too small to take the cake and all the other boxes so she’d need him to help juggle things. At least assembling it all would keep her legitimately bent to the task, too busy to catch his eye. She crossed to the table and peeled the lid off the cake box. ‘Well, first we need to get the cake out. It’s on a base and there’s a cloth underneath, so we just have to grab the ends of the cloth and lift.’
‘Okay.’ One corner of his mouth lifted and then he moved behind her, his hands sliding around her waist. His lips grazed her ear. ‘I really, really want to kiss you...’
She closed her eyes, fighting an ache of desire, trying to ignore the warm weight of his hands and his clean irresistible scent. She wanted to turn around, slide her hands into his hair, feel his warm perfect lips moulding to hers, but she couldn’t. Her heart buckled. It was over, but telling him now, especially when he seemed so happy, would only make things sticky. There was a whole afternoon ahead of them. A whole afternoon to get through. She took a careful breath, then twisted her head to look at him. ‘Joel, Melinda’s here! We’ve got to get this done before someone barges in and spoils the surprise.’
He caught her face with his hand, stroking her cheekbone slowly. His gaze was so heartbreakingly tender that it was hard to hold it. And then he leaned in and his lips brushed hers. ‘Later, then...’
She nodded, biting back tears.
He moved back to the table, pulling at one of the loose fabric edges with interest. ‘The cloth’s a neat trick.’
She pulled the cloth out on her side of the box, steadying herself. This was so much harder than she’d thought it was going to be and the way he was looking at her was making it even harder. She took a breath. ‘I have a friend who makes wedding cakes! She passed on a few tips.’ She gripped the cloth. ‘So, we’ll lift on three, okay?’
‘Yes, chef!’
She couldn’t not smile. It felt like a relief, like a moment of normality. She looked up. ‘Okay! One...two...three...’
The cake went up and landed perfectly.
As the cloth fell away, Joel’s eyes popped. ‘Wow! This is amazing! The way you’ve got the texture of the sea...and the waves...and the sand... Even without the extras it’s a work of art!’ His eyes caught hers. ‘You’re a genius!’
‘It’s a simple rectangle...’
His eyebrows arched. ‘No, it isn’t and you know it!’
She pressed her lips together. He was right. There was nothing simple about the cake. For one thing, it was vast, enough to feed sixty guests. She’d added height at the beach end, modelling texture in the sand with toasted coconut, and she’d sculpted waves in the sea, as well as adding a ombre effect—turquoise through to deep blue—which she’d continued over the edges and down the sides. Simple wasn’t part of her culinary vocabulary. She was always pushing herself, going for the wow factor...except for the food she’d made over the past week. She’d toned things down, making Joel the simpler foods he enjoyed...grilled fish, stews, salads and bread rolls...and it had felt just as rewarding as making the complicated stuff. Maybe it was because every time, he’d looked at her as if she’d been giving him the world.
She blinked. Voices were filtering in from the beach, growing louder. Guests were arriving and she needed to get the cake assembled. She went for the boxes she’d left on the crate and put the biggest one into Joel’s hands. She peeled off the lid. ‘It’s going to be a bit dull for you now.’
He smiled. ‘Things are never dull with you.’
Despair pooled in her belly. If only he would stop being quite so adoring. It was making everything hurt more. She pinned on a smile. ‘There’s a first time for everything.’
‘Yes, chef!’
His smile was too much. The sooner she was finished and could go out and mingle with the crowd the better. She needed to put some distance between them, otherwise her heart was going to break.
* * *
‘You shouldn’t have gone to all that trouble, honey...’ Melinda was drawing her along the beach away from the throng, one warm, plump arm hooked through hers, consternation warring with affection in her deep brown eyes. ‘I mean, it’s a beautiful cake, Emilie—exquisite—but so much work!’ She was shaking her head, making little clicking noises with her tongue. ‘And there was me thinking you were having a break, enjoying some downtime.’
She squeezed Melinda’s arm. ‘I enjoyed doing it.’ It had been worth all the effort to see Kesney and Will’s delight, and so lovely to see Melinda and Erris beaming, the guests smiling. Even baby Ben’s eyes had popped wide when Kesney had held him close to the cake, probably because of the bright colours. ‘Besides, you’ve been so kind inviting me and Joel along that I couldn’t not bring something.’
‘Bringing yourselves would have been more than enough.’ Melinda’s voice became firm. ‘More than enough.’ She stopped walking, pulling her arm free, her gaze suddenly serious. ‘You know, Emilie, you need to believe that you’re enough, by yourself. You don’t always need a passport.’
