by Clare Lydon
“There you go.” Saffron flashed her million-dollar smile. “No selling my number to the tabloids. I haven’t seen any paparazzi yet, which is a minor miracle.”
“We’re going to keep it that way, aren’t we, Helena?” Kirsty narrowed her eyes in Helena’s direction.
Her business partner nodded, her tone resigned. “I never even met you,” she told Saffron.
Chapter 6
Saffron paced in front of the windows looking out over the water, the selling point of the house and the original reason why she’d jumped at the chance to rent it.
She’d pictured herself sitting in a cosy chair, book in hand, sipping a glass of wine, allowing her mind and body to recoup from the business of being Saffron Oliver, Hollywood star. Fame and celebrity weren’t what they were cracked up to be, but the problem was, no one learned the brutal truth until it was too late to switch course, saving one’s sanity.
Since her teenage years, Saffron couldn’t trust most people she came into contact with, aside from her sister and Michelle, her assistant. She had to pay the latter an obscene amount of money to keep Michelle loyal, but there was the niggling fear that everyone had their price. Even one of her exes had betrayed her, although the woman hadn’t had the integrity to own up to her treachery.
Why then, was Saffron pacing, with her eyes glued to the promenade, not the peaceful waves lapping the pebbled beach, in hopes of spying Kirsty, who’d texted saying she’d be by within the hour? What good would come from fostering a friendship with a total stranger? One who had no clue what it meant to be associated with a celebrity, even on a basic level. The paparazzi hadn’t converged on Sandy Cove yet, but it was only a matter of time. Her photo had appeared on people’s social media accounts, logging her location in Sandy Cove. Pearl had taken a screenshot, with the message: Never knew oyster town was magical. It wasn’t clever, but it did drive home the real message: Pearl had found Saffron.
Once the locusts descended, would Kirsty be able to handle the deluge? Having cameras stuck in her face? Invasive questions? The temptation of financial payments to spill the tiniest details, like what wine did Saffron pair with seafood?
Contemplating getting to know Kirsty was sheer madness. Saffron’s head understood that.
The knock on the front door portended trouble for Saffron, because her pulse quickened and her stomach did a swoop like a flock of seagulls descending on the fresh catch of the day.
This was bad. So very bad.
After one final look in the mirror to ensure she looked better than okay, Saffron swung the door open to see Kirsty astride an old-fashioned three-wheeled bike.
“Oh my God, that’s amazing.” Saffron walked down her steps to the promenade and craned around Kirsty to see the antique wooden storage box, bold white block letters spelling Wine Time and the shop’s number, secured between the back two wheels. “Where did you find this masterpiece?”
Kirsty’s cheeks turned an adorable pink. “It used to sit outside a chocolate shop on the High Street, so when they closed, I bought it and restored it just enough to make it ridable but kept its old-world charm.”
“Do you need help getting it inside?” Saffron shoved up her sleeves, ready to be put to work.
“Nope. Yours is the last delivery.” Kirsty lifted the lid, the hinges protesting, and hefted a large box onto one of her shoulders, the sleeve of her T-shirt rolling back to reveal a toned bicep. “Where do you want me? Er… I mean the wine?”
“Let me help.” Saffron tried to take the box, knowing it contained twelve bottles and wasn’t light by any stretch of the imagination, but Kirsty twirled away evading help, the bottles inside clinking.
“When I say delivery, I mean full-service. Point me to the kitchen.”
Saffron did. “Are you sure about the cart? No one will take it?”
“It has my shop’s name and number on the sides and back. Where would anyone go without every local knowing they’d nicked it from me?”
Saffron looked up and down the beach before climbing her wooden steps and clicking the door shut with trepidation. “It’s hard for me to wrap my head around leaving something outside in plain view, trusting no one will steal it. Don’t you have a bike lock or something?” She followed Kirsty to the kitchen.
“This isn’t London. You need to start accepting we do things differently here.” Kirsty bent her knees and placed the box on the granite counter-top.
