Page 14 of Putting Down Roots

The shove was quite forceful and by the time I regain my footing I’m by Ben’s cake stall. He must see something in my face—or saw what happened.

“What did he say?”

“It’s nothing.”

“I doubt that, but despite being rough around the edges, he has a heart of gold. If he said something to offend, though, let me know and I’ll have a word with him.”

“No, truly, it’s fine.” And I realise it is fine. In this strange village of old-fashioned values mixed with tolerance and fun, it’s fine.

“Good, now this is for you.” Ben produces a box and passes it over.

“You shouldn’t have.” I suddenly feel embarrassed, not used to receiving gifts.

“I love baking, as you can tell, and you appreciated my cupcakes. However, I felt that purple and rainbow sprinkles weren’t really your thing.”

“No, no,” I protest, not wishing to sound prejudiced.

“It’s alright, we don’t all conform to stereotypes, but I think that this might just be your thing.” He nods to the box.

I open it up and motes of chocolate and coffee and caramel float up to me. All of my favourite flavours. It smells divine and looks incredible. It’s covered in chocolate and caramel swirled frosting, a gold coffee bean on top, and gold dusting.

“Better?” he enquires, already looking sure of himself, and very pleased.

“Thank you, but how did you know?”

He just smiles and says, “A baker never reveals his secrets.”

“Well, thank you again. I need to go, I’m helping Darla today.”

“Great, we’ll probably see you later. The village usually congregates in The Arms after the fete.”

I give him a cheery wave as I set off back to the pub.

I haven’t gotten far when a stall catches my eye. A guy is sitting on a stool in the centre of his booth, carving an animal out of a piece of wood—it’s beautiful. He has some other carvings on a table beside him. One of them, a tree, draws my eye.

“These are amazing,” I say. The guy looks up from his carving and smiles.

“Thanks. They’re a hobby. By day I’m a tree surgeon.” He hands me a card.“Harlen Davies.”

“How much for the tree?” I don’t need to be spending any money on frivolous purchases, but it’s exquisite and there’s no chance that I’m not going to have it.

“Twenty.” He seems almost apologetic.

“That’s nowhere near enough for the amount of work that’s gone into it.” I pull out my wallet and offer him more.

He refuses to take it.

“As I said, it’s a hobby.” His voice has an edge to it.

“Well, thank you, Harlen.” He wraps the little wooden tree in paper and hands it to me.

I make my way back to the pub, and quickly run up to my room to safely stow my cake and the tree.

I’m still wondering how Ben knew exactly what sort of cake I would want.

I think about the teasing from Keith—I’m fine with it.I’m comfortable with my sexuality aren’t I?Even though whenever I close my eyes all I can see is an image of Luca in his tight jeans, his white long-sleeved t-shirt, his way of standing with his hands stuffed into his pockets and his black hair falling over his eyes. How I want to brush it back to see his deep, blue eyes, and make him smile.

Oh shit, I’m screwed.

---