She felt something small working loose in her chest, something that made her want to cry. She swallowed. ‘I know that...of course I do. It’s just that...this is such a special occasion. I
mean, Ben’s your first grandchild! I wanted to make something special, that’s all.’
‘I know that’s what you thought you were doing, but I’m just saying...’ Melinda’s eyes held hers, and then her face changed, softening. ‘Joel thinks you’re enough.’
‘Oh!’ Her heart dipped. ‘No. I don’t think...’ She drew her hair over her shoulder, smoothing it down for something to do.
‘It’s plain to see.’ Melinda smiled. ‘You only have to look in his eyes.’
Looking into Joel’s eyes, losing herself in all that light was the one thing she couldn’t do. Not any more. She pressed her lips together. ‘We’re just friends.’
‘Does he know that?’ Melinda’s eyes narrowed. ‘I mean, the last time we spoke you were in a fair old swoon about his kiss—’
‘I know.’ She looked away, neck prickling. That first kiss seemed light years away. So much had happened since then—too much—and now her heart was paying the price. She swallowed hard, meeting Melinda’s gaze. ‘There’s no future in it.’
‘How do you know that?’
She licked her lips. ‘Because he was jilted at the altar—effectively—and he’s all over the place about that.’ A choking sadness swelled in her throat. ‘He’s not ready for a relationship and I’m not either. He’s lovely—really lovely—and if circumstances were different...but we’re both on the rebound.’ She swallowed hard. ‘I need to be sensible now, cool things off because he’s leaving soon and...’
My heart is breaking already.
Melinda’s lips pursed. ‘Well, if that’s the way you feel, you should tell him.’
‘I will...’ She bit her lip. ‘Not now, but...soon.’
Melinda shook her head a little, sighing, and then she looked over towards the raised deck of the bright green, clapboard beach bar. ‘Look! Anton’s about to start!’
She followed Melinda’s gaze. Sure enough, Anton and his stilt dancers were launching themselves upwards, walking jerkily in the soft sand, their long, red satin trousers rippling, their white satin shirts and red waistcoats glowing in the sinking sun. There were eight dancers, three young women, five young men, all laughing as they helped each other with last-minute costume adjustments. The sound system barked and blared, then started blasting out a lively Soca beat.
Melinda made to walk back. ‘Are you coming?’
She nodded. ‘I’ll be along in a moment.’
Melinda squeezed her arm. ‘Honey, stop thinking so hard. Things usually have a way of working themselves out.’
She forced out a thin smile. ‘I know. Go with the flow, right!’
She felt her smile fading as Melinda picked her way back along the beach. It was all very well Melinda telling her not to think, but not thinking—going with the flow—was what had got her into this fling situation in the first place, and just believing that things always worked out in the end didn’t mean they would.
Tom was proof of that, although, miracle of miracles, he had emailed back. Rachel’s parents were stepping up. They were going to buy her out of Blythe’s, so she’d be solvent by the time she got back to England. It was what she’d wanted. It meant she could start thinking about the future... Café Hygge. If only she could feel more enthusiastic about it. She swallowed hard, biting her lips. The place in Salton had looked promising. It was definitely something to think about...
Joel! She drew a long breath, looking across the beach, past the ornate braziers fashioned from ancient marker buoys, past the dancers who were lining up to start, to the deck of the bar. He was talking to someone, a beer bottle in one hand, his other hand pressed to the back of his neck. The hand-to-neck thing was what he did when he was unsure of himself. Somehow, she knew that about him, just as she knew every trick of his mouth, and all the shades of light in his eyes.
Guilt ached through her veins. Joel wasn’t a party person, but he’d come to be with her and she’d left him to his own devices all afternoon, and now his hand was clamped to his neck because he wasn’t at ease. Tears prickled behind her eyes. It wasn’t fair, she wasn’t being fair. Dodging his arms, avoiding him all afternoon was cruel and, whatever she was, she wasn’t that. She couldn’t put it off another minute. She needed to tell him it was over.
* * *
Joel leaned his forearms on the rail, dangling his beer bottle. He was glad the show was in full swing. It meant no more making conversation with yet another person he would never meet again. He sighed. On the beach, Anton was bending backwards at a near impossible ninety degrees, wheeling his arms around, pulling a theatrical I might fall face. His agility was incredible. That limbo move would have been difficult enough on the ground, never mind doing it on six-foot-high stilts!
One after the other, the dancers were leaning back too, spinning their arms, then they all hopped upright together and sidestepped across the hard-packed sand before pulling one leg behind themselves so that their stilts were horizontal. After that, the moves kept coming...crouching, stooping, undulating, stilt legs crossing and spinning, sawing diagonally through the air, one dancer even bringing one leg up into a vertical split. It was amazing.
