Page 130 of Secret Paths

It is not the worst afternoon I have ever had.

That may be the problem.

There is something surprisingly satisfying about it. Apples into bowls. Custard over the top. Coins into the tin for the local mountain rescue team. Smile. Napkin. Next person. Simple, useful work with no branch closure conversations and no one asking me whether online banking is a conspiracy.

Then Mandy appears.

Everything in me notices.

She is crossing the grass with her hands in the pockets of her coat, hair moving slightly in the breeze. Her face is calm in that way of hers that usually means something very not calm is happening underneath.

I want to smile at her like an idiot.

I want to say something about baked apples and temptation and whether she has come to inspect my custard technique.

I do none of that.

She asked for space.

I am trying to give it to her, even though she is walking towards me and my entire body has apparently mistaken that for hope.

I ladle custard over an apple for Mr Pierce and hand it over with a napkin.

“There you go.”

“Cheers, Peter. Hope it tastes nice.”

“Don’t let Chef hear you.”

He laughs and moves away.

Mandy reaches the stall.

I pick up another bowl because having something in my hands seems wise.

“Afternoon,” I say.

Her eyebrows lift slightly. “Afternoon?”

I clear my throat. “I was aiming for normal.”

“You landed on parish newsletter.”

“Strong start, then.”

Her mouth twitches.

My heart starts racing even if I’m willing it not to.

I keep my hands on the ladle.

“Baked apple?” I ask.

“Are you selling or offering?”

“Both, technically. Though if you are asking whether I am abusing my temporary authority to give you one for free, the answer is not while Ed can see me.”

Ed, further down the stall, does not look up. “I’ll tell Chef.”