to the tanned face.
Embarrassment, guilt, humiliation. Lawrie could take her pick of any of that ugly trio. Being caught hanging around outside her ex-husband’s business like a gauche teenager with a crush was bad enough. To have been caught by her ex-husband really was a fitting end to what had been a truly terrible few weeks.
Trying to summon up an illusion of control, Lawrie switched on her best social smile—the one that had seen her through numerous meetings and charity balls. But her eyes hadn’t got the ‘cool and collected’ memo, and flicked quickly up and down the lean body facing her.
The black tailored trousers and short-sleeved charcoal shirt were a startling change from the cut-off jeans and band T-shirt uniform of her memories, but the body underneath the sharp lines was as surfer-fit as she remembered. He still looked irritatingly good. And even worse—judging by the smirk that flared briefly in the cool eyes—he was fully aware of both her perusal and approval.
So much for control.
Jonas quirked an eyebrow. ‘So, are you...planning to come in?’
How, after all this time, could his voice be so familiar? It was such a long time since she had heard those deep, measured tones tempered with a slight Cornish burr. Yet they sounded like home.
‘I was just wondering if I was in the right place,’ she said, gesturing at the wood and glass building behind him; so shiny and new, so unfamiliar. ‘Everything’s different.’
And that, Lawrie thought, was the understatement of the century.
‘I’ve made some changes. What do you think?’ There was pride in his voice underneath the laid-back drawl.
‘Impressive,’ she said. And it was. But she missed the peeling, ramshackle old building. The picturesque setting for her first job, her first kiss. Her first love. ‘Did you demolish the boathouse?’
Her heart speeded up as she waited for his answer. It mattered, she realised with a shock. She hadn’t set foot in the small Cornish village for nine years. Hadn’t seen this man for nine years. But it still mattered.
It was her history.
‘I had it relocated. It was the start of everything, after all. Demolishing the old girl would have been pretty poor thanks. And we kept the name and brand, of course.’
‘Everything?’ Was he talking about her? Get a grip, she told herself. Walking down the hill and along the harbour might have sent her spinning back in time, brought all those carefully buried memories abruptly to the surface, but by the look of the building in front of her Jonas had moved on long ago.
‘So, are you coming in or not?’ He ignored her question, pushing himself off the sign with the languid grace only hours balancing on a board in the rough Cornish sea could achieve. ‘The coffee’s excellent and the cake is even better. On the house for an ex member of staff, of course.’
Lawrie opened her mouth to refuse, to point out that the building wasn’t the only thing to have changed—that, actually, she hadn’t touched caffeine or refined sugar in years—but she caught a quizzical gleam in his eye and changed her mind. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.
Besides, clean living hadn’t got her very far, had it? This enforced time out was about new experiences, trying new things. There were worse places to start than a good cup of coffee brewed the way only Jonas could.
‘Thank you,’ she said instead.
‘This way, then.’ And Jonas moved to the double glass doors, holding one open for her with exaggerated gallantry. ‘And, Lawrie,’ he murmured as she walked past him, ‘Happy Birthday.’
Lawrie froze. Just half an hour ago she had reached the sad conclusion that you couldn’t get more pathetic than spending your thirtieth birthday on your own—not unless you were unemployed, single and alone on your thirtieth.
Lawrie was all three.
Adding an encounter with her ex really was the cherry on top of the icing on her non-existent birthday cake. She should have listened to her instincts and stayed indoors and sulked. Damn her conscience for pushing her out to get fresh air and exercise. Both were clearly overrated.
‘This is where you say thank you.’
He had moved away from the door and was leading her towards a small table tucked away at the back, clearly at his ease.
‘Sorry?’ What was he talking about? Maybe she was in some surrealist dream, where conversation made no sense. Any second now she’d be viewing the world in black and white, possibly through the medium of mime.
‘I know you’ve been in the city for a while...’ there was an unexpected teasing note in his voice ‘...but back in the real world when someone wishes you a Happy Birthday it’s usual to acknowledge them—often with a thank you.’
For the first time in over a week Lawrie felt the heaviness lift slightly, a lessening of the burden. ‘Thank you,’ she said with careful emphasis. ‘Of course I might be trying to forget this particular birthday.’
‘Oh, yes, the big three oh.’ He laughed as she grimaced. ‘It’s really no big deal, once you get used to the back ache and the knee twinges.’
‘I hoped it might be like the tree falling in the woods—if no one knows it’s happening then is it real?’
‘I know,’ he reminded her.
‘Thereby foiling my cunning plan.’
A smile curved the corner of his mouth but it didn’t reach his eyes. They radiated concern. For her. She didn’t need the stab of her conscience to tell her she didn’t deserve his concern.
‘Well, now it’s out in the open you have to celebrate. How about a slice of my signature carrot cake with chocolate icing? Unless, now you’re a Londoner, you prefer elaborate cupcakes? Pretty frosting but no real substance?’
Lawrie looked up sharply. Was that some kind of cake metaphor?
‘Or would you rather wait till your fiancé joins you?’
And just like that the heaviness engulfed her again. Lawrie searched for the right words, the right tone. ‘Hugo and I parted ways. It seemed time for a new beginning.’
‘Again?’
There was a lifetime of history in that one word. More than Lawrie could cope with this day, this week. At all.
Coming back had been a mistake. But she had nowhere else to go.
Lawrie hadn’t exactly spent the last nine years planning how she’d react if she bumped into her ex-husband, but if she had spent time imagining every possible scenario she doubted—short of falling at his feet—that she could have come up with a situation as humiliating as this.
She looked around, desperately searching for a change of subject. ‘The café looks amazing.’
It really did. She was standing in an open-plan space, with the driftwood counter along its far end and the blue walls a reminder of the ever-present sea. The real thing was a stunning backdrop framed through dramatic
