The Little Cafe at Clover Cove: a heartwarming romance series set on the beautiful west coast of Ireland

by Maggie Finn

  ‘Well, we tried,’ she said, flipping her hood back.

  ‘Ah, if you’re sure no one’s coming,’ said Ryan, leaning on his broom. ‘Would it be alright to have some of those cookies Danny’s been talking about?’

  Molly laughed.

  ‘Sure, why not? In fact, we ought to have a feast, shouldn’t we? Go out with a bang.’ Molly nodded toward the café. ‘Help yourself – and pass them around. No sense in wasting it all.’

  Kate walked out holding two mugs of tea and sat down next to Molly.

  ‘No takers, then?’ she said with a sympathetic smile.

  ‘Not one,’ said Molly, gratefully sipping her drink. ‘Bless him, Connor had organized volunteers covering every road into the Cove just in case people got lost in the rain. I tramped out to Garvey’s car park to help out. For a moment there, we thought we were saved when a bus pulled out of the mist, but it was only Ciara McLellan with her mobile library. She offered to park up to make it look more popular, but the way the rain was coming down, I was worried she’d sink.’

  Kate turned her face up to the sky, a pearl blue skimmed with brushstrokes of white. ‘Looks lovely now. Maybe people will head out once they realize the storm’s passed.’

  Molly shook her head.

  ‘Raff’s back at the pub monitoring all the weather channels – TV, radio, even the marine band – that band of black cloud might have passed us, but it’s forecast to sit over the whole county until tomorrow.’

  Kate looked like she was about to say something, but instead she put her arm around Molly’s wet shoulders. ‘We’ll think of something,’ she said. ‘Don’t worry.’

  Molly smiled and nodded. The funny thing was, for the first time in weeks, she wasn’t worrying. She wasn’t thinking about the bills and the mortgage payments, she wasn’t even worrying about where she was going to live in two weeks’ time. No, she was thinking about Sean. How funny was that? With all this going on around her, she was thinking about a man who, for all she knew, was at this very moment sitting in some coffee bar in the center of London, sipping a mocha and looking forward to the rest of his life. Without her.

  ‘You can always stay at the Spa and Suites,’ said Kate. ‘Until you decide what to do. And you know that Connor was saying they are looking for a chef up at the Grey Goose over in Banford…’

  Molly knew Kate was being kind, trying to make the best of things and of course, Kate didn’t know about Marcus’s offer of a job. All she had to do was call him, say yes. And at least that way, she’d be able to stay in Kilmara – not too far away. She’d probably walk past the WestTec offices most days, too. Only Sean wouldn’t be there. Molly’s eyes drifted toward the beach and beyond. Did she really expect to see him there, bobbing on those ruffled waves? Wasn’t it more that Molly just wanted to turn back time, play things differently, tell him, ‘hey, I like you, want to go out sometime?’ But it never seemed to go like that, did it?

  You fell for the hot surfer, then he turned around and jumped in bed with the enemy. Okay, so he was supporting his sick mum, but where did that leave Molly? Sitting all alone on a bench surrounded by sodden rose petals. Well, not quite alone. She had that, at least.

  ‘Hey Molly,’ shouted Danny from the top of his ladder. He was waggling a phone in the air. ‘Connor called.’ He sounded unusually excited about it. ‘He says you need to go back up to the square. Says there’s someone you need to see.’

  Sighing, Molly pushed herself up. Probably one of Jimmy’s newspaper friends from the The Kilmara Examiner or The Sligo Times, here to print a photo of ‘The Washed-Out Summer Fair’. Amusing human interest story about the plucky residents of Clover Cove, putting a brave face on it during the storm.

  Whoever had said ‘there’s no such thing as bad publicity’ hadn’t had the bailiffs knocking on their door. Even if every newspaper in the country ran ‘Best Cakes In Ireland’ on their front page, they would still come out too late for the café. Molly had done the sums: she had needed today’s event to pay off and pay off big or she’d miss Mr Bower’s next payment, meaning no more café and no more flat.

  Still, thought Molly as she trudged up the lane, at least she could tell the newspaper man about the amazing job her friends had done; they deserved that much.

