Page 35 of The F*ck-It List

I nod, understanding what she’s saying, but not really how we got here.

“My mum loves me,” she says, surely. “But she looks out for herself, and her priority has always been keeping her social status and having a rich guy to pay her bills. She always loved Richard—the surfer guy—because he was an investment banker and on course for a highly successful career. But I’ve never been all that interested in stuff like that.”

I don’t know when I stepped forward, but I’m so very close to her now, her neck stretched where her head is tilted all the way back to look up at me. “What are you interested in?” I ask, voice lower than it has a right to be.

Her eyes dart between mine several times before dropping to my mouth when my tongue swipes over my suddenly dry lips. I watch as her throat pulses over a swallow and a light breeze brings the scent of her floral perfume to my nose. My lizard brain tells me to put a large hand to the indent of her waist, to run a thumb over her stomach and feel the softness of the fabric of her dress. But her smile turns sad, focussing my thoughts on the words she says with a small shrug. “Being happy.”

Coming full circle to where this conversation started, I ask, “And moving here has made you happy?”

Her pink lips pout thoughtfully. “To be determined, but I sure hope so.”

Darcy makes a whining sound and pushes himself between us, clearly feeling very left out of the huddle we find ourselves in. He breaks whatever spell I’d been under, and I step away, clearing mythroat and continuing in the direction of Bea’s cottage. “So uh, what else was on your list?”

She grins. “Well, dye my hair a crazy colour.” She points to her pink hair. “Get a tattoo, which I did, and do afternoon tea at The Ritz. I did all of that before I left London. Now I have to work through the many, many items left.”

If I’m not mistaken, a slight blush pinks her cheeks that I definitely want to know the reason for. “Like?” I push.

“Ride a horse,” she starts. “Swim in the sea—”

“You’ve never swam in the sea?”

“Nope.”

“Travesty.”

She giggles. “Um, learn to make croissants, they seem far too complicated. Learn to drive.”

“You don’t drive?” I stop again and look at her disbelieving.

“I grew up in the city,” she argues. “I could get everywhere I needed with public transport and there’s no way I’d ever want to drive in London, so there was no point.”

“You’re going to want to learn pretty quick,” I tell her, walking once more. “We get, like, one bus a day in the village and it probably wouldn’t take you where you want to go.”

“Yeah.” She sighs. “I’ll look for lessons online.”

“I could teach you,” I say without thought. “I mean, if you want.”

The smile she gives me pulls at my chest like a tether I’m not sure I want rid of. “Does this mean we’re friends, August?”

I screw my face up although it’s an effort not to smile at her. “Reluctantly.”

She throws her head back on a laugh and the sound is a warm syrup trickling through my veins letting me know I am well and truly fucked.

eleven

No. 10: Learn to make croissants

Bea

It’s been four days since I had lunch with the Zelig’s and I haven’t seen August since, which is good because when I got home that evening, my heart was pounding and I had the telltale flutter in my stomach. Yep, I have a crush. It’s not a big deal; it’s not like I’ve never had a crush on someone I absolutely shouldn’t pursue before. There was the Henry Cavill lookalike who worked under me in my last job for a while, I managed for two years not to get under him before he quit, probably to become an underwear model or something. If I have the core strength to resist Superman 2.0, I am certain I can keep August at a friendly distance.

I need friends around here, and although I’ve certainly made headway with Joanie and Eli, and there have been several friendly facesaround, I won’t jeopardise a potential friendship because my cooch pulses in his presence. He really is gorgeous, all gruff and grumble but surprisingly sweet and attentive. Not to mention, he’s massive and I feel like I’d feel safe and protected in his arms, surrounded by the smell of sawdust and clean laundry. But that’s neither here nor there because I am going to be friends with my new neighbour. That’s all.

It’s still early afternoon, which means I’m on my own in the café, not that I have anything for Connor to be doing if he weren’t at school. Yet every day he’s been showing up and just hanging out while I potter and it’s been nice. After a lot of fiddling around, I figured out only one side of the espresso machine was faulty, and I could in fact use one of the group heads and make single coffees at a slow pace. So, I’ve kind of made today a soft opening. Without announcing anything or even telling a soul, I’ve left the door unlocked and decided if anyone pops by, they’ll be able to order.

The little brass bell Connor screwed to the wall above the door jingles as the door opens and I turn to see an older lady stood in the doorway. She’s tall for someone of her age, slender and elegant in capri-pants and a gold jumper. Pearls in her ears and around her neck with immaculate makeup that’s probably the same style she’s been wearing for forty years. Her hands are folded together atop a bright red glittery cane that somehow makes her more fabulous than not and there a truly ugly but totally adorable chihuahua at her feet.

“You must be Bea,” she says with a conspiratory smile on painted red lips.