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In spite of it being the hottest day of the year so far, lunch club had proven as popular as ever, and without Eliza’s help, Libby would’ve been rushed off her feet. With the fryers on, the heat inside the shop had been punishing, even with the little air-con unit on the back wall running at full blast. With the last customer served, she clicked off the power to the fryers and the heating cabinet then moved to stand beneath the air-con and let the cold air wash over her. Eyes closed, she stood there until the combination of the frigid air and her sweat-soaked T-shirt sent a shiver through her entire body.
‘Oh, that looks good.’ Opening one eye was almost too much effort, but Libby cracked a lid and watched as Eliza propped the folding chairs she’d been carrying against the wall then came to stand beside her. ‘Okay, I’m never moving from this spot.’ Eliza dragged the hygiene covering from her hair and gathered the mass of curls spilling loose in one hand to expose the nape of her neck to the chilly blast.
Since they’d been little girls, Libby had always envied Eliza for her hair. The curls always seemed full of life and vitality, not like the limp, brown mop her own hair would be without all the dye and gel. Picturing the horror show lurking beneath her hat, Libby shook her head. ‘How is it possible for you to work non-stop for two hours in Lavender Bay’s own version of Dante’s Inferno and still look like some pre-Raphaelite goddess at the end of it?’
Eliza laughed. ‘You must be joking. I caught sight of myself in that mirrored sign over there as I walked past, and my face is glowing like a neon sign.’
Libby didn’t agree but was too hot and tired to argue the point. With a healthy flush on her cheeks and a bit of life back in her eyes, Eliza looked better than she had since returning home. ‘Have you thought any more about what you want to do?’
Laughter fading, Eliza scrunched up her face. ‘Not a clue, but I’ll have to find something soon before Mum and Dad get too used to the idea of me being behind the bar again. It’s great to be home, don’t get me wrong, but I don’t fancy the idea of pulling pints for the rest of my days. Do you know what I mean?’
Not really. With the death of her mum, it had been only natural for Libby to step into her shoes and help her dad with the business. At first it had been a case of pitching in around their two-storey home above the shop, keeping the place clean so her dad didn’t stay up half the night doing chores after being on his feet all day. It had progressed to prepping the batter, stocking the cold drinks fridge and taking orders whilst Mick manned the fryers. The day he’d deemed her old enough to work them herself was still one of the proudest moments of her life. Not a grand achievement to most, but it had been a milestone on her path from adolescence to adulthood. She loved the shop, loved the ebb and flow of people’s lives through the door. Shared their triumphs and commiserated their disasters as she shook, and salted, and wrapped the food which kept them going at the end of a long day.
It was the people she loved the most. Her people. They came through that front door in good times and bad. If someone was having a hard time, it showed in the way their orders changed. When a regular customer reduced their order, her dad would often slip them an extra piece of fish or add another scoop of chips to their standard portion size. He greeted each and every customer with the same ‘What’ll it be then?’, even those whose order never deviated in the dozen years she’d been helping him out. She’d asked him about it once, and his answer stuck with her.
‘When we started out, your mum and I made a point of learning what people liked, thinking it added a personal touch when we asked someone if they’d like their usual order. Then one Thursday Bill Curtis came in, same as he always does, and when I said “the usual?” he burst into tears. Poor sod had just been laid off and he didn’t know how he was going to pay for supper, never mind tell his wife when he got home. Your mum took him out the back and told him in no uncertain terms that until he was back on his feet, Thursday supper was on the house. Wouldn’t take no for an answer, and I agreed with her. Took him four months to get a new job, another year after that to catch up on overdue bills and the like. The moment he was square again, he insisted on paying us back for those free suppers, not that we expected him to, but his pride had taken enough blows so we didn’t argue.’ Mick wiped his hands on his apron then put an arm around her shoulders. ‘This place is more than a chippy. We’re a community centre, a safe haven for people in trouble. I don’t have a lot, but what I have got I’ll share with anyone that needs it. Asking people what they want rather than assuming I know gives them the space to change their order without any sense of embarrassment, do you see?’
She did, and her heart swelled with love for his big, generous soul. Libby leaned into the reassuring bulk of his body. ‘I see what you do, Dad, and I think it’s brilliant.’
