Page 65 of The Sugar and Spice Bookshop Bakery

She reaches down to the floor and picks up the imaginary paperback. ‘Here you go. Captain Correli’s Mandolin.’

‘You remembered?’

‘Of course. I’ve ordered a real copy.’

He takes a step towards her, stretching out his fingers and touching her cheek.

‘Just so you know, I’m not upset. About anything,’ she says.

‘You’re not upset?’

For a second, she thinks he hasn’t got the reference. And then he puts one finger under her chin and tilts his face up towards him. ‘So it wouldn’t be taking advantage?’

‘No. Because I’m not upset in the slightest.’

‘Good to know.’

His lips brush hers so softly, so gently, that afterwards, looking back, she isn’t sure if this briefest of kisses even happened, or if she imagined it.

‘I’ve got to get on,’ he says softly. ‘The boss here is an absolute tyrant.’

And then he moves away from her, picks up a plank of wood and clamps it onto his workbench, all the while whistling to himself.

Twenty-Two

Louise is trying a new recipe, one of her own invention. It’s a cross between a Victoria sandwich and a tiramisu, with a creamy Marsala wine-flavoured filling instead of the usual buttercream, and a coffee-infused sponge. The sponge is already baking, and she’s standing by the window, whipping up mascarpone, Marsala, icing sugar and cream.

The bakery is open for business again, now that the shelves are all finished, but it’s late afternoon and the customers have all gone home. Jack is working in the garden again, making the most of the last remaining hours of daylight. If she cranes her neck, she can just about see him putting the finishing touches to his stained-glass dome. It’s incredibly striking with its brightly coloured panels and unusual shape. She’s ordered a small collection of spiritual, religious and inspirational autobiographies to go in there, along with a few carefully chosen self-help titles. She plans to call it the ‘Get Inspired!’ dome.

She dips her finger into the filling. Not enough Marsala. Her eyes still on Jack, she reaches for the bottle and sloshes a bit more in, then sets to work beating the mixture again, then looks down at it, frowning. It’s too runny.

The timer pings and Louise takes her delicious-smelling sponge from the oven. Then, fuelled by curiosity to see the dome and a reluctance to start again on the filling, she cuts two wedges off the cake and pours the Marsala cream into two glasses – it mightn’t work as cake filling, but she reckons it’ll be perfect as a boozy milkshake.

‘Refreshments!’ she calls, carrying the spoils out into the garden.

‘Ooh, yum.’ Jack turns two crates onto their sides. ‘Take a pew. What are these delights?’

‘Marsala milkshake and coffee cake,’ she says. ‘Deconstructed tiramisu. In other words, I messed up the cake filling and couldn’t be bothered to start again.’

I messed up the cake filling because I couldn’t take my eyes off you, she thinks.

‘Actually,’ she adds, ‘I was trying to make a tiramisu-flavoured Victoria sponge. Fusion cuisine. Italian crossed with Yorkshire.’

‘Sounds like me.’

‘Yeah, I guess that’s why I got the idea.’

They eat quickly, their fingers getting sticky from the warm sponge. Slightly underbaked, if Louise is honest, but delicious nonetheless.

Then suddenly it’s raining. With his milkshake in one hand, Jack grabs her other hand, pulling her under the shelter of the glass dome. It’s the first time she’s been inside, and it’s even more beautiful than she could have imagined. Despite the rain, the late afternoon sun is shining against the dark skies. A rainbow has formed outside, but it’s nothing like as brilliant as the colours of the windows. The sunlight streams through the roof of the building, casting patterns on the floor.

‘You’re so clever, Jack. This is so much better than a big glass extension. And the bookcases with the little swallows – I just love them.’

There’s a pause. Louise remembers the way his lips brushed hers as they stood beside the bookcases, and wishes he’d kiss her again. She glances at him, but he’s gazing at the coloured patterns on the floor.

‘It’s all in the details,’ he says. ‘It’s the little details that make a place special.’

‘This place is very special. Especially now. With the rain pattering on the roof and the sunlight filtering through the stained glass. You know, it’s the perfect setting for a snog.’