on their phones. There was a comfortingly warm fug in the place. She sighed with pleasure; she loved this little café and cherished its place at the heart of her community.
Then she noticed the stranger pushing away his empty cake plate.
‘May I have my bill, please?’
‘Right away.’ Millie had already prepared it. She couldn’t wait to get rid of him.
He glanced at the amount and paid cash. ‘So, you’re Millie?’ he asked, putting a note on the saucer.
Blimey. More questions. She forced a friendly smile. ‘I am.’
‘And you own Millie Vanilla’s?’
‘I do.’
‘Great name, by the way.’
‘Thank you.’
In a bid to encourage him to leave, Millie picked up his payment, her eyes widening at what he’d tipped. As he stood up and put his coat back on, she noticed he towered above her. Another point scored. She liked tall men.
‘That was really delicious food. And you’ve got a marvellous place here.’
‘Thank you,’ Millie repeated. Why didn’t he just go?
‘I hope I can find the time to come back.’
As he went out, Clare, Zoe’s best friend, wolf-whistled. The dogs’ noses shot up at the sound. ‘Who was that?’ she asked, her eyes like saucers. ‘He’s gorg!’
‘And totally too old for you,’ Zoe replied.
Clare rolled her eyes. ‘I so totally don’t care.’
Zoe craned her neck to view him as he sauntered along the prom. ‘Nice bum.’
Millie giggled. ‘That’ll do, Zoe. I’ve told you before to stop ogling the customers.’
‘Hope he comes in when I do a shift on Saturday, then. He can have my extra-extra-special service.’ She waggled her eyebrows comically.
‘Oh, Zoe,’ Millie put her head on one side with pretend concern. ‘Whatever has he done to deserve that?’
Clare poked her friend in the ribs and cackled. ‘Yay, Millie’s got you there, Zo.’
Something drew Millie to the door. She watched as the man strode towards the harbour, the low sunshine lightening his blond hair. He had a loose-limbed style that was very sexy. Confident, assured of his place in the world. Arrogant almost. As if sensing he was being watched, he turned back to the café and raised a hand.
Millie ducked out of view, blushing furiously. She still hadn’t a clue who he was.
Millie didn’t have long to wait until the gorgeous stranger returned. He came in a few days later on a bright, cold morning when the wind whipped up white horses.
‘Good morning again,’ he greeted her cheerfully.
‘Morning.’
He extended a hand. ‘As I know your name, I think I’d better introduce myself. Jed Henville.’
‘Nice to meet you.’ Millie wiped her hand unnecessarily on her apron (bright pink with turquoise stars today). ‘Emilia Fudge. But everyone calls me Millie.’
She waited for the laugh. For a quirk of amused eyebrows. For the jokes over her name being as sweet as her cakes. None came and she blushed with gratitude. This guy had class. ‘What can I get you today?’
Jed grimaced. ‘I shouldn’t have anything, really, as I’ve just had a rather mediocre English cooked breakfast. But when I was in the other day, I couldn’t help but notice you do raisin toast. It’s my all-time weakness. Is that homemade too?’
‘Alas, I can’t lay claim to being a bread-maker. My pal Tessa makes all the bread I serve in here. But it’s very much made in her home. She’s a fantastic artisan baker. I’ll get you some of her fabulous raisin toast, then, shall I? Would you like some coffee with that?’ Millie smiled and wondered where he’d eaten his very ordinary breakfast and if he’d shared it with anyone. Who was he and why was he in Berecombe? It was a sleepy place and not considered as trendy as Lyme Regis, further along the coast. At this time of year any stranger stood out a mile, especially one as good-looking as him.
‘Thank you. I’d love a large latte. It’s cold today; I need warming up!’ Taking off his stripey scarf, he settled at the same table he’d sat at the other day and spread out a broadsheet newspaper.
He was less formally dressed today, in dark moleskin jeans and a buttery suede jacket. With his out of season suntan, he looked just as buttery and edible himself. So he was in need of being warmed up? Millie could think of one or two things that might do it. She gave herself a shake. Honestly. Grow up, woman! She was as bad as Zoe and her gang going weak at the knees at the sight of a hot man. She ran into the kitchen and put herself to work as a distraction.
The morning passed peacefully enough. Jed had eaten his toast and drunk his latte with enthusiasm, declaring both delicious and had thrown on his scarf and jacket and departed. As she cleared his table, Millie was prevented from watching where he was headed by the arrival of Arthur Roulestone, breakfast regular and owner of Daisy, Elvis’s arch enemy.
‘Morning, my dear,’ he called, as he came in with the puffing retriever in tow. He followed her look. ‘Stranger in town, then?’
‘Morning, Arthur.’ Millie picked up the tray and paused, with her bottom pushed against the kitchen door. ‘You don’t happen to know who he is, do you?’
‘No idea.’ He tapped his nose cheerfully. ‘I can keep my ear to the ground for you, though.’
‘Thanks.’ Arthur was a member of Berecombe’s town council. What he didn’t know wasn’t worth knowing. ‘Your usual?’
‘Bless you. A trifle chilly out there today.’
‘Isn’t it just? But I love these crisp days,’ Millie shouted from the kitchen.
‘I’ve heard we might have snow later.’
‘Snow?’ Millie put the tray down on the draining board and poked her head out of the door. ‘It never snows here. We don’t even get so much as a frost.’
‘Not strictly true. I can remember it snowing one winter when I was a boy. Covered the beach. Magical. Funnily enough, I always find it’s the coldest just before we get the first of the spring days.’
‘Some warmer weather would be welcome and good for business too. But snow, eh? How exciting! Must have been years ago. Before my time.’
‘Thank you for reminding me what an old codger I am.’
‘Sorry, Arthur. Extra sausage? And
