Page 46 of Carry Me Home

My gut winces with an imaginary punch. ‘Nina.’

‘I’ve been busy! There was, there was…’ our gazes meet as her words dance over the black months, the months of nothing she lived through. ‘And then, well, Truro, and reopening, and the dog, and—’ She waves her hand. ‘And you know.’

I could unpick this. I could dig into the grief, see where she’s at. But I’m a coward so instead I shake my head and smile brightly. ‘“You know” isn’t an excuse for poor machine maintenance.’

‘You sound like my mother.’

‘Your mother is a wise woman.’

I work the blockage free and the machine shudders, coughs, and settles. Nina beams at me like I’ve resurrected the dead.

‘You’re a genius.’

‘I’m a vet who’s fixed a coffee machine. Genius is a push.’

‘You’re a genius and I’m going to tell everyone.’ She reaches up and squeezes my arm, her fingers pressing through my shirt. The flour is still on her cheek. I could reach out and brush it away with my thumb. The movement would take less than a second. My hand doesn’t move.

Freddy clears his throat from the other side of the counter. We both look up, Nina still smiling, me crouching with a handful of coffee grounds.

‘I should probably head off,’ he says. ‘But it was really nice talking to you, Nina. Maybe I’ll see you around?’

‘Maybe. We’re a small village. Hard to avoid anyone.’

‘I was thinking more deliberately. There’s a new bistro with a terrace on the marina front in Amber Cove? I hear the crab linguine is incredible.’

He’s done research. I hate him for the research. I hate him for the crab linguine and the specific terrace and the way he’s leaning on the counter looking at Nina like she’s something he found and might like to keep.

‘That’s really kind,’ Nina says, but behind the smile is a stutter and I’m thinking I’m the only one hearing it. ‘But I’m not really… I mean, it’s a busy time. With the café. And the dog. And everything.’

‘Of course. No pressure.’ His smile doesn’t falter. ‘But if you change your mind, I’m at the blue shutters until Sunday. The offer stands.’

He saunters for the door and leaves. The door swings shut. The café settles back into its own air.

‘Well,’ Nina says.

‘Well.’

‘That was…’

‘Forward.’

‘I was going to say flattering, but forward works too.’

She takes the coffee grounds from my hand and bins them, and her fingers brush mine in the transfer, and I let them, because I’m incapable of not letting them.

‘He was nice, actually’ she says. ‘In a very obvious way. Like a golden retriever who’s figured out how to use hair product.’

‘Is that a compliment?’

‘It’s an observation.’ She wipes her hands on her apron and looks at me sideways. ‘Why? Are you offended on his behalf?’

‘I’m not offended on anyone’s behalf.’

‘You’ve got a face on.’

‘I don’t have a face on.’

‘You do. It’s your disapproving face. It’s the same one you use when someone’s been feeding their dogs chocolate.’