She focused on the metal and brought the hammer down hard. A shower of sparks flew up and a round dent appeared in the rod.
‘Good,’ Owen said, steadying the arm that held the tongs. ‘Do that again.’
Nessie did and was gratified to see the metal flattening out with each strike. When the iron lost its bright glow, Owen helped her to reheat it and then continue to hammer. Once she’d flattened the rod end, he showed her where to strike so that the shape of a leaf began to appear. Nessie wiped the sweat from her forehead and studied the iron through critical eyes. It didn’t look anything like Owen’s delicate handiwork, but it was recognisably leaf-shaped. With a bit more work, it might even look half-decent.
‘You’re a natural,’ Owen said, taking the tongs from her and plunging the iron into a a nearby bucket of water. Steam hissed and rose in a cloud.
Nessie lowered the hammer and flexed her arm, wincing at the ache in her muscles. She removed her goggles. ‘I don’t know about that. I think I just had a very good teacher.’
Owen dampened the fire and stripped off his leather gloves. He crossed the floor to pull her into a hug with a smile. ‘We make a good team.’
He smelled of smoke and cinders, Nessie thought, the way he always did when he’d been working. She inhaled deeply; beneath the smokiness there was an unmistakable Owen scent, something that was always there, even when he’d just stepped out of the shower. It often caused Nessie’s insides to contract – a sudden stab of wanting that still caught her by surprise. She sighed, wondering whether he felt the same when he held her; probably not right at that moment, when she was hot and tired from her unexpected brush with smithing. In fact, he was more likely to be regretting the decision to let her to stay – hadn’t she promised not to get in the way?
Nessie was about to apologise when he spoke. ‘Your hair smells like the forge.’
‘Sorry,’ she said, blushing. ‘I’ll get a shower.’
‘I like it,’ he said quietly and Nessie felt his fingers gently caress the small of her back, through her T-shirt. She glanced up, uncertain whether she’d imagined it, but his expression was intent. Before she could reply, he bent down and kissed her.
The urgency surprised her; his lips were firm and insistent, as though he’d been waiting for an opportunity to kiss her. The wanting she’d felt earlier caught light, filling her with a warmth that had nothing to do with the heat of the forge. One of his hands slid underneath her T-shirt to caress her skin. She shivered and returned the kiss with matching urgency. And then she tried to bury her fingers in his black curls and remembered she was still wearing the stupid gloves.
Owen realised a heartbeat after her. Breaking the kiss, he took her hands and carefully tugged at the leather, freeing first one hand, then the other.
‘Better?’ he murmured.
‘Much better,’ she replied, reaching up to push a curl from his face. ‘But you’ve got work to do – I should go.’
He pulled a wry face. ‘Work is the last thing on my mind right now.’
She cleared her throat, almost embarrassed to ask the question that was on her lips. ‘Do you want to go over to the cottage?’
He studied her for a moment, his dark eyes hesitant. ‘Actually, I thought we might stay here. I – I could lock the door, so we won’t be disturbed.’
The thought made Nessie burn with embarrassment and temptation. She’d never admit it to anyone, but she’d had several fantasies about what she’d like to do with Owen in the forge, lit up by the glow of the fire. Never in her wildest moments had she dreamed he might have had similar fantasies. And now he seemed to be suggesting that they might . . . that they should . . .
‘Nessie?’ he said, brushing her lips tentatively with his own. ‘It was just an idea. We don’t have to.’
She stared up at him, feeling the heat swirl inside her again, and took a deep breath. ‘You’d better lock the door.’
He did.
A moment later, he was standing in front of her again. He pulled at the string of her apron and lifted it gently over her head, then bent to kiss her with the same insistence as before. Nessie let herself melt into him, resting against the anvil for support as she sank her fingers into his hair. His hands slid under her T-shirt once more and stroked her skin, causing her to break the kiss with a soft moan. She fumbled with his apron; he took over and dropped it to the floor. And then it was her turn to slip her hands beneath his shirt, to caress his skin and slide them over the muscles of his broad chest, down towards his waist.
‘Nessie,’ he murmured, raining feathery kisses on her face. ‘Don’t stop.’
