The Little Cafe in Copenhagen

by Julie Caplin

  I stepped back. Was he for real? ‘Seriously? After the article the Inquirer ran. I’m not sure Lars would be interested. Hygge or Hype? Happiness or Hokum?’

  Andrew’s little piggy blue eyes gleamed with a touch of malice. ‘Au contraire, Miss Sinclair. That was a deliberate editorial strategy. A contentious article is great news these days. That went viral on the web edition, even made the Huff Po. Over five thousand hits in the first hour. Hygge-bashing was good for our circulation figures, great for advertisers, bloody marvellous for shareholders.’

  ‘Hygge-bashing?’ I stared at him and he took my sheer bemusement as encouragement.

  ‘Brilliant, eh? Everyone’s suddenly, ooh yes we love everything Scandi, and then the Inquirer comes along and says it’s a pile of crap … and everyone rushes over to read the piece and disagree.’ His oily grin almost split his horrible little face in two. ‘It’s all about readership and circulation. Not that you can explain that to the hacks. Johnson threw a right hissy fit.’

  ‘He did?’ My heart did a little bunny hop in my chest sending my pulse haywire.

  ‘Oh yes. Because it wasn’t what he wrote,’ Dawkins mimicked in a whiny voice.

  In that second, I could guess how it might feel being bucked from a rodeo horse and landing smack down on the sawdust, so hard you think your chest has been flattened. He really hadn’t known before the article came out.

  ‘Pardon.’

  Dawkins, clearly thought I appreciated his comedy genius, because he reprised his earlier delivery. ‘I didn’t write this, how dare you sub it like this? I told you, these journalists think they’re all bloody Pulitzer prize contenders, they forget there’s a whole team behind them. Advertising, sub-editors. It was subbed and he cried like a baby. Made a right old stink.’ Dawkins laughed, an ugly sneering laugh that made him look even smaller and pudgier and meaner than before. ‘I tell you the figures were berluddy fantastic. They’re so damn precious about their words. At the end of the day they’re reliant on us making enough ad revenue to keep the paper afloat and pay their salaries. They …’

  I’d like to have seen his face as I turned my back on him and walked away, trying to melt into the crowd. I wanted to go and hide. I wanted to cry, scream and kick something very hard. Damn I should have stayed put, Dawkins’ shins would have done nicely.

  There was no sign of Ben anymore and I wondered if I’d imagined seeing him. I circumnavigated the room, keeping my eyes peeled for any sign of him but he seemed to have vanished. I checked with the girl at the entrance and saw that he’d signed in, but she couldn’t swear to it, he hadn’t left.

  Then out of the corner of my eye I spotted him, travelling up the escalator to the third floor. Disengaging myself quickly from a friend of Lars I half-walked and half-ran to the flight of escalators in the middle of the store but Ben had disappeared again.

  As I reached the top of the second flight I spotted him looking down over the crowd from one of the balconies on the next floor. Taking the back stairs, I raced up, pausing at the top to take a deep breath, feeling like a tracker about to corner a bear. And I had no idea whether the bear would play nice or maul me. Now I’d tracked him down, I had no idea what to say.

  The sound of the chatter drifted upwards and now, nerves jangling, I walked slowly through the quiet dimly lit displays winding my way round to the balcony.

  He had his back to me. I studied the outline of his broad shoulders, remembering holding on to them at the Round Tower, their solidity next to me on the roller coaster and the smooth touch of them beneath my fingertips after he’d peeled my dress off leaving me clinging to him as he nuzzled my jawline and neck with soft kisses. The dull ache in my chest intensified. I gazed at him, hope and longing sitting heavy.

  I’d fallen in love with him … I couldn’t name the moment, but I knew it now and I almost couldn’t bear it.

  It would almost be easier to walk away, so I’d never know. So I’d never have to face him. So I’d never have to tell him and hear him tell me he didn’t feel the same.

  Instead I swallowed and walked forward, my heart thudding so hard I wondered if he could hear it.

  My shoes clicked on the floor and I saw him tense. His muscles bunching under his jacket but he didn’t turn around.

  I almost chickened out. This was almost as bad as being about to board a roller coaster.