  As she passed her mother, she noticed the smile on her face.

  ‘Hurry, honey,’ she said. ‘Don’t want to keep him waiting.’

  ‘Keep who waiting? Is this something to do with you?’

  Slowly, as if dots were being joined, she thought of Audra bending over the dressing table, Audra holding the business card, Audra smiling and saying ‘impressive…’ Molly looked at her mother sharply. ‘Ma, what have you done?’

  Audra grinned.

  ‘Did you call Sean?’

  She shrugged in a ‘might have, might not’ kind of way. Molly turned and walked on, her pace increasing. It was embarrassing, toe-curling in fact, to have your mother acting as a matchmaker, but at the same time, she was excited by the prospect of seeing Sean again. Even if he had gone over to the dark side, even if he was a snake and an eejit and… Declan was right: Sean was worth fighting for. Molly began to trot, then run. She turned the corner to the square – and almost ran into a tractor.

  ‘Whoa there!’

  She looked up in shock. It was one of Garvey the farmer’s tractors, but Father Dec was behind the wheel.

  ‘What’s going on Father?’

  ‘Got a delivery for you,’ he said, honking the horn. ‘Can’t stop.’

  Molly slid into a doorway to let the tractor roar past. It was pulling a trailer piled high with the trestle tables Declan had said he was setting up in the church hall, plus a wavering stack of ill-matched chairs.

  ‘What the heavens…?’

  Even stranger, right behind the trailer was a procession of people from the pub, led by Danny’s mother Diana, her arms laden with posies.

  ‘Mrs Brennan? What’s going on?’ she asked, but the woman shook her head impatiently.

  ‘No time,’ she said, trotting after the tractor.

  Next came Orla with a stack of cloths and Mikey with an armful of plates.

  ‘Mikey? What on earth’s going on?’

  The lad grinned and jerked his head back toward the square. ‘Go see Connor. He’ll tell you.’

  Mystified, Molly trotted the rest of the way to the square. If it wasn’t Sean, then why on earth had she been called up to the pub? And why was everyone else heading the other way? She was met by the dark figure of Connor James.

  ‘Connor? What’s going on?’

  He smiled and put an arm around Molly’s shoulders.

  ‘I took an executive decision to move from the church – we’re taking chairs and tables down to your place. I figure people are here to see Molly’s Café and there won’t be room for everyone, so I thought we’d put tables outside and all the way down to the harbor, assuming Mrs Brennan has enough tablecloths.’

  ‘Tablecloths? People?’ Her head was spinning. ‘What people?’

  Connor laughed and gestured past the church to the coast road. ‘Take a look Molly, it’s happened. They came.’

  ‘Who came?’

  ‘Tourists. Some Brits and Germans, but mainly American, according to Davy up at the car park. They started arriving about ten minutes ago and now there’s a queue all the way to Sleagh Castle.’

  She looked. The square was full of cars and the road into the village was choked with vehicles.

  ‘But how?’

  ‘Apparently, there’s been some big thing on Friends Recommend, the travel website? Didn’t really catch it all, you know how Davy likes to gabble on, but the main thing is: they’ve come.’

  Molly looked at the people milling around, taking photos of the church and pub. She put a hand over her mouth. ‘Oh my.’

  ‘Exactly. Now get down there and get slicing cake.’

  Molly ran. But she was still looking out to sea.

  Chapter Twenty

  Sean
sat on the water, his surfboard being washed by the waves. The swell was big today, the knock-on effect from the storm: good surf, if a little foamy and littered with debris. From where he was sitting, he could see the village lane and he could see the steady line of visitors heading down toward the café, tables lined all along the path, tablecloths fluttering in the breeze. More and more people were carrying plates over and sitting down, their chatter and laughter carrying across the waves.

  Clearly Molly’s mother needn’t have worried when she had sent her message to him at the hospital.

  Call me. Molly needs help

  At first, Sean had feared the worst. Why wouldn’t he? He was already in a hospital and Molly seemed to attract danger.

