Page 21 of A Touch of Magic at the Comfort Food Café
‘Yes. I know exactly what you mean. And maybe I will. Most of my books are set in London, but maybe it’s time for one of my detectives to retire to a sleepy coastal town, where they will, of course, be plunged into a world of murder and mayhem…’
‘And maybe, if your detective is female and straight, she could hook up with a lusty farmhand? Or an intriguing stranger with green eyes and a habit of running around without his top on…’
I laugh out loud, because he actually looks slightly intrigued by the idea. He shrugs, looks slightly sheepish, and says: ‘What can I say? I read a lot of romance when I was growing up. I was close to my British grandmother, and she had shelves full of them. Garish covers with dudes like Fabio on the front. Mills & Boon. Rakes and virgins, governesses and lords… I suspect it deeply influenced my view of the world.’
‘Oh no,’ I respond, amused. ‘Adjusting to reality must have been hard?’
‘Yeah. Real women were a lot more fun. Nobody in my granny’s books got drunk after a Giants game and stayed out dancing until dawn.’
‘And that’s the kind of woman you like, is it? Party girls? I think you’re going to be disappointed living out here…’
He takes a slow sip from his glass, and leans back in his chair. He surveys me, in a way that doesn’t feel intrusive– more appreciative. He has a way of speaking with his expressions that I find intriguing.
‘I suppose those were the kinds of women I liked back in my old life, at least at one stage. Now, I’m in a different head space.’
I always admire the way Americans can say things like ‘head space’ without sounding sarcastic. I’ve met a lot of people from the States through my work, and on the whole they are so muchmore ‘in touch’ with their feelings than we are, and not afraid to talk about it, either. Obviously, the idea of behaving like that myself makes me shudder, but that doesn’t mean I can’t see its value.
‘Why? What changed for you?’ I ask, genuinely interested.
He glances off to the side, and when he looks back, those mesmerising eyes are a little more serious. ‘Oh, you know, the usual: heartbreak, despair, soul-crushing disappointment. It was a few years ago, but I suppose it made me reassess my life. That’s when I decided that it needed to change, and I started to consider walking away from everything I’d ever known.’
‘That’s very big stuff,’ I say gently. ‘Your family?’
‘Well, my dad, yeah. Have you ever watchedSuccession?’
I nod. Like most people who did, I’d been sucked into the toxic world of people I despised but couldn’t stop caring about. Brilliant writing.
‘Well, picture that, but with less familial warmth. My dad is the latest in a long line of cold, arrogant assholes who see themselves as a modern-day God. The business has been passed down the generations, getting bigger and more bloated with each new era. It was always assumed that I’d be next, and when I was younger, I went along with that assumption. I was privileged; I was rich; I was trained from childhood to step into his shoes when the time came.’
‘But you didn’t,’ I reply, absolutely fascinated now. ‘Youmoved to rural England, of all places. Or do you, Idon’t know, run your evil global business empire from Dorset?’
He laughs again, and it eases the tension that had started to creep into his face while he talked about his background. ‘No. I do run my own business empire from Dorset, which is a lot less evil and mainly involves me monitoring my investments and making sure enough money is coming in to pay my bills. I may have turned my back on that world as the heir apparent, but Istill learned a lot, and I still kind of enjoy it. The moving, the shaking, the shuffling. The sense of competition. But these days, it’s all just for personal use. I have no interest inlegacy.’
Legacy. That’s one of those words that normal people don’t use, isn’t it? Most of us are just trying to muddle our way through our own lives, without worrying too much about what we leave behind. My books are global best-sellers and have been turned into movies and TV shows, so I suppose they will live on for a little while, but I prefer the context of Eggardon Hill. Blinks of an eye. None of it matters at all when you look at it through that lens.
‘Are you still close to your mum?’ I ask, as ever consumed by a need to understand.
He nods. ‘Yeah, sure. She lives in London now, so I get to see her. My sister too. There was a schism in the family, and the ones I care about are all on this side of the pond. It’s nice being on the same continent as them, but I also needed to strike out alone for a while and figure it all out. I had my own place, near the New Forest, and I adopted a dog. Then another dog. And… well, let’s just say I’m a dog person. You’ve heard that saying, the more I learn about people, the more I prefer dogs?’
I nod. I have, and I agree. Though sometimes I feel like it would also work with ‘the more I learn about people, the more I prefer earwigs.’
‘Then I needed even more space,’ he continues. ‘And that’s why we ended up here. I’d never even visited the property and land I bought. I just saw it online for sale, and something about it, I don’t know, called to me? Does that sound insane?’
‘Totally insane,’ I reply, deadpan. ‘And I did exactly the same. I was looking for a change, and I saw my little house on a website. I put in an offer without even seeing it in person.’
He raises his glass and grins at me. ‘Well, we must both be crazy– or maybe it’s fate. Here’s to fresh starts!’
Chapter Nine
Tinkerbell visits me in the evening, and when I wake up he’s sitting on the pillow next to my head, staring at me. Whiskers twitching, he stretches once he sees I’m awake, and jumps off the bed– presumably to disappear into whatever secret portal he uses to enter and exit my very well-secured home.
‘Bye!’ I shout as he slinks out of the door. ‘Lock up on your way out!’
He doesn’t reply. How rude. I follow suit and do some stretching. I’m nowhere near as elegant, I’m sure, as I clamber off the side of my mattress and reach my arms up to the ceiling. I have slept amazingly well, much better than usual, and actually feel refreshed this morning. Maybe, I think with a small smile as I go into a forward fold, it was the dreams.
Aidan dropped me off at home after our one drink, and despite all his flirting, he was a perfect gentleman. There was no angling for an invite in for a nightcap, no attempt at a goodnight kiss. I was both relieved and disappointed, and reminded myself again about the age gap. I suspect Aidan is one of those guys whoautomatically flirts with women, and has a gift for making them feel special. He doesn’t mean anything by it, I’m sure.
While that made perfect sense while I was conscious, my sleeping mind had other ideas. Aidan visited me in my dreams, and he was not in any way, shape or form gentlemanly. I do a few side twists, aware that I’m even blushing while I’m alone. The memory of my night-time fantasies is enough to make me feel hot under the pyjama collar. I think it might have been him talking about his grandma’s romance books, with the dastardly dukes and the lusty lords… Somehow they all got tangled up in my mind, and Aidan kept appearing dressed in full Bridgerton-style gear, galloping around on horses and rescuing me from ruffians. The rest was very much X-rated.