With that memory warm in her heart, Libby took a deep breath, then opened her heart. ‘I’ve found my place in the world, Eliza, and it’s right here.’ She gestured around the shop. ‘I love what my parents built here, and I want to keep playing my part at the heart of our community, but I want to do it my way. Ignore the smell of hot fat and vinegar and picture little wooden tables painted in pastel shades laden with pretty plates full of cakes and sandwiches, sparkling cutlery and real cotton napkins. Replace the fryers with a glass-fronted refrigeration counter holding fresh-baked quiches, flaky sausage rolls and glass bowls full of salad. Shelves along the back wall full of specialty teas and coffees and a fridge full of traditional bottles of lemonade, ginger beer and elderflower water. I’ll paint the walls soft lemon and buttermilk with watercolour paintings of scenes from around the bay, and hang frothy lace curtains at the windows.’
A long silence followed the tumble of words and butterflies began to chase each other around Libby’s stomach. It was the first time she’d let anyone else in on her plans for the future, and she could hardly bear to meet Eliza’s gaze. Her best friend had the kindest heart and would say all the right things, but would she mean it? If she looked into Eliza’s eyes and saw pity, it might break her heart. Needing to keep busy, she took a cloth to the already spotless counter and began to clean it.
‘Libs?’ Soft fingers touched her arm, stilling her hand mid-sweep. She couldn’t bring herself to turn around. It mattered too damn much. Eliza released her only to slip her arms around Libby’s waist and prop her chin on Libby’s shoulder. ‘God, Libs, it sounds wonderful. Just perfect.’
The husky warmth in those words eased the tension holding Libby’s frame rigid. ‘You really think so?’
Eliza gave her a squeeze. ‘I know so. Watching you today was a revelation. Feeding people, taking care of them, it’s in your blood.’
Blushing, Libby stared down at the cloth now wound between her fingers. ‘I’m not exactly in Sam’s league. A few sarnies and cakes won’t hold a candle to the Cordon Bleu experience he’ll be offering.’
A finger jabbed in her ribs, making her turn with a yelp to meet a soft scowl from Eliza. ‘Don’t do that,’ she admonished. ‘Don’t talk yourself out of it before you’ve even started. Sam’s restaurant will be for people wanting a one-off experience, somewhere to celebrate a special occasion. What you’re talking about is a place people will return to time and again for everyday comforts.’
Everyday comforts. Libby liked the sound of that. She’d never seen herself as in competition with Sam, that was just her insecurity digging in its claws. Deep down, she knew her plan was a sound one. The café would fill a gap in the current market, offering healthier alternatives alongside luscious cream teas. Friday lunch club would continue, but she’d offer salmon quiche or tuna melts and salad in the summer, and thick bowls of hearty chowder or fish pie in the winter. She also had plans for a pensioners’ afternoon tea special once a fortnight. Lavender Bay had plenty of takeaways and pubs serving hearty meals and one or other of them would likely expand their menu and add fish and chips—and good luck to them. The day she never had to wash the smell of the chippy out of her hair again couldn’t come too soon, not that she’d ever admit that to anyone other than Eliza or Beth—and they’d never say a word.
‘You know I’ll make the curtains and whatever for you when it’s time. I’m making all the soft furnishings for Sam’s restaurant, and I’d love to help you in whatever way you need.’ And there it was, the reason why Libby had told Eliza before anybody else. In the same way they’d pitched in to help Beth fulfil her dreams with the emporium, Libby knew they’d throw their all behind her.
Eliza had always been a whizz with her sewing machine, whereas Libby could barely manage to sew on a button. Stick her in the kitchen, though, and that was another story. She’d learned to bake at her mother’s hip and the café was a way of honouring those precious moments and keeping them fresh in her mind. Beth was the organised one, who would help her sort out the business side of things. Libby had experience helping her dad keep the books for the chip shop, but it would still take a lot of work to adapt to a more extensive menu. Work that would be much easier with Beth to guide her through it.
Eliza removed the apron she’d been wearing over a mint green shirt and matching capri pants and hung it on one of the pegs. ‘So, what does your dad think about your plans?’ Libby screwed up her face but didn’t say anything. Her dad would be 65 next year and the years of hard work were starting to show. He’d dropped a few hints about retiring after his birthday, and that was one of the reasons she was hoping their accountant might be raising the topic at today’s meeting.
