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‘Only four?’ came the deep voice, right next to her ear.
She jumped. ‘Stop it.’ And turned back to the counter. The barista had finished preparing the coffees and placed them on a tray. She must be able to read minds because she was standing with an empty plate and a pair of tongs in her hand.
‘A rhubarb and custard tart, a death by chocolate, a strawberry and vanilla pastry and a pecan pie.’ The words were out before she could stop them and Reuben let out a muffled laugh behind her.
He pointed in the other direction. ‘I’ll have a piece of apple pie,’ he said, before leaning over towards her ear again. ‘Man-sized.’
Her head shot around and she felt heat sear into her cheeks. It was ridiculous. He was only winding her up. There was even a dangerous twinkle in his eyes.
She went into her bag to find her purse but he waved her away. ‘You just bought the shopping. You’ve got to let me pay for something.’
‘We’ll talk about it later.’ She sighed and made her way over to a table, pulling out one of comfortable velvet chairs and sitting down.
Reuben sat down opposite her and put the tray of coffee and plates on the tables.
She pointed at his apple pie, which was obliterated from view with cream. ‘Would you like some apple pie to go with your cream?’
He picked up his fork and speared the pie. ‘You can talk. At least I’ve only got one instead of four.’
She picked up her tiny pecan pie. ‘It’s ridiculous calling this thing a pie. Look, it’s barely bigger than my thumbnail. One bite and it’ll be gone. Two if I nibble.’ She eyed his plate again and couldn’t hide her smile. ‘You, on the other hand, could sink to the bottom of the Thames eating that lot.’
He shook his head and kept eating. There was something nice about this. Something easy. After yesterday morning she’d thought the next month would be an absolute disaster. She could write a book on the last twenty-four hours alone.
But being around Reuben Tyler wasn’t as hard or as uncomfortable as she’d first thought. It didn’t hurt that he was particularly easy on the eye. And that accent...
She watched him carefully from across the table. She could see a few women giving him a second glance then giving her a second glance too.
He may not be a footballer but he looked like the kind of guy who’d have a WAG hanging around him and there was no way she fitted the bill.
‘So what did you plan to do for the next two weeks?’ He’d finished demolishing his pie.
She shrugged her shoulders. ‘I was just going to hang out with Josh, preparing for our holiday.’ She wrinkled her face. ‘I guess that won’t be happening.’
Reuben’s dark eyes were fixed on her. ‘Do you want that to happen?’
‘What? No, of course not. Not after what I saw yesterday.’ She shuddered. ‘It’s going to take a long time to get that sight out of my mind.’
He was still watching. ‘You sounded as if you were a bit sorry.’
She took a sip of her latte. ‘About Josh?’ It was hard to find the words. ‘Part of me is, and part of me isn’t.’ She picked up her spoon and started stirring her latte. It was an unconscious act, keeping her eyes away from his penetrating gaze. ‘I guess I’ve been looking forward to the holiday for so long that I just pushed the other stuff away.’
‘What other stuff?’
Her insides started to squirm. It was bad enough having to think these thoughts to herself. They’d definitely come to fruition last night. But saying them out loud? That was something else entirely.
She kept stirring as the swirling coffee was easy to focus on. ‘Probably the fact that Josh hadn’t paid for any of the holiday. Hadn’t paid rent since we moved in together after we got back from Oz, and didn’t seem particularly bothered about finding a job. He was just happy that I was working and paying the bills.’
Her fingers clenched around the long spoon. ‘Now I just think what an idiot I was. Out working while he was at home, doing goodness knows what.’
His hand reached across the table and covered hers. ‘Don’t put yourself down, Lara. You’re a gorgeous girl who just got stuck with a loser. Lesson learned. Move on.’
She gulped. All of a sudden her mouth was dry and the rhubarb and custard tart had just stuck midway down her throat. It was his hand. The way it just enveloped hers. The warmth. That little touch of compassion.
After the rubbish day she’d had yesterday, she hadn’t really expected anyone to reach out to her. To make her feel valued again.
It gave her a warm feeling. The kind that had always spread over her when she used to be around her gran. Her parents had been great, but she’d always had a special connection with her gran. She’d encouraged her studies in English and had been so proud of her when she’d been accepted at university. But when her gran had died one month later it had all been too much for her. Her mum and dad loved her lots—but had never had the same ambitions for her that her gran had. She’d needed some time away—some space. She’d deferred her university placement and drifted from one bad job and bad relationship to the next, finally ending up in Australia then back here.
