Page 2 of Summer at the Cornish Garden Café

‘You’re working here?’

‘Kind of.’ Lena hadn’t planned on telling people what she was doing but if she told at least one person then it would make her accountable. ‘I’m writing my first novel.’

Pearl clapped her hands. ‘How exciting! We have a writer in our midst.’

‘Well, I’m a journalist by trade, but I’m taking a sabbatical from the job and I’ve always wanted to write a novel so this is my chance.’

Pearl smiled. ‘I shall look forward to reading it.’

‘Do you read much?’ Lena asked.

‘A lot. My granddaughter laughs at, me because I love romance novels, especially paranormal romances with shifters. I just adore the growly bears and wolves. They’re so sexy, you know?’

Lena laughed. ‘I do know! I love shifter romance too. This one isn’t paranormal though, more contemporary romance with plenty of emotional moments and some hot ones.’

‘I like the sound of it even more now. Please let me purchase a signed copy when you’ve published it then we can proudly display it on the shelf.’ Pearl pointed at the shelves behind the sofa and Lena’s tummy gave a flip. The thought of her book being on the shelf with all the others was an exciting one.

‘I would love that, and you’ll definitely get a signed copy.’

‘I can’t wait.’ Pearl handed Lena a napkin wrapped around some cutlery. ‘I hope you enjoy your meal.’

‘Thank you so much.’

When she had settled on the sofa, Lena placed her bag on the seat next to her and gazed out of the window at the sunny afternoon. The sun was high in the bright blue sky, the breeze was making the flowers and plants dance, and the sofa was warm from where the sun’s rays had fallen on it through the glass. It would be the perfect spot to curl up with a book or her laptop, to while away the hours while sipping tea or coffee and nibbling on delicious gluten free pastries and cakes. Lena had already been looking forward to the summer here, but this made her anticipate it even more. She would hopefully get the break she needed and be able to reflect and heal after a tumultuous time.

After Pearl had brought Lena a small pot of tea along with a cup, a jug of milk and a sugar bowl, she stirred the tea thoughtfully. A small Cornish café would be the perfect setting for scenes in a romance novel, and she hoped she’d get some inspiration while she was here. The beautiful scenery, the lovely interior and the potential for meet cutes was perfect. She was musing over possible scenarios for her story when the door opened and a tall man entered. She followed him with her eyes as he crossed the café to the counter, his steps measured as if something was slowing him down, and then she spotted the cane he carried in his right hand, the cane he was leaning on for support as if he couldn’t put his weight down properly on his left foot.

At the counter, he spoke to Pearl and she smiled at him fondly as if she knew him well. Lena sipped her tea, wondering what had happened to the young man to warrant the use of a cane. He looked, she thought, like he could be in his thirties or even late twenties, but she hadn’t got a good look at his face because his thick, dark, curly hair hid his profile and curled down over his nape. Despite the warm weather, he was wearing along sleeved white top and olive-green combat style trousers.

As if sensing her eyes on him, he turned and looked directly at her, so she lowered her gaze quickly and feigned interest in the sugar bowl, even though she never took her tea with sugar. When she looked up again, he was facing the counter and all she could see was his back and that thick, glossy hair.

He could, she thought, be the ideal inspiration for her romantic hero. She hadn’t got a good look at his face because she’d not wanted to stare when he’d turned around, but she had momentarily seen those intense dark brown eyes and they had sent a quiver of something ricocheting through her. A quiver of something she hadn’t felt in a lifetime, and that unnervedher because the last thing she needed this summer was to be distracted by attraction to a stranger. The only man she wanted to be fantasising about was the hero in her novel. She didn’t have the time, energy or desire to get involved with a real man and all the complications that would bring.

The man turned and headed for a table near the other front window, and as he sat down, Lena sneaked another look at him. He pulled a phone from his pocket and stared at the screen, a frown of concentration marring his brow. The light from the screen illuminated his face, highlighting high cheekbones and a square jaw. He pushed a hand through his hair, then touched his fingers to his left cheek and it was then that she spotted what looked like a scar. A scar or a birthmark, she couldn’t tell from this distance, but as if realising he’d exposed it, the man brushed his hair down over his face again and scowled at his phone. Feeling like she was invading his privacy, Lena turned in her seat and leant her right arm on the table so she could gaze outside again. As a journalist, she was a people watcher and she found others fascinating for so many reasons. She’d been trained to look for a good story, to askwho, what, why, where and when. Now she’d spotted what she thought was a scar on the man’s face and that he walked with some difficulty, she couldn’t help asking the questions about him. Why was he using a cane? Was he born with a limp or had he been injured? It could be that he had something as simple as a sprain or an ingrowing toenail, or he could have an injury that meant he used the cane all the time. And his face. What had caused that? Was he an MMA fighter who’d been hurt in the ring, or an ice hockey player who’d fallen badly on the ice? There were so many possibilities and explanations. Lena’s mind raced with them, but she kept her gaze on the gardens outside the café, watched as a blackbird hopped around on the grass and a butterfly landed on a nearbyflower, its yellow wings fluttering like pretty fans. People were fascinating, and Lena knew she would always find it hard to put her training behind her in order to stop asking questions about them. But then, she hoped, it would make her a good writer too because she wasn’t sure she’d be able to return to journalism after her sabbatical. After what had happened. She wasn’t sure she could even return to London after the summer, but it was something she didn’t have to worry about for now, so she would try to put it from her mind, try to relax and be present in the moment.