She hadn’t mentioned it herself, because she didn’t want her dad to feel like she was pushing him out the door. When he was ready to take that step, she’d sit him down and go through her ideas. ‘You’re going to have to tell him some time.’ Eliza laughed. ‘Listen to me, Little Miss Assertive telling you what to do, when I’m just as bad.’
Libby slung an arm around her friend’s shoulder and leaned close until their heads were touching. ‘We’re hopeless. Remember when we were kids how we couldn’t wait to be all grown-up and be in control of our lives?’ She sighed.
Humming sympathetically, Eliza nodded. ‘We thought it would be so exciting, only no one told us how difficult it would be. I can’t for the life of me remember why we were in such a hurry.’
‘Because we wanted to have all that great sex we kept reading about in those copies of Cosmopolitan we used to steal from Beth’s mum.’
‘Ha! We should sue them for false advertising because we’re still bloody waiting.’ Eliza pulled back to regard her. ‘Well, I am, at least, although you’ve been very quiet in that regard. Any scorching hot love affairs you want to tell me about?’
As it had far too frequently in the past weeks, the image of Owen Coburn sprang to mind, all cocky smile and hard-bodied perfection. The fluttering that followed dissolved into a deep stab of humiliation. He’d stood out—a bright flame among the usual Saturday night crowd in The Siren, and she’d floated across the bar like a mesmerised moth driven by a fatal combination of bone-deep loneliness and a haze of hormones. And damn, had he burned her with that incredulous look in his eyes.
Men who looked like him probably had women throwing themselves at him all the time. He’d have his pick of gorgeous women with pretty hair and curves in all the right places, so she couldn’t really blame him for dismissing her unconventional looks and a figure that barely rippled from shoulder to hip.
And if the way he’d stared at her like she’d escaped from the local freak show hadn’t been bad enough, his sneering dismissal of her beloved bay had killed her attraction to him stone dead. Well, apart from when she closed her eyes at night and her treacherous brain wove alternative versions of their disastrous meeting that left her blushing in the dark and aching for something she shouldn’t want, and could never be.
Catching a curious glance from Eliza, she realised she’d been quiet for too long. In an effort to distract her, Libby pasted on a grin and waggled her eyebrows. ‘Only in my dreams. I keep trying to persuade Beth to dish the dirt on Sam so at least I’d have something to fuel my fantasies, but she just gives me that “cat that got the cream” look and refuses.’
As she’d hoped, one mention of Sam was enough to turn Eliza off the scent. Scrunching up her delicate nose, Eliza grimaced. ‘Ugh, and ew, that’s my brother you’re talking about.’ Her expression turned from disgust to something more encouraging. ‘Once the summer gets underway there’ll be lots of guys around desperate to snap you up. You’re just having a dry spell, that’s all.’
‘More than a spell, parts of my anatomy have been officially declared a desert zone.’ As they laughed together, Libby considered what Eliza had said. The influx of visitors over the summer might well increase her chances of finding someone she half-liked the look of. If she could only get a certain arrogant smile out of her head for five minutes. Owen Coburn wasn’t her type, and he’d made it crystal clear that she most certainly wasn’t his, so why couldn’t she forget about him and move on?
Not that there was anything to move on from. Those few cross words they’d exchanged had been the closest she’d come to intimacy with a man for nearly a year, which was embarrassing to the point of being pathetic. There’d been guys in her life before—even one a few years ago who’d got serious enough to start hinting at something more permanent, but he’d been hell bent on leaving the bay and couldn’t understand her desire to stay so they’d gone their separate ways—and there’d be guys again. She needed to snap out of it, and Eliza was right. Someone nice was bound to show up at some point over the summer, and Libby intended to be ready to catch him when he did. From this moment onwards, Owen bloody Coburn no longer existed.
Chapter 4 (#ulink_4c6a5508-8476-56f0-89ef-8b0287d9702d)
‘I can’t believe he’s back in town. What the hell is he doing here?’ Libby muttered as she sank down on the toilet seat in Beth’s little bathroom where her friend was putting the final touches to her make-up for the evening. She’d managed little more than a quick shower and a change of clothes after helping her dad with the early evening rush. There wasn’t any point in dressing up, it wasn’t like she would be seeing anyone worth making an effort for. ‘Liar,’ whispered the traitorous voice in her head.