  ‘What’s happened?’ he’d said as he rushed out. ‘Has there been another accident?’

  ‘No, no, it’s worse than that,’ Audra had said. There had been a storm, Molly was crushed, she needed support.

  Would he come? Of course he’d come.

  Sean had jumped into the van and raced over, windshield wipers on full, carving through the puddles, half-convinced that the Café would have slipped down the cliff and into the sea. But halfway down the coast road into the village, he’d hit serious traffic; cars, taxis and at least one tour bus. Leaning out of the window, he’d waved over a lady in an orange vest.

  ‘What’s the hold-up?’ he’d asked. ‘Where are they all going?’

  ‘Molly’s Café, of course,’ the woman had said, thrusting a damp flyer into his hands. It was one of the leaflets Molly had stacked on Miguel’s dashboard that morning, misspelled ‘prozes’ and all.

  ‘They’re coming because of this?’

  ‘Nah, love, it’s number one attraction on Trip Advisor. Have you not heard? Molly’s Café: best cakes in Ireland.’

  A smile of recognition came to Sean’s face, fading as he remembered Audra’s words. Molly needed him. But why, if all these people were here? What did she need Sean for?

  ‘When did the queue begin?’ he asked.

  ‘Oh, after the storm. They all came in a rush.’

  Craning his neck, Sean had seen that the vehicles were all being herded into a makeshift car park, so he had three-pointed back past the castle. He knew the tiny backroads around the Cove well enough to backtrack to Ironship Bay. By the time he’d paddled around the headland, it was clear that Audra’s information was out of date. The sun was out, and from the beach, Sean could see people streaming down the lane down to toward the café.

  Sean gave a small smile, pleased that those late nights had paid off at least.

  Kevin Judd might not approve of course, but technically Sean had followed his directive to the letter. Judd had told him to send out ‘This is the coast’ online, ‘make it go viral’ – and that’s what Sean had done. He’d posted it on travel websites, shared it with photography blogs, even coffee drinking forums, any place he could think of where people would respond to the imagery of a lush green, sunlit Ireland. But Sean had gone one step further, seeking out American tourists in and around Ireland’s west coast, attaching the film and anonymously pointing out that the turbines hadn’t yet arrived. For now, he hinted, Clover Cove was still an untouched secret corner of authentic Ireland. Take, for example, the Clover Cove Feast and Molly’s Café, which made ‘The Best Cakes in Ireland’. Obviously, the tourists had decided to check out the village and the cakes while they still could.

  Sean’s smile faded. The sad reality was that he wouldn’t be able to join them; those cakes were off-limits to him now. Molly loathed him and he could hardly blame her. In her shoes, Sean knew he would have reacted the same way. Perhaps it was for the best. After all, even if he hadn’t messed everything up, the fact remained that he was heading to a different country in… he looked at his watch. ‘Oh no,’ he gasped. ‘My flight!’

  Sean made a lightning-fast calculation. As long as he could get back to the van in five minutes, as long as he didn’t get caught up in traffic, as long as he could get through airport security without a hitch, he might make it. But it would still be tight. Really tight. And to get back to the van he’d have to surf into the beach, then run. He looked around for a wave and jerked back as a dark shadow swooped down toward him. Sean threw himself forward onto his board just as the crouching figure whistled past and cut away. The board flipped in the air and the rider whooped and jumped head-first into the passing wave.

  ‘What are you playing at?’ shouted Sean as the surfer popped back to the surface. Then he stopped dead, as the woman flipped her hair back.

  ‘Caroline!’ he gasped.

  His sister threw her head back and laughed. ‘You should pay more attention to the waves, Junior,’ she chuckled, climbing back astride her board. ‘You spend too much time staring at the shore.’

  ‘But… but what are you doing here?’

  ‘Catching a few waves, isn’t it obvious?’

  ‘But…’ he shook his head in wonder, then looked at his watch. ‘Oh no. I’ve got to catch that plane to London.’

  Caroline waved a hand. ‘Ah, don’t worry about it. There will be other flights.’

  Sean gaped at her. Then he burst out laughing.

  ‘But how did you know where I was?’