Saffron snapped her fingers with both hands in an attempt to act normal and like she hadn’t been ogling Kirsty. “It just seems so abnormal.”
“I think always worrying someone is going to hurt you isn’t normal or a decent way to live.”
Saffron let those words sink in. Could she ever adjust to the Sandy Cove way?
Kirsty seemed to notice the surroundings for the first time and let out an appreciative whistle. “I’ve always wanted to see the inside of this place. This kitchen is to die for.” Kirsty’s eyes panned the gourmet set-up with all the sparkling chrome. She moved closer to the glass door. “And, the view of the sea from the private garden is incredible. I could sit here for hours, drinking coffee.”
“Not wine? I’d assumed with a shop named Wine Time, it was, well, always time for it.” Saffron leaned against the island.
Kirsty’s face split into a dazzling grin. “Between you and me, I try to drink it only in the evening.”
“Scandalous!”
“Remember, that’s not common knowledge and could wreck my rep.” She jiggled her brows playfully.
“Is it hard being surrounded by exquisite wine all day and not sampling the goods?” Saffron mimed taking a naughty sip, her mind not exactly on wine.
“It’s just part of the job, really. Like you being surrounded by beautiful people. I’m sure you’re able to not lick—” Kirsty’s hand flew to her mouth. “I really have no idea why that particular example came to mind.”
Saffron laughed. “We have signs on every set. Do not lick the actors.”
“Can I nosey around?” Kirsty looked past Saffron.
“By all means.” Saffron led them to the sitting area. “I keep meaning to buy a book and some wine to spend my evenings with. Thanks to you, I can tick wine off the shopping list.” She made a large check mark in the air, wondering why she couldn’t stop from acting punch-drunk.
“I love the stone fireplace. A pity you won’t be able to use it while you’re here.”
“Can’t win them all.” An image of Kirsty in front of the fire, the reflection of the flames in those eyes—Saffron swallowed.
“Maybe you can strip down and—”
“Lie on a bearskin rug, ready for my naked photo shoot?” Saffron raised one eyebrow.
“Do you have a crowbar?”
“For?” Saffron enjoyed Kirsty twisting herself into knots, refreshing considering most delivered the cheesiest come-on lines with sincerity as if that would make the star swoon. Kirsty was sincere by being awkwardly real.
“To unwedge my foot out of my mouth.” The blush on her cheeks deepened to a dark rose, highlighting the beauty of her facial features.
“It’s quite charming being around someone who speaks their mind.” Saffron couldn’t quite wrap her head around why she’d been so frank.
“Glad you think so.” Kirsty glanced about. “There aren’t many personal touches, are there?”
“That’s the curse of always staying at someone else’s place. You’re captive to someone else’s artistic taste, which can be a blessing or a curse.”
“Don’t you have a home in London?”
“I do and a place in California. But even those have been decorated by other people. I’m hardly in a place long enough to crave putting my own stamp on it. Everything is usually taken care of by others, under the watchful eye of my assistant.” Saffron shrugged, as the knowledge settled into her chest like a heavy stone.
“Must be nice.”
“Yes and no.” Saffron ran a hand over the back of a velvet couch. �
��It’d be nice not to feel like a stranger all of the time. Lately, I’ve been thinking it’d be good to plant some roots. I daydream about getting a dog, being able to go for a walk every afternoon. To not rush everywhere but to have the time to savour the normal things in life.”
“It’s a good thing you’re here, then, because this place is the definition of slow and steady, especially when the DFLs aren’t here.”
“The what?”
“Down From London.” Kirsty checked her wrist. “Speaking of walking, I best get going for mine.”
“You don’t want a glass of wine before you go? I mean, it’s only fair after you lugged it here.” Saffron’s mind wandered back to the glimpse of bicep.
“I can’t. But if you’re serious about getting into a normal swing of things, why don’t you take a stroll with me? I just need to return the bike to the shop, take care of some admin, and then we can walk along the seafront.”