Beth ran a pale-pink lipstick over her lips and pursed them together before she met Libby’s eyes in the mirror. ‘I don’t know why he’s here, but it sounds like he might be interested in what Sam’s doing with the restaurant, so it looks like we’ll be stuck with his company.’ Turning her gaze back to her own reflection, Beth ran a brush through her glossy mane of chestnut hair. ‘I don’t get what the big deal is, Libs. I know he’s a bit up himself, but you’re acting like we’re supping with the devil.’
Libby pulled a face, knowing she was overreacting to the whole business. When she’d walked away from Owen after that first meeting, she’d fully intended to forget him. He might have been the most gorgeous man ever to set foot in the county, but he’d made her feel like a bug under the microscope and been rude about her beloved Lavender Bay to boot! Unfortunately, her subconscious had other ideas and Owen kept popping up in her dreams, the details of which were lurid enough to make a sailor blush. With no prospect of Owen returning, it had seemed harmless enough to distract herself with a daydream or two.
And then Eliza had casually dropped his name into conversation during their recent girls’ night and butterflies had been somersaulting in her middle ever since. Not only was the object of several embarrassing fantasies back in the bay and staying at The Siren, he and Sam were somehow considering going into business together! In the hopes of getting him onside, Sam had asked Beth—and by association, Libby— to join them for a drink that evening.
How the hell she would be able to look him in the eye and not burst into flames from sheer embarrassment, she had no idea. ‘I don’t like him.’ It wasn’t exactly a lie… Hiding her discomfort behind a scowl, she folded her arms. ‘If I remember rightly, you’re not exactly his biggest fan, either.’
Beth turned on the stool, and it was all Libby could do not to wilt under the sweet concern in her eyes. ‘What’s got into you? The main reason for tonight is to meet Jack, and give Eliza a bit of moral support, remember? Owen’s arrogant, yes, but I don’t remember him being unpleasant. All we have to do is exchange a few pleasantries with him and leave the rest to Sam. It’s not like you to let anyone get under your skin like this.’ Beth held out her hand. ‘If it’s going to bother you, then why don’t you give tonight a miss? Eliza won’t mind.’
Their friend had met a local farmer during a visit to the lavender farm which covered the sprawling hills above the bay and they’d hit it off. Still a bit raw from her separation with Martin, Eliza was feeling a bit uncertain about things, but it was clear from the way she’d glowed when talking about him there was more than a spark of attraction between them.
Libby was delighted for her, of course, but it only served to highlight her own lack of success on the romance front. And now the source of her own personal humiliation was back in town and she’d have to deal with it somehow. It wasn’t his lack of interest in her so much as her inability to brush it off and forget him that embarrassed her down to her marrow. That and those ridiculously hot dreams. Libby shuddered, and hoped to hell the man wasn’t some kind of mind-reader or else she’d die on the spot.
Squaring her shoulders, she took the hand Beth offered to her and tugged her from the stool into a quick hug. Eliza needed their moral support, and for that Libby could cope with a little discomfort. ‘I’m being ridiculous. I know how much the restaurant means to Sam, so I can grin and bear it. Let’s go and check out Eliza’s gorgeous farmer. I promise to be on my best behaviour.’
Beth made a beeline straight for Sam, who was sitting on his own. A quick glance around showed no sign of Owen’s close-cropped dark head. Maybe he’d changed his mind about the drink? Feeling hopeful, Libby scooted over to the bar towards where Eliza was positioned behind it. Head swivelling, Libby scanned the patrons looking for Jack. ‘He not here yet then?’
‘Not yet, but there’s a lot of work to do on the farm so it’s not exactly a nine-to-five job.’ Libby couldn’t miss the hint of uncertainty in her friend’s voice as she fished a bottle of white wine out of the fridge behind her, and resolved not to tease her. Eliza held up the wine. ‘You having a large one?’
‘Does the Pope shit in the woods?’ Libby grinned as Eliza shook her head at the deliberately crude comment, but she was laughing too, which was the point.
‘Charming as ever, I see.’ Oh, great. Of course, Owen would choose that moment to pitch up. Bracing herself, Libby turned and gave herself a mental high-five for not fainting dead away. Her fevered memory had done the man a serious misjustice. From the severe crew cut to the tattoo covering his upper arm from the edge of his T-shirt sleeve to his elbow, and the faded jeans clinging to his hips, he looked dangerous and utterly delicious.