When Pearl arrived with her food, she thanked her then tucked in, savouring every mouthful as she’d learnt to do since she’d promised herself she would try to slow down. Taking things slower was the only way to heal, and so she would do her best to master a slower pace of life. Starting today, because, after all, she had to start somewhere.

2

THOMAS DRYDEN

Staring at the news on his phone, Thomas Dryden felt the horrid lurching sensation that he’d suffered from since the accident. Often accompanied by buzzing in his head, it made his chest tight and brought the taste of bile to his tongue. It was painful for him to see the football news splashed over the headlines, to see that his former teammates were celebrating glory after winning matches, but he was also happy for them. If only he could have been there with them then he’d have been a part of that glory, successful in his own right and not a bystander watching as the dreams he’d had were no longer possible. Dreams could die in an instant along with your former self, and Thomas had learnt that the hard way.

He pushed a hand through his hair and then self-consciously touched his cheek, feeling the raised scar beneath his fingertips. It made sadness roar in his chest, so he pulled his hair back down and covered the scar again. As best he could, that was, because short of gluing his hair over the scar or wearing a mask, he couldn’t cover it completely. The doctors had told him it would fade with time and that there were things he could do to reduce the scarring, but it would never be totally gone. It wouldalways exist as a reminder of what had happened to him. He’d talked this over with a counsellor and his GP, of course, but it still hurt him to know that he would be forever changed because of one night. One night that he wished he could go back and change, but that was the thing with time; there was no way to turn back the clock and no way to change the decisions he’d made or what had happened as a result. He could only thank the universe that it hadn’t been worse and that no one else had suffered as a result of what had occurred. It was only him bearing the scars and the consequences and he would do so for the rest of his life. His career was ruined, his body too, and while he tried every day to be mindful of what he did have rather than grieving for what was gone, it wasn’t easy. Striving to take every day as it came and to practise an attitude of gratitude was a daily effort. He was, he thought, a work in progress, and still learning exactly how to make the most of his lot.

Since he’d come into the café today, he’d had the sensation he was being watched. It was like a prickling on his skin, and it made the hairs on his nape rise. As a professional footballer who’d once played for England, he’d been used to being watched every time he went out. Sadly, it came with the job. He’d been snapped by paparazzi filling his car with fuel, drinking coffee, swimming in Spain, and throwing back shots in clubs. It had taken him time to get used to it but then he’d learnt to deal with it like his fellow players. It wasn’t nice but he was earning a lot of money and living a good life, so he’d sucked it up. But the thing with the media was that your fall was enjoyed even more than your rise, and that had been blatantly obvious to him when things had gone wrong. It had made him even sicker than he was already seeing his bruised and bloodied face displayed on newspapers and screens everywhere. It had been horrific and it had ruined everything, made him desperate to hide away, whichwas what he had done for the past three years. Being out of the limelight meant that he was soon forgotten like yesterday’s newspapers, and he was now able to live a quieter life. He could no longer play football because of his injuries, and he no longer associated with anyone from his former life — apart from his family — so he was able to escape the harassment of the paparazzi and to live quietly. He had money from his career to last a lifetime if he lived modestly, and so he had been focused on healing and spending time with his sister and her family as he tried to get used to his new life.

Looking up from his phone, he met the eyes of the pretty redhead he’d spotted earlier. She was stunning from her dark red hair with its soft beach waves to her pale freckled skin and her elfin face. Her grey eyes held something haunted that made him wonder what had happened to her, but she was beautiful in a way that tugged at his heart. He’d once been able to have his choice of women just because of who he was. Not that he’d taken advantage of that, of course, because he’d been committed to his partner. But wherever he’d been, women had made it clear to him that they would happily warm his bed or more, just to say they’d been with footballer Thomas Dryden. Those women wanted to be a footballer’s girlfriend or wife. Early on in his career, he’d been on a few dates with celebrities — like one of the women who’d won a reality TV show and with a singer from a girl band — but then his heart had been captured and that had been that. However, the way women used to look at him was a thing of the past and he was pretty sure the woman looking at him now was doing it out of curiosity, pity or both. He wanted neither, so he flashed her a scowl then made a point of looking back at his phone. Thomas had no room in his life for love. Not after what had happened and how he’d been forced to accept that he was just like everyone else and not anything specialwithout the professional footballer identity. He was an average Joe these days. No, less than average because of his scars and his baggage. No woman in her right mind would want him the way he looked now, the way he was damaged now. Thomas was destined to be single and that was fine with him.

Just fine…

3

LENA

After she’d finished her food, Lena went out to the café gardens and strolled around, breathing deeply of the fresh summer air and admiring the greenery, the flowers and enjoying the sweet birdsong. After fifteen years of working in London, up early chasing stories all day and often reaching for a glass of wine or something stronger to help her unwind before falling into bed exhausted, Lena was adjusting to a different pace of life. There would be a period of adjustment, she knew, as she came to terms with the changes but it was meant to be a positive thing and so she was keen to embrace it as best she could.

She followed the path through the lush gardens around to the rear of the café, and there she came across a large chicken run. Made of wire with a coop inside and plenty of room for the occupants to roam, it was a lovely addition to the gardens. Inside, a variety of different coloured chickens roamed around, pecking busily at the ground, while a rooster kept watch over them. He was a gorgeous beast of a bird with glossy blue-black feathers, a fan of a tail and a red fleshy comb and wattles.

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