Emboldened, she undid his jeans. In return, he drew her T-shirt over her head and dropped a line of kisses along her collarbone. She pulled him close, savouring the feel of his hot skin against hers, and let her hands drift downwards. Now it was his turn to moan and whisper her name again.
Afterwards, she worried that the sound of their mingled cries must have been loud enough to carry on the afternoon air. The thought made her blush as she and Owen dressed, but the fierce kiss he gave her on the doorstep of Snowdrop Cottage chased her embarrassment away.
‘That was amazing,’ he said, shaking his head in wonderment. ‘Although how I’m supposed to concentrate at work now is anyone’s guess. My head will be filled with thoughts of you and what we did.’
She couldn’t help smiling. ‘Sorry. Although I’m not really.’
‘Me neither,’ he said, planting another kiss. ‘Have I told you how much I love you, Nessie Chapman?’
Nessie felt her smile grow even wider. ‘Not for at least ten minutes. I love you too, Owen.’
His eyes shone as he gazed at her. ‘And that makes me the happiest man alive.’
Chapter Four
Without ever discussing it, Sam and Gabe developed an instinctively choreographed routine over the weeks that followed. It helped that he was a night owl and she’d become a lark over the last year; she was always up first, preparing breakfast for the guests staying in the luxurious rooms on the top floor of the Star and Sixpence, and he was often out in the afternoons, sourcing produce and checking out the local competition. If Sam timed it right, she could sometimes avoid seeing him for the whole day – although she told herself she wasn’t actually avoiding him. She was pleasant and polite when they did run into each other, and she was happy to discuss business issues, but he clearly picked up on her coolness and saved most of his questions for Nessie. And that professional distance was no bad thing, Sam reminded herself. He might consider her aloof, perhaps even unfriendly, but she’d rather that than repeat the mistakes of the past.
The arrangement worked well until Gabe invited Sam and Nessie to a sample menu tasting.
‘Can’t you do it on your own?’ Sam asked her sister, when she passed on the invitation. ‘Or take Owen – he likes to eat.’
Nessie stared at her. ‘No, Sam. He invited you. It would be rude to send someone else.’
‘But—’
‘No buts,’ Nessie said firmly. ‘He already knows something is off and skipping this won’t help.’
Sam’s heart sank. Nessie was right; it would be churlish and petty to send Owen in her place. But the thought of spending an hour or more with Gabe, tasting the amazing dishes he’d created from scratch, filled her with quiet panic.
Nessie’s voice softened. ‘I don’t often tell you what to do, Sam, but I’m your big sister and sometimes I have to. You need to get over this problem with Gabe – have you considered getting to know him a bit better?’
Sam summoned up a mental image of Gabe charming his way around the Star and Sixpence when he’d first arrived. ‘I don’t think that’s going to help.’
‘You never know,’ Nessie said. ‘Maybe he picks his nose or bites his toenails or has really rampant ear hair.’
Sam shuddered. ‘That’s gross, Ness. And at least two of the three are entirely undesirable in a chef.’
Her sister gave her a triumphant look.
‘But they are all major turn-offs. Do they make him any less fanciable?’
Once again, Sam pictured the chef, with his brooding dark eyes and stubble-edged jaw. The trouble was that she couldn’t imagine him doing any of the disgusting things Nessie had suggested; her imagination automatically leapt to much more desirable thoughts. But Nessie had been right about one thing; Sam needed to get over her crush on him. It was eating away at her professional pride and that was something she couldn’t bear. ‘Okay, I’ll come. Maybe I’ll even talk to him.’
‘Good girl,’ Nessie said, smiling in relief. ‘And I hesitate to say this, knowing it’s the last thing you want to hear, but . . . you’re both adults. There are some people who say the best way to get over someone is to get under them.’
Sam felt her jaw drop as she stared at her sister’s bright pink, embarrassed expression. It was the most un-Nessie-like thing she had ever heard her say and she was uncomfortably aware of a matching tide of mortification creeping up her own cheeks. ‘I – well, I don’t think that’s the way to go, but thanks anyway.’
Nessie nodded, still blushing but apparently determined. ‘So I’ll tell him you’ll be at the menu tasting, right?’
