Page 59 of The Sugar and Spice Bookshop Bakery

Her only baking credential is that she watches The Great British Bake Off.

‘It’s my favourite programme,’ she says. ‘I thought it might be fun to learn how to do it.’

Louise refrains from saying that this is a commercial bakery, not catering college, instead making polite conversation for fifteen minutes as that seems like a reasonable amount of time. She then stands up, to indicate that the interview is over.

‘How will you let me know?’ the woman says, her voice full of excitement.

‘Email,’ Louise says.

She’s running slightly late, but there is no one else waiting. The final candidate of the day hasn’t even bothered to show up – a pity as her CV looked promising. At this rate, she’ll be forced to choose between the perfectionist, the drystone-waller and the vegan.

No. Not the vegan. She defies anyone to bake Granny’s ginger cake with margarine or olive oil.

When Maddie goes, Louise will have to manage on her own. All of it. Selling books. Baking cakes. Serving drinks. She slumps down on the bakery floor, her back against the counter, and her thoughts turn to Sheila again. Hate mail. An author is receiving hate mail because of her silly mistake. Louise’s stomach twists with guilt once more.

She should call Sheila. Apologise again. But properly this time. Not just in an email. Though what would she even say?

The shop door opens – she thought it was locked – and Jack appears.

‘Luisa, why are you here in the dark?’ he asks softly, flicking on the lights.

Louise blinks in the sudden brightness. ‘I’m thinking.’

‘Bad day?’ He kneels down beside her and reaches for her hand.

That’s all it takes. The sound of his voice – so gentle and caring. The way he kneels beside her, as if she’s a child who’s fallen in a playground. The feel of his hand around hers. She crumbles and, to her horror, the tears fall.

She knows how this moment should play out. She should rest her head against his broad chest. He should stroke her hair and murmur something profound about strength and resilience. At that point, she’d look up at him through tear-jewelled lashes, and he’d brush those tears away with his thumb, his hand lingering on her cheek. There’d be a moment of tension between them that would seem to stretch forever but is really only a heartbeat, and then they’d kiss.

That’s not what happens. Instead, Jack reaches into his pocket for a tissue and dabs at her cheeks. Then he looks at her face and grimaces.

‘What is it?’ she says. ‘Has my mascara run? Oh God, I haven’t got snot on me, have I?’

She flaps at her cheeks with her hands, wiping at them.

‘Oh no, it’s on your hands now,’ he says. ‘Sorry. Sorry. I thought that tissue was clean.’

She looks down at her hands and sees they have sage green paint on them. The next minute they’re laughing and then he murmurs something about a hug, and she’s nodding, and then she does rest her head against his chest, only at an awkward angle that immediately makes her neck ache and she notices he smells of sawdust, not sandalwood.

‘This is embarrassing,’ she says, her voice muffled. ‘I didn’t mean to cry.’

‘And I didn’t mean to cover you in paint.’

She tilts her face to look at him.

Jack lifts his hand as if to pat her back, then seems to think better of it. They stay there motionless, his hand kind of hovering between her shoulder blades, for what feels like an absurdly long time. And Louise gradually becomes aware of several things at once: that despite the awkward positioning, the sawdust, some of which is now in her hair, and her nose which is now dripping, she doesn’t want to move. That she feels safe with Jack, safer than she’s ever felt around a man. That if she shifts just slightly, she could put her head back on his shoulder in a more comfortable position.

She nestles into him, and he immediately embraces her, pulling her closer still.

‘If this was a romance novel,’ she murmurs, ‘you’d kiss me now.’

Seriously? Did she just say that out loud?

He smiles. A little shyly perhaps. ‘I’m not going to kiss you now, Luisa.’

Wow. He doesn’t fancy her. She’s misread this whole thing, seen signs that weren’t there.

‘Sorry. I feel really stupid now. I thought you… I thought we…’