Page 108 of The Winter of Second Chances
Annie was still formulating a witty comeback when John kissed her. Just once. A soft, gentle, tentative kiss. His lips were warm on hers. She closed her eyes. He drew away, tantalisingly just enough that she could still feel the warmth of his breath. It would only take the slightest movement for their lips to touch. Annie leaned forward infinitesimally and their mouths met again, deliciously, lightly. John’s hands cupped her face, the tips of his fingers twisting in her hair. His breath came harder and so did Annie’s. She felt her body arching towards him; she reached inside his coat and wrapped her arms around him. She wanted to get under his clothes, to touch his skin, to feel his body on hers. John’s kisses became deeper, more urgent and Annie let herself be swept up in his passion. Her skin was tingling, her body alive with want. A sudden bright light and an elongated beep broke them apart. The taxi had arrived.
‘Right,’ said Annie, jumping up. She was dizzy and almost lost her footing.
‘Right. Yes,’ said John, pulling his coat around him.
‘That’s my cue,’ said Annie.
John nodded and stood. She felt his hand guiding her as they tramped down the grassy bank to the taxi. John opened the back door and Annie climbed in.
‘Thank you for a lovely evening,’ said Annie. The temptation to pull John into the back of the cab with her was almost overwhelming.
‘Thankyou,’ said John. He pushed her door closed and leaned in through the open passenger window to pass the driver a ten-pound note. Then he stood back, raising his hand once as the taxi pulled away.
Annie climbed into bed, still all of a fluster, and flicked off the lamp. She leaned across to the drawer in her bedside cabinet and pulled Mr Knightley from his wrappings. But it was neither Mr Knightley’s nor Poldark’s image which filled her mind as she shimmied down beneath the bedclothes and closed her eyes.
Annie woke up the next morning with more than a smidge of a hangover, which she doused liberally with coffee and carbohydrates before taking herself for a walk along the promenade at seven a.m. Ely’s fishing boat was already out on the water, which today was a dark navy blue. The swell was languid, making the waves look thick and syrupy. The weather had changed. She could smell the cold; there was a permanence about this chill, as though a deep elemental shift had caused the very fabric of the air to evolve into a new harsher creature. Winter had arrived. As she walked, shrouded in the frosty morning mist, her thoughts returned again and again to the previous evening and she found herself smiling in spite of the bitter breeze.
By the time she opened the kiosk at eight o’clock she had frozen out her muggy head and felt almost human – coffee would sort the rest. Saturday mornings were her busiest at the kiosk. The serious dog-walkers wanted to get their exercise and their caffeine fixes and be back home before the weekenders descended upon the beach.
Billy arrived at twenty-five past, looking rosy-cheeked and windswept. He was shy and ill at ease – despite Annie doing her best to make him feel relaxed – and it was making him clumsy. He dropped a cup within the first ten minutes of his shift and seemed to trip over every chair leg as he stumbled about the cafe, getting it ready for opening. Annie felt sorry for him; she could see he wanted to make a good impression but his nerves were sabotaging his efforts. His complexion swung between deathly pale and blotchy red, depending on the degree of his errors. But despite this, or maybe because of it, the customers took to him instantly. He pulled faces to make the children laugh, charmed the older customers with his attentive manners and brought out the maternal instinct in every woman over twenty-five.
‘Relax,’ said Annie, when his shaking hands caused more coffee to be in the saucer than in the cup. ‘You’re doing really well. All these little errors will stop as soon as you calm down.’
‘I’m sorry,’ said Billy, his cheeks blotching scarlet instantly. ‘I just really want this job.’
‘Well, you’ve got the job. So there, now you can stop panicking and concentrate on getting the hang of the place.’
‘I’ve got the job?’ Billy’s surprise was palpable.
‘It’s yours,’ said Annie. ‘Now, clear down table four and I’ll have the next order ready for you to take.’
Billy jumped to attention and set off for table four with a spring in his step and an unquenchable grin.
Ely came into the cafe, under the guise of delivering a bag of oddly shaped fresh fillets for which he wouldn’t take any money. He nodded at Billy as he passed him; Billy looked up mid-antibacterial-spraying a table and grinned at him.
‘How’s he doing?’ Ely asked under his breath.
‘He’s doing great,’ Annie assured him.
‘I promised his grandad I’d look out for him.’
‘Then you’ll find your job much easier with him being here Saturdays and holidays.’
‘I appreciate what you’re doing for him.’
‘Not at all.’ Annie dismissed his thanks. ‘I needed an extra pair of hands and Billy came along at the right time.’
They both peered surreptitiously at Billy, who had just filled an old margarine tub with water and set it down under the table for a customer’s Cocker Spaniel. The customer thanked him and gave a nod of satisfaction to his retreating back.
‘Well, he’s tamed our most discerning customer,’ said Annie wryly. ‘So, the rest ought to be plain sailing. It’ll take him a few weeks to get the hang of it but I think he’s made of the right stuff.’
Ely nodded and gave an appreciative grunt before heading back to his boat with a large gingerbread latte.
At midday Alfred poked his head in at the kiosk window. He rarely ventured into the cafe during opening hours; too many people, he complained.
‘I’m going to get that fence fixed,’ he said. ‘Weather’s turned, winter’s here.’
‘Oh brilliant, thank you, Alfred! Have you got everything you need?’
