Page 12 of The Secret Holiday Kiss

Harry laughed and gave her a knowing look. It was the fact that he didn’t say anything that made Daisy nervous. But she knew her own mind. Nothing would stop her from being back in London as soon as was practicably possible.

Chapter Four

Daisy hadn’t been back to Norwich for at least a decade, but the moment she stepped out of the underground car park, her senses started tingling. Nostalgia was going to be her constant companion on this sabbatical. And it was nostalgia, especially when it came to Norwich, because it held none of the heaviness, the sense of loneliness that she hadn’t quite shaken off when she was in Mistingham. A trip to Norwich had always been fun, with her parents when they were younger, then later on with friends, getting the bus that felt like it took half a day to reach the city from the coast, having to plan carefully so they didn’t miss the last one home.

There had been big changes in the time she’d been away, and she noticed new, gleaming shop fronts and restaurant chains, once-scruffy areas tidied up, with sculptures and trickling fountains and polished flagstones. The market was the same as always, though it too looked like it had had a sprucing up, as if the striped awnings had all been pressure-washed, their colours bolder than she remembered.

Lars’s café was down one of the side streets beyond the market, a winding pedestrianized lane with jewellery shops and swanky boutiques, a couple of second-hand stores with vinyl discs and woollen overcoats in the windows. Gold fairy lights were strung up in swags high above pedestrians’ heads, even though it was only mid-November, and the chill air made Daisy tighten her blush scarf around her neck.

She found the café halfway down, its glass frontage currently bare. The woodwork was painted a dark beige, the sign still read The Vintage Teashop, and there was a cardboard notice stuck to the glass: Under New Management: Opening soon. At least it had been typed and printed, not one of the wonky marker-pen posters she sometimes saw.

Daisy peered through the glass, but the interior was dark. She rapped on the door, then took out her phone. She was about to call Lars when lights flickered on inside and a tall, familiar figure appeared.

‘Daisy,’ he said, when he’d unlocked the door and welcomed her in, ‘you found me.’

‘I did! Hello, Lars. It’s so good to see you again. How are you?’

‘I am very well. Thrilled to be embarking on a new venture. I cannot wait to see what you think. How are you?’

‘I’m good, thanks. You’ve got a great spot here. Lots of footfall, and not too close to any of the chains.’

‘It’s ideal, isn’t it? Coffee? We don’t have the new barista machine yet, but I have a cafetière out back.’

‘Coffee would be lovely.’ She took in the space as she followed Lars to the back room. It was empty, the floorboards dark and scuffed, the off-white walls dirty after years of grease and heat, a thousand different bodies and breaths. There was a wide counter to the left, in front of the door, which meant the staff could greet customers as they came in. It was clearly a tired establishment, but Daisy could see the potential.

‘Milk, sugar?’ Lars asked as he arranged mugs in front of a steaming cafetière.

‘A splash of milk please. No sugar.’ The back room had a chipboard counter and a shabby desk, a bare lightbulb that cast a sallow glow over the room. In contrast, Lars looked good. She’d had a crush on him all those years ago, when she was young and impressionable and he was a successful businessman with style and flair. He must be in his mid-fifties now, but his dark hair was still thick, his eyes twinkled like obsidian, and his teal shirt and grey trousers were clearly tailored, because they looked made for his lithe body.

Daisy thought of Avery, of her run-in with him the week before, and one word popped into her head. Scruffy. And then, as she was smiling at Lars, eyeing him as she sipped her coffee, her brain amended it to: sexily scruffy. No. That was not happening. She did not think about Avery like that. Besides, she was with Lars right now, and he was the opposite of scruffy.

‘Tell me your vision then, Lars,’ she said. ‘What do you want this place to be? I need words.’

His smile was catlike, and she wondered if he ever had a moment of self-doubt. ‘I want it to be irresistible,’ he said. ‘Some may laugh, because it is just a café, but in my eyes just is a redundant word. If you’re going to do something, you have to do it with your whole heart, not belittle it in any way. And this, my café, it will be perfect. Irresistible.’

‘Great speech,’ Daisy murmured, then added, ‘excellent! Irresistible we can do. But I need specifics. What’s the tone? What are the feelings you want customers to have – other than that once they’re here, they’re desperate to order everything on the menu and never want to leave?’

Lars gestured for her to go ahead of him into the main café. He turned on the light, the bulb whiter, crisper than the office. It highlighted the grime in the corners, scratch marks on the floorboards, but it also showed how bright and cheery it could be, once Daisy had worked her magic. People strode past outside, a blur of woolly hats and thick coats, parkas and puffers, heavy tote bags and obedient dogs on leads.

‘I want it to be eloquent.’ The word sounded smooth spoken in his accent. ‘Eloquent and comforting. Charming. I want it to evoke the sea, not so far away, and the vibrancy of the city. I will be serving European pastries, made by my chef, and sandwiches with local ingredients on freshly baked bread. The coffee menu will be like a wine list. These are big ambitions, but I have never been one to have small plans. What is the point, when you can always do more?’

Daisy rubbed her bottom lip. ‘Wow. OK. That is a … mix of approaches. City, Norfolk coast, Europe. Calming but vibrant.’ But already her mind was working, conjuring white walls – there was a shade called Chantilly Lace that she loved – and a palette of blues, a canvas that would evoke the rhythm of the sea and the pebbles on the shore.

She would have the floorboards sanded and painted slate or denim. Chairs and tables lapis, ocean and azure. There would be benches built in along the walls, and in between the blue scatter cushions she would add a few in scarlet or daffodil yellow. Could they make glass mosaics for the walls? Huge abstract artworks that reflected the light? The base textures would be matt and soft, but enhanced by the thinnest gold accents: rims on the crockery, an edge around the wooden countertop, napkins and delicate vases on the tables providing that elegant, understated gleam of opulence.

‘I can see your mind working,’ Lars said. ‘Do you already have a plan?’

Daisy forced herself to take a slow sip of coffee. She couldn’t wait to get stuck in. This was what she loved: that shimmering, breathless feeling when inspiration struck, when she could see what a place would look like after the hard work had been done. And it was never as she envisioned – there would be challenges and pitfalls, changes and compromises along the way – but this moment, right at the start, was pure.

‘Where can we sit?’ She patted her large handbag, her iPad waiting inside, ready for her to sketch out her initial thoughts, and incorporate Lars’s too.

‘Hang on.’ He went into the back room, dragged out the two plastic chairs that had been on either side of the desk. ‘They’re very far from thrones.’

‘We don’t need thrones.’

‘A table?’

‘Let’s move the desk out. I want to be in here while we talk. It’ll be difficult to envision your future café if we’re hidden away from it.’