ordering app on his phone, he didn’t even need to speak to them beyond giving a number and saying thank you when they handed over his usual crispy beef, chicken and pineapple with a side of special fried rice in a white carrier bag. Not that they went out of their way to be chatty, either.
There was definitely a different pace to life down here, and he would have to make some readjustments now he’d be spending more time in the bay. The deal with Sam over his restaurant had come out of nowhere. Owen had been on the hunt for an early morning coffee and come across the plans spread over the kitchen table in the pub.
A day spent poring over the plans for Subterranean had left him genuinely excited by the project. Sam had a fantastic vision, and plenty of top chefs had proven success with regional restaurants. It would be a gamble, but if they could position a couple of features in the right newspapers, the punters would flock to the coast for the chance to say they’d been the first to discover a hot new talent.
As for the chip shop, it occupied an absolute prime piece of real estate right in the centre of the promenade. Like many of the buildings along the seafront, it sprawled over three storeys, with living accommodation occupying the top two floors. He hadn’t yet decided whether he’d retain the retail space below, but with a bit of rejigging—and the requisite planning permission—the upper floors could be transformed into a couple of luxury duplexes complete with roof terraces. With some discreet planting, no one would be any the wiser about the terraces and he’d be able to provide a secluded spot for the discerning sunbather without altering the façade of the building.
His eyes strayed to Libby, red-faced from the heat as she lifted a basket of piping-hot chips from the fryer and wondered if he should tell her she’d directly influenced his plans. Her comments about ugly modern apartments changing the appearance of the promenade had stuck with him. It would be important to get the locals on side as any protests from them might put a spanner in the works. Only he couldn’t tell her anything about it, thanks to the ludicrous deal he’d struck with Mick about keeping quiet until after Christmas.
The back of his neck itched. When Mick’s ‘girl’ had been some amorphous, unknown individual, Owen hadn’t given two hoots about what she did or didn’t know about the deal. He’d never referred to her by name during their discussions and it was only during a chat with Sam that morning that Owen had put two and two together. Mick had assured him he was the sole title holder to the property since the passing of his wife, so whatever family drama selling up might cause would be his problem. He’d asked Owen to hold off so he could have one last Christmas with ‘his girl’, and as the timing had suited him, Owen had no objections.
Now he knew Libby was involved, it didn’t sit so well with him, especially when his new business partner was so closely connected to her two friends. It was clear the three women were very close, and if she objected to the sale of her childhood home and place of work, it could make things very awkward for everyone. He’d have to dig a little deeper, try and get to know Libby without giving the game away. Getting a bit closer to her wouldn’t be a hardship in the least.
It was finally his turn to be served. With a polite nod to Mick, Owen fixed a big grin on Libby who was doing her best to pretend he wasn’t there. ‘Evening, Libby.’
The glare she flicked his way all but scorched the skin off his face, but she was saved from responding by Mick. ‘You two know each other then?’
Resting one elbow on the counter, Owen turned partly towards him, but made sure to keep Libby in his eyeline. ‘Yup. We’ve met a couple of times in the pub. Just spent the evening together, haven’t we?’
Mick’s eyebrows climbed high enough to disappear beneath the brim of his white trilby as Libby made a strangled noise in her throat. She coughed, then muttered, ‘This is Owen. He’s investing in Sam’s new restaurant, they were talking about their plans while I was hanging out with Beth and Eliza.’
‘The restaurant? I didn’t know Sam was looking for a partner.’ The concern in Mick’s voice was palpable and it suddenly occurred to Owen he might think it would put their own deal in jeopardy.
‘He wasn’t. I’m staying at the pub while I follow up on another investment opportunity and I kind of stumbled across the plans. I’ve got room in my portfolio for both, and Sam’s vision for Subterranean is very exciting.’ He made sure to hold Mick’s gaze as he emphasised ‘another’ hoping he would understand he was referring to his purchase of the chip shop. Bloody hell, talking about something whilst not being obvious he was talking about it was too much like hard work. Surely Mick couldn’t mean to keep this up until after Christmas?
Mick visibly relaxed, much to Owen’s relief. ‘He’s a grand cook, is Sam. I’m sure he’ll make a roaring success of the place.’
‘And he was singing your praises, too. Told me you serve the best fish and chips in the county, so I’m sure you’ll have something here to satisfy my appetite.’ Owen aimed his last remark squarely at Libby and was rewarded with a hot blush, and another of those fantastically filthy glares for his trouble. She had spirit in spades, and he wanted all that fire inside her focused on him. ‘What does the lady recommend?’
Narrowing her eyes, Libby reached for a vicious-looking two-pronged fork and used it to spear a battered sausage with enough force to make Owen glad there was a solid counter between them. Oblivious to the tension between them, Mick shook his head. ‘We can do a bit better than that. How does a large cod and chips sound, Owen?’
Not wishing to be rude, Owen turned his attention to Mick. ‘Sounds great, thanks very much.’ He watched as Libby returned the poor abused sausage to the warming container before dishing up a huge portion of chips upon which she laid a long cod fillet wrapped in a pale golden batter. His stomach gave an appreciative rumble as the scent of the hot food hit him.
‘Salt and vinegar?’
He waited to reply until she lifted her eyes to meet his. ‘Lovely.’ Her lips twitched in spite of herself and Owen wanted to pump his fist at winning even that tiny reaction from her. ‘And I’ll take a Diet Coke as well, please.’
Mick rang up the cost and Owen retrieved his debit card to pay. ‘Well, thank you both for this. I’m sure I’ll enjoy every bite.’ With a quick wink at Libby, Owen retreated to the door, clutching his drink and the large paper parcel. He didn’t go far, though. A lamppost hung above the railing running along the promenade directly opposite the shop window. Owen perched on the top rail beneath the bright light, unwrapped his meal and set it on his lap, and waited.
The chips were hot, crispy on the outside, and fluffy on the inside. In other words, perfect. Picking his way through the mountain of food, he watched Libby puttering around behind the counter, serving the next few customers. All smiles, there wasn’t a hint of the animosity she showed him, not even towards a group of noisy lads who spilled through the door clearly a little worse for wear. As they staggered out, clutching their food and laughing, her gaze followed them as they crossed in front of Owen’s position. Any second now…
Libby froze, jaw gaping and he couldn’t resist giving her a jaunty wave with the chip in his hand. He could almost see steam pouring from her ears as she very deliberately turned her back. Satisfied, he turned his attention to the melt-in-the-mouth fish and didn’t look up again until he’d finished every last morsel. It was enough that she knew he was out there. If he was a betting man, he would’ve taken any odds that she wouldn’t be able to resist watching him, and sure enough he caught a flurry of her white coat turning away the moment he raised his head.
Having crumpled up his empty paper, he drained the last of his can of drink then hopped down from the railing. A bin sat outside the chip shop, so he
