“Because that was the most important aspect of me nearly dying.”
“Dramatic, much?”
Saffron circled a finger in front of her face. “Actor, remember.”
“I do. The question is, do you?” Her stare intensified in hopes of subduing Saffron into submission. It usually worked in the past.
“What does that mean?” Saffron steadied her breathing, not wanting to wilt. She needed this time away, or she feared she’d break beyond repair.
“You want to run off, leaving the opportunity of a lifetime on the table.” Pearl pointedly looked at the script.
“I know you don’t understand or believe me when I say there’s more to life than anotherGirl Racer.” There just had to be.
“Like what?”
“I don’t know. That’s what I need to discover. If I don’t do this, I won’t make it.” Saffron hadn’t wanted to say that out loud, but Pearl wasn’t getting it.
“Why can’t you find yourself, or whatever you need to do, staying put in London, where I can find you?” Pearl’s voice lost some of its harshness, offering a ray of light.
“Because I don’t want to be found by you.” Try as she might, Saffron couldn’t disguise the anger in her tone or rigid shoulders. More proof she was on the brink, because she’d always been able to keep her feelings in check when it came to Pearl.
“Who do you want to be found by?” Pearl mocked, her gaze flicking upwards.
“Time will tell.”
Chapter 3
Kirsty was putting the finishing touches to a supplier email when a customer came in. She recognised her from previous visits. Stylish clothes, platinum hair. Plus, she knew her wines. Most of Kirsty’s walk-in clientele had a maximum budget of £10. But this woman always hovered over the more expensive shelves. The wines told Kirsty she either knew her grapes, or just liked the finer things in life. Or possibly both.
“Can I help you?” Kirsty checked she was wearing shoes, not slippers. Score.
She walked over to the customer. “That’s a lovely wine right there.” Kirsty pointed at the Primitivo Reserva, from a vineyard in Puglia that she’d visited years ago with Anna. It seemed like another lifetime.
“I read about it in the latest edition ofDecantermagazine. Have you had a run on it?”
Kirsty shook her head. “Maybe if we were in Surrey or Bucks. I don’t thinkDecanter’swidely read around here.”
“It is by me.” The woman held out a hand. “I’m Ginger. I’ve recently moved here. Yours is my favourite shop on the High Street, so we should be on first-name terms.”
Her hand was ice cold, but Kirsty didn’t flinch. “Kirsty, good to meet you.” She glanced at her watch, then around the shop. It was 3pm on a Wednesday, and she was due a break. “I was just about to put the kettle on. Do you fancy a coffee?”
Ginger’s face spelled surprise. “That would be lovely.”
Kirsty pulled out a chair for Ginger. Five minutes later, she came back with two steaming mugs of coffee. “I can’t do iced coffee, even in this hot weather.”
“I only drink hot coffee, water, or red wine. Those three things.” Ginger took her mug with a word of thanks.
“No white wine at all?”
Ginger shook her head. “My ex hated it, so by association, so did I.” She paused. “Perhaps that’s a reason I should start drinking it though, right?”
Kirsty didn’t respond. That one was very much up to Ginger.
“I love the wine selection here. Are you the buyer?”
Kirsty nodded. “Co-owner, shop girl, buyer, marketer. Although the final one is my downfall, but I’m working on it.” She paused. “You said you just moved here?”
Ginger gave her a slow nod. “I have. Got one of those lovely seafront cottages by the Poseidon Inn.”