  ‘D-did you know?’ I hesitated, nerves making my voice rusty and hoarse, ‘there are over four thousand pieces of wood in the balconies, each one hand carved. A different species on each floor rosewood at the top, walnut, mountain ash, birch, plane and pine.’

  Ben’s head moved, tracing the different floors I’d mentioned. At least he was listening.

  ‘Each stave took twenty seconds to snap into place.’

  I took a breath. ‘Twenty seconds.’

  I saw his shoulders loosen and took a step forward, forcing myself to be brave. I had everything to lose here and everything to gain.

  ‘That’s long enough for a kiss.’

  Ben still didn’t turn around. My breath caught in my lungs, almost burning and my fingers bunched as I forced myself to take the last few steps to stand beside him. I could see his jawline as he looked out across the wide-open space. The faint smile on his face gave me a tiny bit of courage.

  The silence between us weighed heavy and momentous. I stood rooted to the spot but he wasn’t giving an inch; I could see the tension in his shoulders and his stillness.

  ‘You have five seconds,’ he finally growled.

  ‘You get four minutes for a nuclear warning,’ I said, a mixture of regret and panic tearing through me.

  ‘Four seconds,’ he snapped. And I realised in that one second just how much I’d hurt him. I’d not trusted him enough to give him a chance to explain. I’d jumped to conclusions and cast him in the worst possible light.

  ‘Thank you for the article you did for my brother. That was … kind.’ And thoughtful and incredibly understanding. Despite everything, for both of us, family was still important. He’d written it for me and my family.

  ‘I got a story out of it.’ With a barely imperceptible shrug of his shoulders, he dismissed it.

  ‘Brandon was offered a job because of it.’

  ‘Great.’ He leaned forward, resting his forearms on the wooden rail.

  My heart turned over but I resisted grabbing him. I suddenly realised why he’d thought I’d abandoned him straight after we’d slept together. No wonder he thought I was only interested in what I could get out of him, a positive PR story. I should have known he would never have written the article in the way that it had been published and too quick to assume that career came first, for him and me. Since Copenhagen I’d learned so much more about myself, my family and my priorities.

  ‘I was wrong not to talk to you. I should have known you wouldn’t do something like that.’

  ‘Yeah, you should.’

  ‘I should have trusted you.’

  ‘Yeah, you should.’

  The long silence after his words made my heart crumble and I wanted nothing more than to run. I took a step back, ready to flee but just as I decided, no, this was worth fighting for, he straightened and turned to face me, a serious expression on his face.

  ‘You made the mistake this time, Kate Sinclair.’ His eyes held mine, guarded, shielding both hurt and hope.

  ‘I did.’ I took a step forward. ‘I didn’t give you the chance to explain. I reacted badly …’ I held his gaze hoping he’d remember our conversation at Tivoli. ‘I assumed you weren’t who I thought you might be. It made me react badly. I guess I wanted to punish you for shattering the illusion.’ I repeated his words back to him and he acknowledged them with a wry twist to his mouth before suddenly closing the gap between us, his fingers sinking into my shoulders.

  ‘Kate, you talk too much.’ He pulled me towards him and dropped his head, his mouth brushing mine in the softest of kisses that left my legs shaky.

  ‘Only when I�
�m nervous,’ I muttered against his lips.

  ‘You damn well should be, I’ve been so furious with you.’ His mouth moved against my cheek as he spoke sending butterfly tremors racing across my skin. ‘I’d been so anti the whole hygge thing. And then in Denmark, it was like some crazy epiphany and I completely changed my mind, wrote that piece and I was proud of it. I had no idea it was coming out that weekend, or that they’d subbed it so heavily. They lost a story and needed an alternative quickly. If I’d had the chance, I would have made a case. Tried to stop it or at least warn you. I had no idea. When you refused to respond to any of my texts … I was …’ His voice broke and the emotion swirling made my breath catch.

  ‘I’m sorry.’ I moved my mouth to touch his, the words too inadequate to express my shame. All I could do was pour everything that the words didn’t say into the kiss. Moulding my lips to his in silent, determined intent.

  A beat later, I felt him soften as he responded, deepening the kiss, his mouth questing as if searching for the right answer. My nerve endings danced, the hard touch sent a hot flash searing through my veins, as I pulled him closer, praying that it was enough to give him the answer. The kiss lasted at least a full minute and when we pulled away, his ragged breathing made my pulse skip.