“I’d love that.” Saffron gazed at Kirsty a tick too long, then dropped her eyes to the hardwood floor. “If I won’t be a bother.”
“I’d enjoy the company. I’ll be back in two shakes.” Kirsty ducked out, not giving Saffron time to back out.
Not that she would have. What was it about Kirsty that pulled Saffron in? Her charming smile? Kind eyes? Genuineness? Or was it the adorable way the wrong words bubbled out, taking both of them by surprise?
It was invigorating to be around someone who was so normal, not afraid to speak her mind, despite the outcome, which in Saffron’s biz meant damaging the brand. Yes, that was it. Normal was what Saffron had been craving for years but wasn’t able to identify the need for it until this moment. Granted, their first meeting had been a clusterfuck, with Kirsty fangirling, causing Saffron to raise her walls. But, the two of them had been able to set aside the hard feelings easily. That had to say something, didn’t it? But what?
Her phone buzzed, and she saw the text simply saying outside.
Saffron grabbed her bag, neglecting to give herself a once over in the mirror, not wanting to waste any time.
“Which way?” Kirsty asked. “Towards Branton Bay or the other side of Sandy Cove.”
“I don’t know. Which is better?” Saffron looked to her right and then left.
Kirsty smiled. “Depends on your definition, but if you fancy an oyster, which is a Sandy Cove must, I suggest going left.”
“I don’t want to break any musts of the town.” Saffron fell into step with Kirsty. “I love the beach huts. So colourful and quaint.”
“My parents own one close to your place.”
A family passed them on their right, the adults gaping at Saffron.
She retrieved a baseball cap out of her bag, pulling it down low over her eyes.
“It must be weird to have people recognise you wherever you go?”
“I’ve become used to it, but it can be annoying.” Saffron’s words came out more bitter than she intended and they continued walking in uncomfortable silence. So much for setting aside the movie-star discomfort.
Another group of people ambled by, but Saffron turned her head away from their gaze, pretending to be taken in by the brilliant bluish-green colour of the water in the hazy afternoon light.
“Oh, look!” Saffron pointed to a bright pink hut. “They offer water sports. I’ve always wanted to try some.”
“I kayak.”
“You do?”
“Cross my heart.” Kirsty acted this out, drawing Saffron’s gaze to the V of the T-shirt. “I can teach you.”
Saffron had to rip her eyes upwards. “I’d like that very much.”
The amount of people increased as they neared the bustling harbour, a mix of families out for a stroll, their cheeks red from being out in the sun, and workers in overalls hauling in the day’s catch. A man in a red forklift eased the forks into the slats of a wooden pallet where sacks filled with mussels had been placed. He steered through the crowd with expertise to a waiting truck.
“You ready for that oyster?” Kirsty gave Saffron a heart-stopping now or never smile.
Saffron’s eyes zeroed in on the cash only sign over the takeout window. “Uh—”
“Remember, it’s a Sandy Cove rule.” Kirsty extended an admonishing finger in the air.
“The thing is, I don’t ever carry money.”
“Just like the Queen. No worries. I can spot you a fiver.” Kirsty reached into her bag and pulled one out. “Stay here.”
She left Saffron standing away from the crowd, which was sweet, because even with the hat, a few people did a double take, looking as if they thought they knew who Saffron was but couldn’t place her.
“Here you go!” Kirsty presented her with one oyster.
“Where’s yours?”
Kirsty leaned close. “The truth is I can’t stand them.”
“Now you tell me!” Saffron eyed the half shell. “This would have been useful knowledge before you purchased one just for me.”
“I knew you’d back out. Besides it’s—”
“Tradition. So you keep saying, but if you don’t eat them, how am I supposed to believe anything you’ve said?” Saffron shook her head mockingly but grinned foolishly.
“Because I have tried them, which is why I know I don’t like them. Many others love them. There’s an entire festival dedicated to oysters.” Kirsty pointed to one of the signs. “A whole week of events to celebrate the oyster and its impact on the town. Don’t let my aversion influence you. Surely, you’ve had one before, being a movie star and all that.” Kirsty nudged Saffron in the side with an elbow.