‘Uh – yes,’ Sam said faintly. ‘Yes, I’ll be there.’
‘Good,’ Nessie said, and turned away. ‘You’ve got to start somewhere.’
She wasn’t wrong, Sam thought, gazing at her sister’s back in stunned silence. But she was pretty sure a fling wasn’t the best way to get over her attraction to Gabe Santiago. In fact, she could only imagine it making things worse.
*
Sam had to admit, every single dish Gabe had created was a little taste of heaven.
‘And this is a goats’ cheese ravioli in a black truffle cream sauce,’ he said, pointing to a bowl filled with soft yellow pasta that Sam had no doubt was freshly made. ‘Beside it you’ll see a garlic flatbread and slow-roasted tomato chutney.’
She took a forkful of the melt-in-the-mouth ravioli and savoured the sharp tang of the cheese as it mingled with the creamy sauce. The flavour was equal to anything she’d eaten in the best London restaurants, although she didn’t know why she was surprised; of course Gabe’s food was incredible. That specific talent was the reason they’d hired him.
Nessie groaned with delight and dug her fork into the sauce for a second parcel of pasta. ‘This is amazing, Gabe. You should definitely put it on the menu for the Taste of Autumn evening.’
Sam tore off a strip of flatbread and dipped it into the chutney. An explosion of tart rich crimson lit up her taste buds. She waited for the flavour to fade before shaking her head in admiration. ‘Wow.’
‘Wow, as in good?’ Gabe asked, studying her expression. ‘Or wow as in, “I can’t believe we’ve let this guy loose in our kitchens”?’
A wave of discomfort washed over Sam at the hint of apprehension behind his words and she gave herself a brisk inner shake. Nessie was right; he knew something was off. She met his gaze with the most reassuring smile she could manage. ‘Wow as in great. What else have you got for us to try?’
‘Just one or two things,’ he replied.
It was the understatement of the year, Sam thought, as he unveiled dish after dish. Some were based on familiar pub meals – steak and chips or sausages and mash – but each one had a twist that elevated it into something better. And, of course, the ingredients were all locally sourced and fresh. The desserts were Sam’s favourites, though; the passion fruit crème brûlée was the most mouth-watering food she’d ever tasted. Nessie evidently agreed because she let out an unembarrassed sigh of pure satisfaction as she put the empty ramekin down on the kitchen worktop. ‘I think I am going to have to join a gym, or I’m going to be the size of the pub by Christmas.’
‘Me too,’ Sam said, inwardly acknowledging another Gabe-related temptation she was going to have to negotiate. ‘Thanks for all your hard work.’
He shook his head. ‘Now the hard work really begins – narrowing down the choices to decide what to serve at the taster evening. Did you have any favourites?’
It really was a shame they couldn’t serve them all, Sam thought, listening to Nessie and Gabe debate the dishes. As they talked, her eyes kept straying back to Gabe; his face was alive with enthusiasm for his recipes. That passion was one of the things that had made him such an obvious choice for the Star and Sixpence. The problem was that it wasn’t doing anything to dampen the fires of Sam’s crush.
‘What do you think, Sam?’ Gabe said, turning to her. ‘The tiramisu or the coconut and pineapple upside-down cake?’
Sam hesitated for a moment, her gaze fixed on the kitchen work surface. ‘Both,’ she decided, looking up at him. ‘Who says you can’t have your cake and eat it?’
He smiled, his eyes fixed on hers. ‘That’s exactly how I feel.’
And Sam had to remind herself that they were only talking about food.
*
It was a quiet Friday afternoon. Nessie was covering Connor’s break, keeping one eye on the scattered regulars who were reading the paper or chatting among themselves. The weather had taken a turn for the worse and the pub windows were covered in a light film of drizzle. They might even need to light the fire for the evening, Nessie thought, casting a glance at the enormous chimney breast that dominated the bar. And then autumn would really have arrived.
The stranger came in just before three o’clock. At first, she assumed he was looking for the toilets; he stood in the middle of the pub, gazing around him as though taking everything in.
