CHAPTER22
2014
‘You busy?’
Erin turned to see a stern, tall, stocky man standing on the steps of the catering truck, his dark blonde hair, unruly from the cooking heat.
‘Me? Um, no, I’m not busy… I’m just—’
He moved towards her. ‘Good, taste this.’
Erin leaned in and sampled the red sauce on the end of the spoon.
‘Delicious!’ she enthused. ‘It’s just the right balance of sweet and sour.’
‘Oh great,’ he replied. ‘Exactly what I was going for… except it’s supposed to be spicy. Definitely needs more chilli.’
Erin didn’t think that her last day on the set of her very first film would be spent hanging around the catering truck. Her minor role did not afford her a trailer so she was left to her own devices.
‘Well, your food is excellent,’ she informed him. ‘I had the chicken at lunch. Really delicious.’
He frowned. ‘That was lamb.’
‘It was? God, I’m sorry, maybe I’m not the best person to—’
‘I’m joking! It was chicken and thank you. Chef’s gone home but I’ll let her know.’
Erin peered into the trailer. ‘What, so you’re just here, messing up her nice kitchen?’
‘It’smynice kitchen, actually, I own the business. But you’re right about the mess part.’ He glanced down at his striped apron, splattered with the same red sauce she’d just sampled. ‘I should clean up.’
Erin glanced at the side of the truck. ‘So, you’re not a chef,Scott Flynn Catering?’
‘I am,’ he replied, smiling. ‘More planning than cooking these days, unfortunately.’
That smile. Erin felt her knees go weak and her brain completely evacuate all rational thought, leaving an awkward silence hanging in the air.
‘You alright?’ he asked, his eyes meeting hers.
‘Uh-huh,’ she replied, wondering if it was too soon to propose. Usually, Erin was a normal human being around men. They rarely made an impression, if at all, but this was completely unexpected. A few seconds later she realised that neither of them had broken eye contact. He blushed as he realised this too.
‘Um, don’t you have lines to be going over or something?’ he asked, swiftly moving back inside the truck. From the door she watched him shake something red and powdery into the pot. ‘I mean, I am assuming you have a part in this film. Either that or you just really like wearing Victorian corsets.’
‘Both actually,’ she replied, finally finding her voice. ‘And I have a whole three lines, two of them have already been shot. This is my final one, mypiece de resistance.’
‘Let’s hear it then.’
‘What, now?’
‘Sure, why not?’
She liked his accent. West Country, she guessed, Devon perhaps.
She cleared her throat dramatically. ‘The horses are ready, ma’am. Be safe. We’ll await your return.’
He laughed and applauded. ‘Bravo. I completely believed you were…’
‘Mary Ronan. Second Housekeeper.’
