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‘That was easy, I thought we’d be here hours.’
‘No need, you’ve picked the perfect cake. Besides, you don’t look very relaxed in here.’ She tipped her head towards the tasting counter. ‘Shall we choose a flavour?’
‘Guess we’d better.’ As he watched her walk off, he felt the need to ask, ‘Are you sure you’re okay? You still seem a little subdued.’
She looked slightly thrown by the question, as though no one ever considered her welfare. ‘I’m fine,’ she said, removing her glasses and rubbing her eyes. ‘I’m just struggling to resolve the same problem I had last week. I won’t bore you with the details. I’m sure I’ll sort it out, one way or another.’
‘Anything I can help with?’
‘It’s confidential, so no, but thanks for asking.’ Replacing her glasses, she offered him a half-smile and went over to the tasting counter. ‘I went for a long walk this morning over Chobham Common, that helped.’
He joined her by the counter. ‘You like walking?’ He hadn’t put her down as the outdoorsy type.
She nodded. ‘Especially in the countryside. I like nature, I find it helps to reduce the strain of working a fifty-hour week.’ She peered at the cake samples on display. ‘Not to mention the stress of arranging a fast-track wedding, trying to motivate my lethargic brother into getting a job and refereeing my parents’ arguments – as you witnessed the other day.’ She turned to him. ‘Sorry about that, by the way.’
‘Don’t worry about it. Seems like we both have challenging families.’
She lifted a menu and read through the various options available. ‘Rich chocolate cake, red velvet, plain vanilla or lemon drizzle. Personally, I’d go for the coffee and walnut.’
Coffee and walnut was his favourite, too. Shame he had to abstain from eating it.
‘I think my sister would prefer a Victoria sandwich,’ she said, looking at the selection. ‘Or maybe the chocolate. Not that she’ll eat much, she’s forever dieting.’
‘Me too,’ he said without thinking, and then inwardly cringed. The words were out before he could stop them. Sharing his weight issues wasn’t something he usually did.
Beth looked surprised. ‘You’re on a diet?’
Instead of answering, he lifted two plates and offered her the samples. ‘Raspberry jam and buttercream, or chocolate ganache?’
It was a feeble attempt to change the subject, but she took the hint and tasted the Victoria sponge. ‘Oooo, that’s nice.’
His hands were occupied holding the plates, so she broke off a small section of cake and lifted it to his mouth. He wasn’t sure which distracted him the most, the sensation of her fingers brushing against his tongue or the crumb of cake balancing on her lower lip.
She tilted her head. ‘Good?’
The sugary sponge connected with his taste buds. ‘Very good.’
She took a bite of chocolate cake and her eyes fluttered shut. ‘This is even better.’
He found himself transfixed by her mouth, unable to avert his gaze, but when her eyes reopened, he dragged his eyes away. ‘You try it,’ she said, offering him a small morsel of cake.
His endorphins went into overdrive, as the taste of chocolate hit his senses and created a buzz that started in his brain and shot down to his toes. He avoided chocolate like an alcoholic avoided drinking. One measly mouthful was never enough, and he instantly craved more.
‘How come you don’t get on with your brother?’ she said, dragging his mind away from chocolate.
He swallowed awkwardly. ‘It’s a long story,’ he said, breaking the moment by dumping the paper plates in the bin. Things were still too fragile between them to risk the whole ‘my dad’s in prison’ conversation. ‘Are we decided on the chocolate cake?’
She nodded. ‘Gets my vote.’
He headed for the till, eager to escape the confines of the tiny shop.
Once outside in the quaint high street of rural Chobham, Matt checked his watch. He had an hour to kill before heading off to visit his dad. ‘Do you want to grab a coffee, or something?’ He wasn’t quite sure why he felt the need to prolong their meet-up. The task was complete, the wedding cake was chosen and ordered, so why not escape?
‘Thanks, but I have chores to run.’
‘No problem. Just a thought.’ He was stupid for even asking.
‘I have a fitting for my maid of honour dress,’ she said, pointing to the bridal boutique opposite.
