Page 5 of The Seaside Cocktail Campervan

‘It’ll stink of dog pee now too,’ he continued gruffly. ‘Here, get it off, quick, before the girls go and ruin their dresses on it.’ He passed her a pint glass of water.

Lucy swiftly drenched the sign, which did now look a sorry mess. She propped the board back up, uttered a further apology as she handed the empty glass back, and headed off to put Daisy back in the truck, out of sight and mischief, for a while. Oops.

‘Daisy, I cannot believe you just did that,’ Lucy shook her head as she walked away, feeling rather mortified, yet repressing a small smile too. Back at her truck, she lifted the cheeky little dachshund back into her secure place, popping a dog biscuit in with her to keep her happy. Diva Daisy just looked at her owner with those cute brown eyes. ‘I’ll see you later, Miss Mischief.’ The dog slumped down with a small sigh, resigned to her fate, and ready for another snooze after that little adventure.

Lucy stole a quick glance over at Jack and saw him shaking his head at his sorry little sign. I bet he didn’t bank on that being on the menu, she thought with a chuckle. Who’s Mr Cocky now then?

Chapter 3

Lucy was back at her little cottage after midnight, having dropped Tamsin off en route. She was enjoying a much-needed cup of tea and a snack of buttered toast, perched on a stool in the cosy galley kitchen with Daisy at her feet. The room was rustic, yet comforting, with thick, stone, white-washed walls and a low ceiling, and two small square-paned windows that looked out upon the little back courtyard area. All was still and dark outside now.

She’d done it – she’d made it through her third event. Abigail and Harriet had made a point of coming over to thank her at the end of the evening, impressed with how many of the guests were talking about her delicious pizzas, and Harriet was even going to post some pics of the gorgeous horsebox and give All Fired Up a mention on her Instagram. It sounded very much like they’d forgiven her for her late arrival. Phew!

Even her new assistant, Tamsin, had worked pretty hard in the end and had helped it all to come together; though Lucy did wonder if the young girl would want to stick with it. She’d kept firing off messages on her phone throughout the evening, and furrowing her brow when she thought Lucy wasn’t watching.

Crikey, all this was so new and different from her accountancy work at the office in Morpeth. I can’t believe you’ve just upped and packed it all in on a whim! Her dad’s strong words rang in her ears. His reluctance to see her give up a regular monthly salary and a steady job in the accounts department of Edwin Grant’s was well known. For years, he had persuaded her to commit to that stable kind of a life, saying that was the sensible and well-paid thing to do work-wise. But Lucy had become sick of the same old, four-walled number crunching.

And when Lucy had broken the news to her family that she was going to give up the accounting job, saying she was buying a vintage – aka slightly decrepit – horsebox to turn into her very own pizza business, well, her dad hadn’t been happy at all.

Mum, Sofia, who’d lived on her own for many years now, since Dad needed ‘more space’ (space enough to find a new partner six months later), had been more supportive; happy at least that Lucy was trying to do something entrepreneurial, and in her beloved Papa’s memory. She’d seen how Lucy had been struggling in her relationship and career, how unhappy her daughter had been, and recognised the need for Lucy to get out and change things in her life.

And Lucy truly believed the pizza venture was something she could enjoy doing and be proud of, albeit with sore feet and a sweat on – my, that oven was damned hot to be standing beside – and soon, hopefully, it would turn a profit and be something she could make a living from too. It had to be.

Lucy had three further events booked in so far, and she’d been looking into market stall slots in the local towns as well. Word would spread, she was working on her website and the ‘All Fired Up’ Facebook and Instagram pages. She’d get some pictures of tonight’s party out on her feed first thing in the morning. Maybe, fingers crossed, with hard work and determination, she really could make a success of this business, and turn her life round, after all.

For some reason, her mind drifted to the campervan guy then. She wondered what had made him go into his mobile bar business and how he’d got established? He seemed to have a pretty slick venture going there, albeit his showman manner was damned cheesy. Hah, he might be cute – she’d seen Tamsin giving him the eye too – but he was downright cocky. And he’d been a right grump when Daisy had had her peeing accident on his chalkboard. Lucy was feeling a bit riled just thinking about it again. Daisy hadn’t done it on purpose or anything, after all. Anyhow, why was she even dwelling on it, or him? Yet, somehow, she felt a little uneasy, like she’d been caught off her guard. Hah, it was probably Cocky Cocktail Man’s attitude, that sense of arrogance about him that had got to her.

Her eye snagged on a photo that sat on the mantelpiece above the old stone hearth; she’d only kept the picture because Mum and Nonna were in it too … and there they were, her and Liam, her ex. Bloody hell, another one – alongside her dad – who’d kept down her dreams with his insistence on maintaining the regular job, the steady income.

Liam had been arrogant enough to think that she’d never find out he had another girlfriend in the wings, or that if she did, it might not spell the end of their four-year relationship.

It did.

Lucy hugged her mug and gazed out of the little window beside her. All was dark out there but for the glowing crescent of a waxing moon.

And despite her worries, it seemed to hold the hope of things to come.

At that moment, Jack was driving back along the winding coastal roads to his lodgings in a village just outside of Alnwick. Usually, the late-night drive home along country roads soothed him; a chance to wind down after the evening’s bar-work buzz. But that bloody pizza girl crossed his mind again. Hah, turning up late, so unprofessional, and then her stupid dog wrecking his sign like that. What was she thinking, taking a dog along to a food event, anyhow?

A weird rhyme started to form in his head as he drove:

There was a young woman made pizza,

With a dog that was long and a diva.

She seemed kind of mean

With a look of Ice Queen …

He repeated it out loud, trying to think of a good rhyme to complete the last line. He navigated a tight bend in the lane, headlights flashing up hawthorn hedgerows.

What the hell was he doing anyhow, making up daft poems about some annoying woman he’d just met, and her dog? Had he been a bit harsh on her, though? She seemed pretty new to the catering scene … and the dog, well, it was just a dog doing its thing … He’d let rip in the heat of the moment, he realised. Now, he wasn’t quite sure how he felt about it all.

Ping! That was it:

And the barman was left with a fever.

He laughed at himself, bloody idiot, making up limericks in the middle of the night. It passed the journey, he supposed. He thought he might even jot it down when he got back. Saying it over once more to see if it worked, he wondered if it really was worthy of putting to paper?