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It’d seemed as though June had something against her as well, although Bea couldn’t imagine what it was. She’d barely had anything to do with the woman over the years. And from what she recalled, her mother had been a friend of June’s at one time. But they’d had a falling out. Bea still didn’t know what it was all about, but June had never gotten over it. Now she was behaving as though she didn’t recognise Bea, which was perfectly fine with her. She could be an anonymous customer and avoid the awkwardness of June pretending to be happy to see her.
Bea scanned the goodies lined up inside the glass case below the counter. There were cakes and biscuits—most looked homemade. What she really fancied was a pastry. She’d eaten a chocolate cream-filled croissant once when she was nineteen years old that she’d never forgotten. What she wouldn’t give for one of those right now.
“You don’t happen to have any croissants, do you?”
June’s eyes narrowed. “Kra-sonts, did you say?”
“You know, the pastry?”
“Nope. No kra-sonts.”
“Oh, that’s a shame.” Her stomach grumbled again, this time louder.
“Next thing, you’ll be asking for a lah-tey.” June laughed, a big belly laugh that shook her apron. She raised a pinkie in the air beside her face as though she was drinking tea with the queen. “Ooh la la.” Then she laughed uproariously again before calling in another woman from the back to tell her all about it.
Bea’s eyes widened. “Sorry, I…” She didn’t know what to say to that. She turned and left the café, picked up her groceries and hurried across the street to her car. When she reached the car, she put the groceries in the boot, then leaned against the vehicle and let a giggle escape her mouth. It bubbled up from within, and she seemed powerless to stop it. She clamped a hand over her mouth and tried to hold it in, but it was no use. She giggled hysterically.
Between gasping breaths, she exclaimed, “Next you’ll be asking for a lah-tey!” She wiped the tears from her eyes and sighed. “Welcome to Coral Island, baby.”
She’d parked her dad’s old station wagon next to the primary school and could see a group of kids exercising in the playground. A tall man with a whistle hung on his neck ordered them around. It had to be Aidan. From this distance, he looked exactly as he had when he was seventeen years old, only bigger.
She stepped closer to the short chain-link fence that surrounded the school grounds and watched. He noticed her almost immediately and waved. She raised a hand, embarrassed, and turned around to get into the car. But he called out her name, so she stopped.
He jogged over to the fence. “Hey, fancy seeing you again so soon.”
“I was at the shops.”
“Ah, of course. Stocking up on essentials.”
“Also, I asked for a croissant at the café. Apparently, June Clements thought that was the world’s funniest joke.”
He chuckled. “Trying your luck, were you? I’m afraid you’ve stepped back in time, Rushton. We don’t have those kinds of snobby pastries around these parts.”
He hadn’t called her “Rushton” since high school. Her surname had been printed on the back of the senior shirt, and he’d called her that as a pet name from the first day she wore it. It brought a deluge of memories flooding back.
“So I discovered. It seems they’re not fond of making lattes, either.”
He laughed out loud. “You really were hoping for a miracle, weren’t you?”
“I’m dying for a coffee. Dad only has instant, and apparently the café doesn’t serve anything else either.”
“You can get drip coffee at the café, can’t you?”
“Wow, my world has been shaken.” She rolled her eyes. “The fact that you don’t remember — I hate drip coffee.”
He laughed. “Of course I remember. I’m only teasing. Come over to my place tomorrow morning, and I promise to give you some good coffee. You can see my new house as well. I’ve got to go over there to put in some light fixtures anyway. But the espresso machine already lives there. I’ve got to have my coffee too.”
“We have that in common,” she replied.
“So, tomorrow?” He pressed his hands to his hips, squinting.
“That sounds really nice. I’d love to see what you’ve done with the place. Dani and I have committed to renovating Dad’s old beach cottage, so I might get some ideas from seeing your new house.”
“The one you lived in when you were little?”
“That’s the one,” she replied.
“I can give you plenty of tips, then. I’ve been through the wringer pulling this place together.”