  His face softened as our eyes met.

  ‘Do you know something?’ He smiled and held both my hands. ‘The thing about mistakes … you can make them right. Although you’re going to have to do a lot of making up for it.’

  ‘I really am sorry.’ I reached up and cupped his face, feeling the roughness threatening to break through the skin on his chin but knowing that he needed the reassurance of my touch.

  ‘Do you know what hurt the most?’ he asked in a low, strained voice.

  Silently I shook my head, regret pinching at his piercing, heartfelt words.

  ‘The fact that you didn’t realise …’ He gazed down at me. ‘And you never gave me the chance to tell you …’

  My breath stalled in my chest at the burning intensity in his eyes.

  ‘… that I’d fallen in love with you.’

  Epilogue

  ‘Come on Kate, we’re late.’

  We ran up the stone steps, through the huge arched doorway. Well, Ben ran, I sort of limped along after him in a sort of Tony Curtis type mince in my ridiculous heels, the silk of my dress swishing with a satisfying rustle. We’d raced almost the entire length of Støgnet to get here on time.

  ‘Ben, Kate. You made it,’ said Eva grinning from ear to ear as she jumped off the wooden bench to greet us. ‘I was starting to worry about you.’ She looked at her watch. ‘The ceremony is in ten minutes.’

  ‘Only just,’ muttered Ben casting a wicked grin over his shoulder. I gave him a reproving look, praying that he wasn’t going to tell her exactly what had held us up in the hotel. We’d flown in late last night coming straight from work.

  Things had been a bit chaotic of late as Lars was planning to open a new Hjem in the north of England and had asked me to help set up a café within the store and Ben and I had been decorating. After commuting between our respective flats, never being able to remember what we’d left where, we decided it would be far easier to move in together … that and the fact that we hadn’t spent more than two nights apart since the official launch night of Hjem.

  ‘Ben, Kate.’ Avril appeared and swept us both into an excited perfumed hug. ‘It’s like old times. All the gang together again. Except Sophie couldn’t make it. Isn’t it lovely in here?’ She twirled round in her gorgeous dress looking around the Radhuspladsen. Of course she hadn’t seen it last time we’d been in Copenhagen.

  ‘Has anyone seen David yet?’ I asked spotting Conrad and Fiona walking towards us.

  ‘No, but Conrad promised that he’d be gentle with him last night, so hopefully he won’t be too hungover,’ said Eva.

  Avril raised a delicate eyebrow and snorted, ‘Which is why I sent Christopher out with them.’ She giggled and hooked her arm through her husband’s. He rolled his eyes and said with a shake of his head, ‘Conrad’s a liability.’

  ‘Tell me about it,’ I muttered with heartfelt agreement.

  ‘It’s OK,’ said Avril airily, ‘me and Fi met up with them, although of course I wasn’t drinking,’ she patted her bump complacently, ‘… so it wasn’t really a stag do, but I think David had a lovely time … talking of which, here is groom number one.’

  We all turned to see David walking towards us, resplendent in a blue three-piece suit with a pink rose on the lapel. Taking it in turns we all kissed him.

  ‘Oi, put him down. It’s my turn.’ A handsome stocky man dressed in an identical suit pushed Avril away.

  ‘Reece!’ she shrieked and threw her arms around him. ‘Don’t you look fabulous.’

  ‘I bloody should, given you chose the suits.’ He slipped his finger between his neck and shirt collar, before smiling as he looked at David. ‘But he looks bloody gorgeous in his, so you did OK cuz.’

  According to Avril, she wasn’t the least bit surprised that her cousin Reece had hit it off with David after she’d introduced them and followed up with them after doing a feature on dating on her breakfast programme. Her career had taken off big time and she was now the main anchor on the breakfast show. She also fancied herself as a match-maker and was currently keeping a close eye on Conrad and one of her ex-bosses Sheila, who she declared were made for each other.

  The wedding co-ordinator, the same handsome man in the same stripey T-shirt, called us together. Conrad checked he’d got the rings again, smiling proudly as best man. Since Reece had come on the scene, David had converted the top floor of his house into a self-contained flat which Conrad rented for a nominal sum. In return, Conrad had given the rest of David’s house a complete design make-over, which had been featured in several magazines and consequently Conrad’s services as an interior designer were so much in demand that he struggled to fit private commissions in with his teaching and freelance commitments.