  ‘Where else than Clover Cove? When you told mum about helping a friend, I knew straight away.’

  ‘You followed me?’

  Caroline shrugged.

  ‘At first, I was going to give you an earful and make sure you got on the plane, then I saw the storm and I was worried about you, driving straight for it. Then I saw the swell and – something clicked in me.’

  Sean looked over.

  ‘Hey! That’s my board!’

  ‘Yeah, sorry about that. I may have broken into your van. It is my suit though. It’s a bit gnarly after all this time, but I’m glad to say it still fits.’

  ‘Wow.’

  Caroline looked toward the shore.

  ‘So this is where they make the best cakes in Ireland, huh?’

  He looked sharply at her.

  ‘Come on, your computer is on the office network. I saw what you were doing. It was sweet. Stupid, but sweet.’

  ‘Caroline, I’m so sorry. Kevin Judd…’

  ‘Ah, if Kevin Judd knew anything about the internet, he wouldn’t have come to us. I imagine he’ll just be pleased to have got so many positive comments. And if he does throw a fit?’ Caroline shrugged. ‘He’s only one client; there will be others. WestTec is too good – you’re too good – to have to worry about Ross Oil.’

  Sean snorted.

  ‘When did you get so zen?’

  Caroline slapped her hand against the water, sending a shower into Sean’s face.

  ‘The moment I heard you talking to Mam, you idiot. I had no idea how you felt about this girl Molly.’

  She looked over toward the Cove. ‘She must be special.’

  He shrugged.

  ‘She is. Sadly, she doesn’t feel the same way about me.’

  ‘What, even after you did all this?’

  Sean looked sheepish.

  ‘She doesn’t know?’ said Caroline, eyebrows raised. ‘What are you, eleven years old, sending anonymous love notes?’

  ‘Caroline, she hates me. And anyway, I’m leaving the country.’

  She shook her head.

  ‘Correction: you were leaving the country.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘That’s why I came after you. Actually, that’s why Dad and I were late this morning, we’d been up most the night talking. Turns out you were right.’

  ‘I was right?’

  A smile played on her lips.

  ‘You were right,’ she repeated. ‘When you said I need to be brave. I’ve been living in my little bubble for far too long, letting you and dad and the job cushion me. I need to step outside, take some risks – like this, like getting back on my board. And I need to go to London.’

  Sean felt his head spin. He looked toward the shore; could it be true? Then he loo
ked back at Caroline, his hope dipping. ‘But are you ready? I mean…’

  ‘Who knows? But I have to try,’ she said decisively. ‘I need to start living life. Otherwise what’s the point?’

  Caroline splashed more water toward him.

  ‘So go. Go and tell Molly what you did. And tell her how you feel.’

  Suddenly Sean was seized by doubt. ‘But what if…?’

  Caroline fixed him with one of her fierce stares. ‘I’ve barely left the office in five years and I’m about to fly to a new country. If I can do that, I think you can tell the pretty girl that you love her.’

  She turned around on her board. ‘And I think your wave is coming. Ride it.’

  Sean saw the rising swell, felt the ocean move. She was right, it was a big one. He turned his board and laid flat, paddling with his arms, feeling the water rise, then tip forward. Then the rush, the roar and above it all, the sound of his sister whooping.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  For a while, Molly had felt she was in a dream. There were people queuing through the café and out the other side. Tablecloths waving in the breeze, little vases of sea flowers at the center, the mismatched chairs and plates adding an air of charm. In the sunlight, it looked like an Italian wedding she’d once seen in a movie. The tables went from halfway along the lane right down to the harbor, people laughing and smiling, immersed in the community feel of the event, even bringing their plates back to the café without being asked.

  ‘Delicious stew,’ they said, ‘Amazing bread’, ‘Oh those cakes!’ One man from New Mexico had come back three times for the lemon meringue pie, declaring it the best he’d ever had – ‘better than my Aunt Lucy’s, and that’s saying a lot’. More than once Molly had people approach her asking for recipes, which she had gladly given. Secret recipes were for Cola manufacturers: Molly wanted to spread the love.