Fury at her reaction combined with embarrassment, and all her good intentions flew out of the window. ‘You didn’t fall under a bus then? That’s a pity.’ Ignoring the pounding of her heart, she deliberately gave him her back. ‘If you’re going to let any old riff-raff in here, Eliza, I might have to start drinking somewhere else.’
She could sense him step up beside her, feel the heat of him like a stroke against her skin and it was all she could do to keep her eyes fixed on Eliza. ‘A pint of lager, and I’ll buy your friend a drink if you slip some arsenic in it for me.’
He was only giving back as good as she’d given, but the dig hurt more than it should’ve. Eliza giggling like he was the most hilarious man on the planet didn’t help. And when she slid the money he’d offered back with a simpering smile, Libby barely restrained a hiss at her friend’s traitorous behaviour. ‘What the bloody hell is that all about?’ Libby demanded the second Owen walked away to join Sam and Beth. ‘“It’s on the house.” God, you were practically drooling.’
The moment she’d snapped the words, she regretted them. She’d been the one in danger of needing a napkin whilst Eliza had been nothing more than polite to a man who was not only a paying guest, but who might hold the key to her brother’s future prospects. If she carried on projecting like this, she’d end up having to confess her messy feelings to her friends. The too-keen glint in Eliza’s eye said Libby’s dramatic reaction had already piqued her curiosity.
‘What’s the problem? You’ve barely exchanged more than two words with the guy and yet there’s all this animosity between you. Has he done something to upset you?’
Libby shrugged, knowing she was acting like a sulky teenager. There was nothing she could say without confessing she’d been dreaming about him like some love-sick schoolgirl. Having no boyfriend when her friends were getting cosy was bad enough without admitting the best she’d been able to do was dream about a bloke she didn’t even like! Feeling embarrassed and awkward, she couldn’t help but overreact to every mention of him.
It didn’t help that he looked better than ever tonight. The black T-shirt he’d teamed with a pair of faded jeans stretched across a set of surprisingly broad shoulders. She’d only ever seen him in a suit before, and the cut of his jacket hadn’t done justice to his physique. Libby ripped her gaze away before she did something ridiculous like climb him like a monkey. ‘He’s a stuck-up git, that’s all. Why are you and Sam so chummy with him all of a sudden?’
Eliza frowned. ‘I thought Beth would’ve mentioned it to you. Owen stumbled across Sam going over the plans for the restaurant and he offered to take a look. Having someone with his experience involved in the project can only strengthen Sam’s position, and he might even agree to invest because the bank have been dragging their heels apparently. You know how important this is to Sam—to Beth as well. This is their future in the balance. Owen told Sam he was still on the lookout for projects situated here in the bay to invest in.’ She took Libby’s hand. ‘If he’s bad news then we need to warn Sam.’
What a hash of things she was making thanks to a bit of singed pride and a ridiculous crush. Sam had been working so hard on his plans for Subterranean and Libby would be damned if she’d throw a spanner in the works. Owen seemed determined to find an investment opportunity in the area, why else would he be back down here after things had fallen through with his plan to buy up the emporium from Beth? And where better for his money to go than supporting her friends? ‘Ignore me, he…’ It was on the tip of her tongue to confess her embarrassment, but she couldn’t face Eliza’s sympathy just then. Eliza would be lovely and sympathetic and Libby would feel like even more of a failure on the romantic front. Why couldn’t she bump into a gorgeous farmer like Eliza had, or fall in love with the boy next door, like Beth? Libby snorted to herself; the ‘boy’ who lived next door to the chippy was 70 if he was a day. ‘He just winds me up for some reason.’ It sounded pathetic, but Libby was determined not to dig the hole she was in any deeper. Taking a sip of her wine to steady herself, she decided to shift the conversation onto more solid ground. ‘I wonder why he’s so fixated on our little town; you can’t get much further from the glamour of London than Lavender Bay.’
Eliza shrugged, her attention now on the small group across the room rather than on Libby, thank goodness. ‘Maybe that’s the point, who knows? Sam and I thought a friendly drink would help grease the wheels a bit.’ Which made perfect sense, much to Libby’s chagrin, and Eliza’s next words did nothing to make her feel any better about her ridiculous behaviour as she echoed Beth’s earlier sentiment. ‘If you really don’t like him then I don’t want to spoil your evening. We can probably just leave him and Sam to chat…’
Darling Eliza, always the mediator, even when she must have been beside herself with nerves over Jack coming to meet everyone. Libby gulped another mouthful of wine. ‘If it means that much to Sam then I can put up with Mr Full Of Himself for a few hours. But I’m not going to kiss up to him, so don’t expect me to.’
