Page 5 of All Mine
The stopcock had split in half. Water sprayed out directly at Isabella, a jet that soaked her T-shirt and her face. Great.
‘What now?’ she asked his upturned bottom. He withdrew his head and the water sprayed straight at her again, full on. He tried to block it with a cloth, but it was no good. Water was everywhere. Even dripping off her chin.
‘Call a plumber, I guess, love. An emergency one at that. Unless you know where your mains stopcock is.’
Isabella stared at him for a split second in disbelief then stalked back into the restaurant.
She picked up her phone and googled ‘where to find your mains stopcock’. She scanned the top few listings and they all concurred:mainly outside, sometimes shared with a neighbour. Can be on the pavement outside the home rather than inside the premises.It was worth a try.
Isabella ran out onto the square. The chill of the September morning hit her skin and she realised how flushed her face was from steaming the walls. She checked immediately in front of the restaurant, but wasn’t even sure what she was looking for. A tap? No. A cover on the ground with a tap beneath it? Probably.
There was nothing to the right of the door under the windows, and she ran to the other side. The weeds had taken hold there and she had to pull up a few handfuls of straggly grass to get a proper look. Yes. That could be it. A square metal cover, like a mini manhole. She prised her fingers in the side but there was no way of lifting the lid. She needed a tool. Dammit.
Knowing that every minute this took to resolve, the more damage was being done to her restaurant spurred her into action. She shouted back in through the front door.
‘Anyone got a crowbar? Or a lever?’
Muttering, and more muttering, and she could hear someone looking in a toolbox, but the shout came back as a no. She turned around again in frustration, looking for help. A movement caught her eye.
The guy in the restaurant opposite was in his doorway again, watching. Isabella decided that now was the time to meet her neighbour, but it wasn’t a cup of sugar she needed. She sprinted across the square towards him and saw his eyes flash wider as she approached.
‘Hi. Don’t suppose you’ve got a crowbar, or a lever of some kind?’ He blinked and then shook himself as though trying to concentrate. ‘I need to turn off my water at the mains before I flood the whole place!’
She flashed a smile, trying to show she was friendly but in desperate need and he jumped into action.
‘Hold on,’ he said and turned inside, returning a moment later with an assortment of tools that might do the job. He held them in his hands for inspection and she threw him another smile.
‘Thanks.’
‘Come on,’ he said, pulling a hoodie on over his head. ‘I’ll help.’
She was surprised by the offer but didn’t have time to decline as he set off in front of her across the square. Men! Always needing to be in charge.
They knelt on the ground side by side, but she budged him slightly, putting her hand out for a tool. This was her job to do. The cover came up easily and, sure enough, the stopcock was beneath. The restaurant guy pushed a wrench towards her and she managed to clasp the tap in her hand and turn it closed. When she was sure it was firm, she ran to the front door and called through.
‘Has it stopped?’ There was a split second of silence inside followed by cheers, and her shoulders dropped as she breathed a sigh of relief. She turned, beaming to the restaurant guy.
‘Done!’ she said triumphantly, walking back towards him. ‘Thanks so much for your help.’
‘I didn’t do anything,’ he said. ‘You did it all yourself.’
He stood, brushing his jeans at the knee. As he faced her, his eyes widened again, the same look he’d given as she ran across the square towards him. A flash of appreciation. It made her feel curiously naked. In a good way.
‘But without your tools, I’d be flooded by now.’ She extended her hand. ‘I’m Isabella.’
A slow smile spread across his face, making his eyes crinkle at the corners. Shit. He was extraordinarily attractive. Green eyes and dark brown hair were a striking combination. Not that much older than her. Nearer forty and all man.
‘Etienne,’ he said. ‘I own The Bistro.’ His hand dwarfed hers as they shook, holding it momentarily before they both let go. Steady there, girl, Isabella thought, tucking her hand back into her pocket.
‘Have you been here long?’ she asked.
‘About four years,’ he said. ‘It’s a good spot. Near the theatre and bang in the middle of town. I saw the planning permission for this place. So– a new restaurant.’
‘You worried by the competition?’ Isabella challenged.
‘Nope.’ Etienne chuckled and it made her smile in return. ‘I think it could be a good thing for the square. Bring more people in for the evenings. So, is it your family taking this on?’
‘Nope, just me.’ This time she was not frustrated by the question, because some part of her wanted him to know that she was single. That there was nobody else in the picture. He raised an eyebrow again and she felt a flush on her neck.
