Page 73 of The Sugar and Spice Bookshop Bakery

‘How did you know?’ she laughs.

‘Which one?’

‘Petrol into a diesel. It was my boyfriend’s car too.’

‘What happened?’

‘Engine ruined.’

‘And the boyfriend?’

She shrugs. ‘Never lent me his car again. And wasn’t my boyfriend for much longer.’

‘His loss.’

She looks away, feeling suddenly shy.

His loss.

‘Never have I ever,’ Jack says, taking a step closer to her, ‘kissed someone in a crime scene.’

She puts down her coffee. ‘I don’t think it would be allowed. You might…you know…’

‘Destroy evidence?’

‘Exactly.’

‘Of course, this isn’t an actual crime scene,’ he says.

She moves towards him, taking the mug from his hands and placing it on one of his beautiful shelves. She tilts her head, looking up at him. He nuzzles the end of her nose with his.

‘Jack,’ she whispers.

His lips meet hers. Just a gentle peck.

‘Never have I ever,’ he says, ‘had a client this beautiful.’

*

When Elizabeth arrives at the front door of the bakery, she isn’t alone.

‘I brought Richard along,’ she says, beaming. ‘You don’t mind, do you, darling? He’s dying to see his son’s creations.’

‘Sure.’ Louise steps aside to let them both in.

Richard, smartly dressed as always, doffs his hat to her, takes her hand and brings it to his lips. ‘Luisa,’ he says. ‘It’s a pleasure as always.’

‘Hello, Richard,’ she says, trying to sound friendly, but she is, if she’s honest, a little irritated by him. Kissing her hand. Calling her ‘Luisa’ like Jack does – Richard isn’t even Italian, for heaven’s sake; he’s from Applethwaite. And the ‘pleasure as always’ comment. Why can’t he just say, ‘Ey up, Louise’ like everyone else does around here?

And what’s that smell?

She sniffs the air and wrinkles her nose, before realising that it’s his cologne, a heavy, overbearing scent, not in the least bit pleasant.

‘Just look at the shelves,’ Elizabeth says. ‘All Jack’s handiwork?’

‘They are,’ Louise says. ‘He’s carved a swallow on one of them. It’s kind of his signature. Look!’ She gestures towards the little bird, tucked underneath one of the middle shelves.

Her mother peers at it. ‘Oh, that’s exquisite! Richard, you never mentioned that Giacomo was so good at carpentry.’