Eliza raised on tiptoe to give her a quick hug across the bar. ‘I’m not asking you to, just don’t shank him with a wooden spork from the chippy, all right?’ They both snorted at the idea and just like that, Libby’s bad mood evaporated.
Thankfully, Jack arrived not long afterwards and Libby’s conflicting emotions about Owen were pushed to the back of her mind as she did her best to make him feel welcome. It wasn’t exactly a chore—Jack went out of his way to be charming, and it was clear from the way they looked at each other that there was the potential for something special between him and Eliza. She could even forgive him for refusing an offer to tour the skittle alley beneath the pub which would be the location for Subterranean in favour of spending a bit of quiet time with Eliza, leaving her without a buffer as she trooped downstairs behind Beth, Sam and Owen.
Sam’s enthusiasm for the project was infectious, and Libby couldn’t wait to see his vision come to life. Owen seemed to have forgotten their little snit at the bar, and she was only too glad to do the same. She’d chosen a seat beside him, and even managed to shift it further away from him without being too obvious about it. At least this way she could keep her eyes on the others and not stare at him like a complete idiot. They didn’t address each other directly, but the conversation flowed easily enough thanks to Beth’s subtle efforts. As they worked their way through a second round of drinks, Libby finally found herself relaxing enough to enjoy herself. Owen would be back on the train to London soon enough, and she could get back to pretending he didn’t exist.
The men drifted into a discussion over some football competition Jack’s nephew was involved in and Libby let the conversation wash over her as she checked the time on her phone. She’d have to make a move in a minute—though her dad had said he’d be fine on his own, Libby wanted to be back in the shop to lend him a hand with the late-evening influx of customers. Five more minutes and then she really needed to be off. Glancing up, she caught the intent look on Owen’s face and started to pay more attention. From the way he was talking it sounded like he intended to help Jack out at the football. ‘But if it’s next weekend, you won’t be here!’
All her worst fears were realised when Owen aimed a broad grin at her. ‘Now that Sam and I are going into business together, you’re going to be seeing a whole lot more of me about the bay.’
Oh. God.
‘You’re serious?’ Sam asked Owen, and for one desperate second Libby’s hopes rose because maybe Owen had just been trying to wind her up.
‘Absolutely. We can hammer out the details over the next few days. I’ll need to go back to London on Sunday night, but most of my current projects are well in hand so I can be here next weekend. See if you can make an appointment with the bank manager for the Monday or Tuesday afterwards. We should have things sorted between us by then I reckon.’
Monday or Tuesday afterwards? He was talking like he intended to become a permanent resident. And if he was working with Sam and playing football with Jack, then there would be no avoiding him. After her dad, Beth and Eliza meant everything to Libby so she would either have to spend less time with their group or find a way to get over this nonsense with Owen. Hanging around with two couples, how long would it be before the suggestions and teasing about them getting together started? Her stomach churned at the thought. He’d already made it clear he had zero interest in her. How humiliating would it be to have her nose rubbed in it again?
Unable to bear the thought, she stood abruptly. ‘I need to get back and give Dad a hand with the late-evening rush. I’ll see you later, B.’ There was time enough yet, but if she sat there a moment longer, she’d give the game away.
To her absolute horror, Owen stood up. ‘I’ll walk back with you. Sam was telling me earlier how you make the best fish and chips in the county. I missed dinner, so I’m starving.’
Well, what on earth was she supposed to do now? ‘Fine.’ Turning on her heel, Libby marched towards the door.
Chapter 5 (#ulink_121e2fcf-004e-592c-8696-fe96f40ef1e5)
Tucking his hands in his pockets, Owen affected an air of utter relaxation as he strolled along in the angry wake of the tiny pixie—Libby. He couldn’t quite get his head around her having such a sweet name. With all her spiky edges, and not just the rainbow-coloured ones radiating from her head, she should have been called something bolder. Libby was for a soft, sweet girl who knitted blankets for stray kittens, or some such nonsense. Maybe she did, it wasn’t like he knew the first damn thing about her—other than the fact she clearly couldn’t stand to be within five feet of him, and he couldn’t stop thinking about her. Oh, and the fact he’d agreed to buy her father’s business.