‘The loos are just through there, on the left,’ she called cheerfully, smiling in welcome. ‘Help yourself.’
The man didn’t return her smile. ‘I’m looking for Vanessa and Samantha Chapman,’ he said, walking to the bar.
Nessie frowned. Now that he was nearer, she could see that he was in his mid-twenties. He was good-looking, in spite of his unfriendly air, with a strong jaw and decent cheekbones. In fact, there was almost something familiar about him. They couldn’t have met before – not if he didn’t know who Nessie was – but there was definitely something about him she couldn’t quite put her finger on. Someone from the Health and Safety Inspectorate, maybe? Except they usually had their identification clearly displayed and this man was altogether too casually dressed.
‘I’m Vanessa Chapman,’ she said. ‘How can I help?’
He blinked, his green eyes reflective. ‘I should have known – you look like him.’
Nessie’s frown deepened. ‘Pardon?’
The man ran an agitated hand through his short blond hair. ‘Is Samantha here? What I have to say concerns both of you.’
‘She’s not, I’m afraid,’ Nessie said and her feeling of disquiet grew. Who was this man?
‘When will she be here?’ he asked, glancing around almost as though he thought Sam might be hiding behind the bar.
‘Later,’ Nessie said tersely. ‘Can I ask what this is about?’
He shook his head. ‘It’s better if I come back.’
Nessie had had enough. ‘Who are you? What do you want with Sam and me?’
‘I’m Laurie Chapman,’ he said, and hesitated, throwing her an uncertain look. ‘The brother you never knew you had.’
*
‘What?’
Sam leaned back against the sofa, stunned, as Nessie let out a long sigh. ‘That’s exactly what I said. But he refused to go into more detail, just left a mobile number and suggested we call when it’s convenient to talk.’
‘But how . . .’ Sam began, then trailed off. ‘I mean, obviously, I understand how we might have a brother, or a half-brother, more likely. But I don’t get how we didn’t know about it – surely Ruby would have told us?’
Nessie shrugged. ‘Maybe she didn’t know, either. It’s not impossible that Dad didn’t know, in which case he couldn’t have told Ruby.’
Sam rubbed her face, her expression still bemused. ‘Wow.’
‘Yeah,’ Nessie agreed. ‘Wow.’
‘I suppose there’s a chance he could be lying,’ Sam said, after a few seconds had passed.
Nessie remembered Laurie’s green eyes and blond hair, so like the memories she had of their father. She shook her head. ‘Maybe. I don’t know. He looked a bit like Dad.’
Sam puffed out a breath and managed a shaky laugh. ‘Then we’d better learn how to play Happy Families,’ she said, reaching for her phone.
*
The White Hart pub wasn’t as pretty as the Star and Sixpence, Nessie thought as she and Sam pulled up outside on Saturday morning, but it would do very nicely as neutral ground to meet Laurie.
‘Is that him?’ Sam asked, nodding at the back of a blond-haired man disappearing through the door of the pub.
‘I think so,’ Nessie said, squinting after him. ‘Hard to tell from one meeting.’
Sam pulled on the handbrake and switched off the engine. ‘Let’s go and find out.’
Nessie knew as soon as they walked into the White Hart that it had been Laurie; he’d taken a seat facing the door and rose the moment she and Sam came into view.
‘It’s him,’ she murmured to Sam.
‘So I see,’ Sam whispered back. ‘He’s the only other person in here, apart from the barman.’
Nessie did her best to smile as they approached the table he’d chosen. ‘Hi, Laurie.’
He nodded at her, then turned his green-eyed gaze towards Sam and held out a hand. ‘You must be Samantha. Nice to meet you.’
Nessie watched Sam’s guarded expression as she shook Laurie’s hand and wondered if her own face was similarly wary. There was no doubting Laurie’s confidence in who he was; he believed he was their brother. The question was, what did he want?
He cleared his throat. ‘I was about to get a drink – can I get you something?’
Nessie felt her tension lessen; he sounded nervous. Then again, meeting two half-sisters for the first time probably was a little nerve-racking. ‘A latte, please,’ she said, trying to soften her voice and sound friendly.
Last Orders at the Star and Sixpence Page 3