“I have, but the last time I did, I got a terrible case of food poisoning.”
“One of the selling points of the Sandy Cove Native is their freshness, so blot that experience from your memory, tip it back, and swallow.” Kirsty acted this out, the confidence in her eyes so damn appealing.
“I may be more trusting if you didn’t just confess you aren’t a fan.” Saffron dramatically jiggled the shell, the shellfish moving slightly, enjoying putting on such a show, because it seemed to draw Kirsty closer as a way of offering her support.
“The longer you stare at it, the harder it will be to bite the bullet. The best thing to do is just get it over with.”
“You really aren’t selling this must-have Sandy Cove experience.” Saffron returned the playful nudge into Kirsty’s side, closing the space between them even more.
“Pretend you’re on a movie set and you have to eat it.”
“Right. I can do that. I mean, it’s how they got me to jump out of a plane.” Saffron raised the shell to her lips. “Here goes nothing.”
Kirsty, open-mouthed, watched.
Saffron chomped into it once. Twice. Then swallowed.
“Well?” Kirsty’s eyes goggled.
“You’re right, Sandy Cove oysters are nice and fresh.”
“Would you like another?” Kirsty started to fish in her wallet.
“Not today, but I do think I will have many more in the not-so-distant future. When I have money of my own. Can you add the oyster to the party bill?”
Kirsty waved the idea away. “My treat.”
“No, I can’t take your money. We should discuss your rate.”
“Well… I do have a number in mind, but we’re having such a lovely time.” Kirsty’s gaze swept the surroundings. “I can’t talk business when there are people walking their dogs and kids getting ice cream.”
“Just tell me. I’ll make sure to pass it along to my assistant to arrange payment.”
Kirsty handed Saffron a paper she’d pulled out of her bag.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.” Saffron scanned the itemised list of expenditures.
“If it’s too much, I can drop—”
“It’s not enough. There’s no way you can pull this off with this amount of money.” Again, Saffron ran a finger down the figures.
“Oh, I know I can.”
“But what about your time. You need to be paid for th
at.”
“It’s on there.” Kirsty jabbed a slender finger at the calculation.
“At a ridiculously low rate.” Saffron slapped the paper against her leg. “I can’t let you work for basically nothing.”
“It’s what I charge.”
“You need to learn how much you’re worth and not sell yourself short.”
Their eyes met, neither speaking, but Saffron’s insides turned into a schmaltzy mush.
A child burst into tears after dropping her ice cream cone.
“Can I borrow another fiver?” Saffron asked.
“Sure.”
Saffron hunched down and asked the kid. “Can I get you a new cone?”
A tear-streaked face nodded yes.
After the child’s parents thanked Saffron and they went on their merry way, Kirsty studied Saffron with a quizzical expression, but didn’t say a word.
“Add that fiver to the bill, in addition to the oyster.” Saffron got a pen out of her bag and clicked it. “Actually, I’ll add the charges.” She looked up. “Shall we shake on it?”
“If you insist, but I trust you’ll pay.”
“I do insist. And, I’ll be keeping track of all the incidentals and amending the bill accordingly.” Saffron stuck out her hand.
Kirsty took it into hers.
They gazed at each other, holding on.
“Are you sure you don’t want an oyster? When was the last time you ate one? Tastes change.” Saffron was well aware she still held Kirsty’s hand, but she was finding it difficult to let go.
“Trust me when I say I don’t want one.”
“You don’t know what you’re missing out on.”
Chapter 7
Kirsty wobbled as she hit the top of the step ladder. She clutched the metal handle to steady herself. She was in the shop window, and she really didn’t need to give the town a live performance of falling on her arse. Helena couldn’t climb ladders due to a vertigo issue, so the job of putting up their festival bunting and posters had fallen to her. Kirsty reached up and secured the bunting over the hook she’d put up a few years ago. They used it to string their Christmas lights, too.