He’d assumed Mick Stone’s cloak and dagger act over selling the chip shop to Owen—insisting on meeting him miles away from the bay and then extracting his promise to wait until New Year’s Eve to assume final possession of the chip shop—was a bit over the top, but maybe not. If Libby had any idea her dad was selling up, she’d made no indication of it. He’d snooped a time or two during her conversations with her friends, and all talk had been around long-term plans. It was never too early for women to start talking about Christmas, apparently.
Not the kind of thing someone who was preparing to leave the bay and strike out on her own would be talking about, though her dad had talked more about the freedom the sale of his business would give his daughter than his own plans for retirement. He needed to dig into it, find out what he was getting himself caught up in. ‘So, selling fish and chips is your ideal career then?’
Libby stopped so suddenly, like she’d slammed into an invisible wall, that he almost trod on her heels. As a result, when she spun to face him, they were almost nose-to-chest. Christ, she really is tiny. A gentleman would stand back so she didn’t have to crane her neck to meet his eye. Owen might be a lot of things, but a gentleman had never been one of them, so he stood his ground and waited for the tirade. It didn’t take long.
‘What the hell is that supposed to mean? Running a chippy might not live up to your lofty standards, but it’s good honest work. We help the community and provide a decent meal at a reasonable price. Why is that something to sneer at?’
Well, that didn’t sound like someone ready to move on, did it? He was starting to get a really bad feeling about this. Holding his hands up in a gesture of surrender, he sought to smooth her ruffled feathers. ‘Sorry. I have a habit of shoving my foot in my mouth every time I talk to you. I just wondered if you were satisfied with what you’re doing.’
She fixed a suspicious squint on him, before the tightness in her frame eased. ‘I shouldn’t have jumped down your throat, you just…’ She paused long enough he thought she didn’t mean to continue the thought, then muttered, ‘you rub me up the wrong way.’
The idea of rubbing her in any kind of way destroyed several brain cells and most of his self-restraint. With effort, Owen forced himself to move until a reasonable amount of space opened up between them. ‘We did start off rather badly.’
To his surprise, Libby threw back her head and roared with unrestrained laughter. ‘That might be the understatement of the century.’
Her laughter was infectious, and he found himself joining in. ‘At least I know I’m safe as long as I stick to the pedestrian promenade.’ At her quizzical look, he made a shoving motion. ‘No passing buses for me to fall under.’
‘Oh, that.’ The faintest hint of a blush coloured her cheeks, before she straightened her shoulders. ‘I seem to remember something about webbed fingers and arsenic, so don’t be playing the hard-done-by card with me.’ She crossed her arms, drawing his attention to the slimness of her frame as it drew her baggy top taut. ‘You started it.’
Scowling at her faulty memory, Owen mirrored her pose. ‘You started it. You called me a colossal arse.’
‘That’s because you were being a colossal arse. Look, I get that you’re some kind of sex god throwing off pheromones left, right and centre, and I’m just the weird-looking local you wouldn’t look twice at, but you didn’t have to stomp me down quite so harshly just for approaching you.’ The colour drained from her face, leaving her skin a waxy shade. Holding her hands out as though to ward him off, she backed up a few steps. ‘Oh, God! Get away from me. I can’t control my mouth when I’m around you.’ She turned on her DM-booted heels and started running.
Well now, that was all very illuminating. It would appear he wasn’t the only one feeling a spark of attraction beneath those layers of animosity. And, unlike him, Libby seemed very unhappy about it. A gentleman would turn on his heel and give her time to gather her equilibrium, but as had already been established, Owen was no gentleman. He was a sex god, apparently. Time to throw off a few more pheromones and see what happened next. With a grin he had no doubt most would call smug playing about his lips, he hurried after Libby.
With the difference in their strides, he was only a few paces behind her as Libby rushed through the front door of the chip shop. The clatter of her boots on the tiled floor turned all eyes towards them, including those of the man behind the counter. Mick Stone took one look at Owen and blurted out, ‘What the hell are you doing here?’
Thankfully, Libby assumed the question was aimed at her. ‘I’ve come to help you with the late shift, what do you think I’m doing here?’ she asked as she edged past the queue to slip around the edge of the counter. ‘Give me two seconds to get my coat on.’ She placed a quick kiss on her father’s cheek and disappeared out the back.