  We trooped towards the little staircase, leading up to the room where the ceremonies were held, Avril and I bringing up the rear. She paused at the bottom step and took my arm, giving me a quick once over. ‘You look great, Kate. So much happier. Life with Ben agrees with you.’

  ‘It does,’ I sighed happily, unable to help the silly grin on my face.

  ‘I can’t believe it all started here in Copenhagen. I honestly thought me and Christopher were heading for divorce and now look at me. Pregnant, successful and happy.’

  I leaned up and gave her a hug. ‘It’s been a good year.’

  ‘I wish Sophie was here.’ Avril’s face sobered.

  ‘Me too,’ I linked my arm through hers. ‘Hope she’s OK.’

  ‘Bloody men. She really loved him.’

  ‘Well hopefully one day she’ll find a good one.’ I gave a sad smile. ‘There are a few of them.’

  ‘There are,’ agreed Avril giving me a cheerful squeeze. ‘Right, we’ve got a wedding to attend. And I’m bloody starving. I hope Eva’s got plenty of kanelsnegle at the café for the reception. I think I’ve got a small hippopotamus in here, the amount I’m eating at the moment.’

  Ben caught my eye and we smiled together, a private secret exchange that made my heart glow. At six months, Avril’s bump was much in evidence whereas at six weeks mine was no more than a bean and a much-treasured secret between the two of us. He slipped his fingers between mine with a gentle squeeze.

  ‘Now?’ he asked.

  I nodded. We’d checked earlier with David and Reece, anxious not to steal their limelight.

  ‘Actually,’ said Ben, ‘we …’ he held up our interlinked fingers, ‘we’d like to invite you to a wedding as well.’

  David winked at me.

  ‘Oooh,’ squealed Avril. ‘When?’

  Ben and I grinned at each other. ‘We were thinking straight after this one.’

  Keep reading for an exclusive look at book two, Sophie’s story…

 
The Little Brooklyn Bakery

  Chapter 1

  ‘It’s a great offer,’ said Sophie, with only the slightest sense of regret that she had to turn it down. One day she would visit New York. ‘But I just don’t see how I could go at the moment.’

  Sophie’s editor-in-chief, Angela, screwed up her face. ‘I understand, it’s really short notice. I could kill Mel for breaking her leg.’

  ‘I don’t think she did it on purpose,’ said Sophie.

  ‘Well, it’s bloody inconvenient and while I’ve got plenty of people queueing up to take her place in New York for six months, you’re my best food writer. You would be brilliant.’

  ‘That’s kind of you, Angela-’

  ‘Kind?’ Angela raised one of her scarily plucked almost to the death eyebrows. ‘I don’t do kind. This is honest. You’re a brilliant writer and I wish …’ she shook her head, ‘and don’t you dare repeat this, you would spread your wings.’

  ‘And you’re desperate,’ teased Sophie.

  ‘Well, there is that,’ said Angela, laying down her pen, with a self-deprecating laugh. ‘But at least think about it. It’s a fabulous opportunity. Job swaps don’t come up that often and if I didn’t have the twins, I’d be off like a shot.’

  ‘What about Ella? She’d love to go,’ suggested Sophie.

  Angela tipped her head to one side, ‘That girl is twenty-nine going on twelve, she’d be an absolute disaster.’

  ‘She might not be that bad.’

  Angela raised one eyebrow, ‘And I know how much you help her. I don’t think she’d survive without you.’

  Sophie gave her a cheeky grin, ‘So you can’t send me to New York then.’

  With a bark of laughter, Angela flipped her notebook closed, ‘We’d manage.’ Her face sobered as Sophie rose to leave. ‘Seriously, Sophie. Think about it.’

  Sophie returned to the main office where everyone was still talking about the horrible crack of bone when Mel leapt off a table in the pub at the end of her ‘I’m swanning off to New York for six months’ leaving do. Across the way the limp helium balloon, bearing the words We’ll miss you still bobbed above a chair. Someone really ought to take it down before the incoming, very American sounding, Brandi Baumgarten tipped up to take possession of Mel’s desk.