Frankie’s emerald green eyes are dancing with excitement. ‘You both can manage this place and I will go to Sydney to look after Mum.’
‘Why are you making both of us do this?’ I say, glaring at Frankie. ‘Why couldn’t you just let me manage it?’
Noah’s blue eyes have widened with surprise. He’s staring at me.
Sliding himself next to me in the pink leather booth Frankie forces me to move up. ‘Alice, it will be fun for you, getting to know Noah again.’
My mouth has fallen ajar at Frankie’s suggestion. Anger is coursing through my veins and my cheeks are burning. Has Frankie got amnesia? Has he forgotten about how long it took me to get over Noah Coombes? Does he not remember how for six months after Noah left, I played the good (pretend) wife and wrote to my (pretend) husband in Ireland even when he wasn’t replying to me? Doesn’t Frankie remember how I started dating Pete to make Noah jealous in Ireland and then stayed in a relationship for far too long with the guy? I know we’re all adults now but surely Frankie will take my side.
I hope Noah doesn’t remember me writing to him about Pete. Deep breaths, Alice.
Noah Coombes is the last person on this planet I want to get to know. ‘But I don’t want to get know to Noahagain.’
Noah raises his hand. ‘Frankie, let Alice run the café. I’ll find some other work.’
I turn to Frankie, fold my arms, and wait for him to put things right.
‘No, Alice will be managing this place with you, Noah.’
I let out a wail of frustration. Tugging on Frankie’s T-shirt sleeve I shake my head. ‘No, no, no, no.’
‘Yes, yes, yes, yes, Alice.’ Frankie’s reply infuriates me.
Noah gets to his feet. ‘Look it’s been nice to catch up with you both. I’ll see you around.’
Frankie reaches out and grabs Noah. ‘Please, mate. Do this for me.’
Noah hangs his head and sits back down.
‘Right then.’ Frankie rests his elbows on the table. ‘You will both look after this place and that’s final.’
Opening my mouth, I try to say something, but Frankie looks up at the ceiling and places his hand in a prayer pose. ‘Thank you, God, for supplying me with two willing volunteers to look after my café, and I’m sorry for pretending to be a man of the cloth on the beach when I married them both all those years ago.’
I look away and ignore Noah’s attempts to catch my eye.
CHAPTERSIX
Dad, Lucas, Frankie, and I are sat around the kitchen table eating a late tea. After I’d stormed out the café following Frankie’s decision to make both Noah and me temporary managers, Frankie insisted on inviting himself for tea. He called Dad and asked whether there would be enough homemade chicken pie, mash potato and peas for him.
It’s a bit of a squeeze. There’s no room for elbows on the table. Dad didn’t have enough posh chairs, so Frankie is sat on garden furniture. I haven’t spoken to him since he arrived. He’s grinning from the far end of the table, doing his best to force a smile out of me.
I haven’t told Dad yet about Noah. The prospect of telling him that I will be working alongside Noah Coombes is already making my stomach hurt. Dad is going to be so cross, and he’s got enough on his plate right now, what with the bathroom ceiling and having his daughter and grandson live with him.
When I got home, I was so cross with Frankie I went and played Batman figure wrestling with Lucas. I took out my frustrations on several small plastic figures which made Lucas erupt into uncontrollable laugher.
‘Is there something going on?’ Dad asks, glancing at my stony expression and then at Frankie. ‘Why does Alice have a face like thunder?’
Frankie chuckles and digs his fork deep into his crusty pie pastry. ‘She’s a little cross with me, Brian.’
‘Oh?’ Dad puts down his fork and dabs at the crumbs around his mouth. ‘Do you want to tell me about it?’
After taking a sip from the glass of orange squash, which Lucas had made him when he arrived, Frankie stares at me. ‘Brian, this afternoon I had two applicants for the role of café manager.’
Dad lets out a groan and massages his forehead. ‘Please tell me you didn’t give Alice the job. Your café is the last place she needs to work in right now.’
The second frustrated wail of the day shoots out of my mouth. ‘For goodness’ sake, I am thirty-six years old. If I want to apply for a job in a romance-themed café then I will.’
Dad looks at me, rubbing his grey stubble-coated chin. ‘So, did Frankie give you the job?’