Earlier, Anton had told him how much he loved walking up high, the feeling that in the air anything was possible, and Joel could see it in him, the hard, bright energy pulsing through his body as he danced, all the happiness shining out of his face.
He shifted his gaze, staring at the beer bottle in his hands. Bright, energetic and happy was how he’d been feeling earlier that day, but not now. Now, there was a deep uncomfortable ache spreading through his chest. For some reason Emilie was avoiding him and it hurt. He’d helped her with the cake, carried it out into the bar, but since then it was as if she’d forgotten that he was there. Melinda and Erris had been great, welcoming him warmly, but he wasn’t a great socialiser. Not like Emilie. She’d flitted from group to group, chatting easily with Melinda and Erris’s family and friends, cradling the baby with such a sweet look on her face, but she’d barely looked at him all afternoon.
He sipped his beer. Maybe he was just being too sensitive about it because he was in love, because he knew for certain he was. He’d come to the party to be with Emilie, but she would have come with or without him. Just because he’d tangled himself up in all the strings didn’t mean she had, or would. And yet...so many times over the last week he’d seen something behind her eyes that had made his heart beat a little faster, that had seemed to lift him into the light. It was hard to believe that she didn’t feel something.
He sighed. That morning when he’d left to go sailing, she’d seemed fine, maybe a little preoccupied with the cake, but that was fair enough. She’d put a lot of work into it and worrying about it melting, collapsing or about the decorations getting broken was understandable. He’d been cool with all that, but he’d hoped that once everyone had seen the cake, she’d have lightened up, turned back into her old self again, even her old ‘no strings’ self... His heart twisted sharply, making his breath catch. Even in the fling zone, Emilie had been warmer, sweeter, more attentive than she’d been all afternoon. The deep ache in his chest deepened. There had to be something really wrong.
A tide of clapping and cheering broke into his thoughts and he looked up. The dancing was finished. Anton and his troupe were giant-striding towards the bar, slowing through the soft sand, and then they were parking themselves on the red rail, unstrapping their wooden stilts, faces sheened with perspiration.
He straightened, parking his bottle on a nearby table. The bar was colourful: red rails around the deck, green clapboard walls, blue tables with green chairs pulled up, table lanterns in pinks and yellows, and purples, the air filled with grill smoke and lively chatter. Bright chaos! So different to Sweden. He felt a twinge in his chest, a pang of longing. If he’d been at home in Stockholm, in his apartment, he’d have been feeling peaceful and centred instead of wildly off balance. Here, everything seemed to be slanti
ng the wrong way, or maybe it just felt like that because Emilie wasn’t by his side.
He moved through the bar, looking for her pale pink dress. He’d seen her on the beach with Melinda, watching the dancing, but now...? Nowhere to be seen. His jaw was aching. Had he been grinding his teeth? He pushed through the tables to the steps, looking left and right. If he had to trawl every inch of the beach, he was going to find her. He had something to say, something she needed to hear...and maybe when she heard it, it would make whatever was wrong between them come right again.
* * *
Joel stood at the water’s edge, staring. Beyond the edge of the bay, lights were starting to wink and shimmer, bars and restaurants and houses settling themselves for the night. Why was he alone? Had he done something wrong, something to upset her? He couldn’t think of what it could be, but his belly was churning and churning. Where was she?
He turned, looking back towards the bar. The interior was golden, strings of bare bulbs glowing, candle lamps flickering on the tables under the wide canopied deck. The chatter was a low burble, eclipsed by the mellow reggae number that was beating a path across the sand. For the umpteenth time, he scanned the guests for a trace of pale pink dress. Nothing! There was a knot of people beyond one of the braziers. Maybe she was with them, obscured by someone tall. He started walking, but as he drew level with the fire, he could see she wasn’t there. Desolation flooded his veins. He turned away, staring into the glowing globe, feeling its warmth, losing himself in the intricate-cut design and in the dancing flames behind. Where was she?
‘Joel...’
Emilie! He looked up, heart lurching, stumbling, fizzing. She was walking towards him, hair streaming behind her, dress flowing, a dark wrap sliding off her shoulders. He moved towards her, legs shaking, trying not to look ridiculously overjoyed. ‘Hello, stranger! I’ve been looking for you.’
Her face seemed milky pale in spite of the flickering orange light from the fireball. ‘I’m so sorry. I was on my way to find you, but the bar manager caught me. He asked me to clear my stuff out of the storeroom.’ She shook her head a little. ‘I felt so bad! I’d completely forgotten about it!’