Page 89 of The Winter of Second Chances
‘Leave it,’ said John. ‘I’ll help you later. Come on, you’ve been working all day. Come eat burned sugary fluff with me.’ He pointed along the beach where a thin curl of smoke was rising up from the pebbles.
She grabbed her coat and bobble hat, and ventured out into the cold dusk.
The beach was all but deserted. John grabbed two patio chairs from outside the cafe and they tramped down across the beach, their feet crunching and sinking into the loose pebbles as they headed towards a small campfire.
A sharp breeze whistled around her ears and Annie pulled her hat down lower. John positioned the chairs next to the fire and pushed the legs into the shingle to steady them. Annie sat down, sinking a little as she did so, and John joined her, handing her a long metal toasting fork.
‘You’ve come prepared,’ said Annie.
‘I used to be a Boy Scout.’
‘Really?’
‘Not for long. They threw me out.’
‘You got thrown out of the Scouts? What on earth did you do?’
‘Consistent disruptive behaviour; their words, not mine.’
‘What would you have called it?’
‘Being a little shit.’
Annie laughed.
They spiked a marshmallow each and held them into the flames, twiddling the forks this way and that. Annie was grateful for the warmth given off by the small fire.
‘Are you absolutely serious?’ John asked. Annie didn’t need to question his meaning.
‘Yes, I am. I didn’t come here with the intention of starting a business. This was supposed to be a temporary stop for me to catch my breath. That’s one of the reasons why a short lease was so appealing.’
‘And now?’
Annie breathed in the smoky air, so in contrast with the freshness of the cold late afternoon. The waves whispered to the shore as they began to reclaim the beach in a long slow embrace.
‘Now I can’t imagine being anywhere else,’ Annie replied.
She pulled the fork out of the fire and tugged at the brown crisp edges of the marshmallow to reveal the molten sugar within. She licked her fingers greedily, wincing slightly at the intense sweetness that made her jaw ache.
John took a more cautious, measured approach, blowing on his marshmallow before taking a tentative bite. He reached his other hand into his pocket and handed over a folded piece of paper.
‘That’s the offer from the developer,’ he said. ‘I understand that it’s for a different proposal than what you’re suggesting. His takes into account the profit he can make on the land.’
‘And my offer will be for a business with dwelling.’
‘Exactly. And I will take that into account when you give me your offer. I’m not greedy, I just need enough.’
Annie looked down at the piece of paper in her hand. She didn’t want to open it right now, she didn’t want to potentially burst this fantasy bubble she was living in, whereby a bright new future was laid out before her. And she didn’t want to sour this sweet moment they were sharing.Reality can wait a little longer, she thought, as she tucked the paper into her coat pocket.
‘You’ve really thrown me a curve ball,’ he said. ‘I had steeled myself for selling this place and then you come along and turn everything upside down. I can’t decide whether you’re heaven-sent or a devil in disguise.’
‘Huh.’ Annie smiled to herself as she recalled that she had used almost the exact same words to describe John.
She pierced another marshmallow and thrust it into the fire.
‘Not one for spontaneity, are you?’
‘There’s a fine line between impulsiveness and recklessness,’ said John. ‘In the past my spontaneity led to trouble, so I trained myself to be more measured; fewer people get hurt that way.’