Joining the back of the queue, Owen made a show of studying the large menu on the wall above Mick’s head. ‘I heard in the pub this is the place for the best fish and chips for miles around and I had to check it out for myself. Anyone have recommendations?’ As he’d hoped, the people ahead of him were all happy to offer an opinion and a friendly, if heated, discussion started of the merits of cod over haddock.
Libby returned, still buttoning up a white coat with her wild hair tamed beneath the ugliest hair net he’d ever seen. She took one look at him, bristled, then fixed a brilliant smile on the woman at the front of the line. ‘Evening, Rose, what’ll it be for you tonight?’
Fascinated, Owen watched as Libby and her dad paid particular attention to each and every customer. Conversations rose and fell like the tide washing on the beach as others waiting joined in with their own observations and chatter. Ten minutes later and he still hadn’t made it to the front of the queue, and to his shock it didn’t bother Owen one bit.
Had he been in London, he’d have complained long before now, would likely have already walked out in disgust at being kept waiting, but the likelihood of the scene before him unfolding in any of his local takeaways was about on a par with a unicorn charging down Kensington High Street. He’d used the Chinese at the end of his street pretty much every week for the past three years and still didn’t have a clue what the couple who ran it were called. Thanks to the ordering app on his phone, he didn’t even need to speak to them beyond giving a number and saying thank you when they handed over his usual crispy beef, chicken and pineapple with a side of special fried rice in a white carrier bag. Not that they went out of their way to be chatty, either.
There was definitely a different pace to life down here, and he would have to make some readjustments now he’d be spending more time in the bay. The deal with Sam over his restaurant had come out of nowhere. Owen had been on the hunt for an early morning coffee and come across the plans spread over the kitchen table in the pub.
A day spent poring over the plans for Subterranean had left him genuinely excited by the project. Sam had a fantastic vision, and plenty of top chefs had proven success with regional restaurants. It would be a gamble, but if they could position a couple of features in the right newspapers, the punters would flock to the coast for the chance to say they’d been the first to discover a hot new talent.
As for the chip shop, it occupied an absolute prime piece of real estate right in the centre of the promenade. Like many of the buildings along the seafront, it sprawled over three storeys, with living accommodation occupying the top two floors. He hadn’t yet decided whether he’d retain the retail space below, but with a bit of rejigging—and the requisite planning permission—the upper floors could be transformed into a couple of luxury duplexes complete with roof terraces. With some discreet planting, no one would be any the wiser about the terraces and he’d be able to provide a secluded spot for the discerning sunbather without altering the façade of the building.
His eyes strayed to Libby, red-faced from the heat as she lifted a basket of piping-hot chips from the fryer and wondered if he should tell her she’d directly influenced his plans. Her comments about ugly modern apartments changing the appearance of the promenade had stuck with him. It would be important to get the locals on side as any protests from them might put a spanner in the works. Only he couldn’t tell her anything about it, thanks to the ludicrous deal he’d struck with Mick about keeping quiet until after Christmas.
The back of his neck itched. When Mick’s ‘girl’ had been some amorphous, unknown individual, Owen hadn’t given two hoots about what she did or didn’t know about the deal. He’d never referred to her by name during their discussions and it was only during a chat with Sam that morning that Owen had put two and two together. Mick had assured him he was the sole title holder to the property since the passing of his wife, so whatever family drama selling up might cause would be his problem. He’d asked Owen to hold off so he could have one last Christmas with ‘his girl’, and as the timing had suited him, Owen had no objections.
Now he knew Libby was involved, it didn’t sit so well with him, especially when his new business partner was so closely connected to her two friends. It was clear the three women were very close, and if she objected to the sale of her childhood home and place of work, it could make things very awkward for everyone. He’d have to dig a little deeper, try and get to know Libby without giving the game away. Getting a bit closer to her wouldn’t be a hardship in the least.
It was finally his turn to be served. With a polite nod to Mick, Owen fixed a big grin on Libby who was doing her best to pretend he wasn’t there. ‘Evening, Libby.’
The glare she flicked his way all but scorched the skin off his face, but she was saved from responding by Mick. ‘You two know each other then?’
Resting one elbow on the counter, Owen turned partly towards him, but made sure to keep Libby in his eyeline. ‘Yup. We’ve met a couple of times in the pub. Just spent the evening together, haven’t we?’
