still-closed Tupperware box, and he placed a hand over the top of it. ‘If you want one of these, you have to promise to be honest with me about a few things.’
Her head shot up to meet his steady stare. ‘Like what?’
‘Like whether you regret giving up your life in London to run this place, and if you don’t, why are you camped out in your old bedroom?’
A stubborn frown etched between her brows, and he thought for a moment she would refuse to answer. He knew what it was like to be thrown a curve ball by circumstances, and he didn’t want her ending up feeling trapped the same way he had lately.
With a sigh she folded her arms and sat back in her chair, every line of her body rigid with tension. ‘They’d better be bloody good macarons.’
Sam grinned then removed one from the box, placed it in the centre of a plate and slid it towards her. ‘They’re very good, I promise. The toast of Paris once upon a time.’
Beth rolled her eyes at his boast. He watched carefully as her teeth sank into the gooey treat. Her eyelashes fluttered, then closed as she chewed the small bite. She swallowed, and opened her eyes, her pupils dilated to fill most of the deep-brown irises. ‘Oh, bloody hell. You weren’t kidding.’ She stuffed the other half of the macaron into her mouth.
The funny little noises she made had him crossing his legs under the table, and he slid the plate away from her. ‘Right, if you want more then start talking.’
Feeling uncomfortable at his level of insight, it was on the tip of her tongue to tell Sam to mind his own business, but the taste of the macaron still lingered, and she knew just how stubborn he could be. If she wanted more of that pistachio heaven, she’d have to give him some information in return. She sipped at her tea whilst shuffling through possible answers in her mind. There had to be a way to satisfy his nosy big-brother instincts without baring her soul to him.
Placing her mug down, she folded her hands together on the table and looked at him. He had that one-eyebrow quirk thing going on which was straight out of Annie’s playbook. ‘You look just like your mum. Everyone makes the connection with your dad and Pops because of the hair and those eyes, but when it comes to bone structure and certain mannerisms I see much more of Annie in you.’
Sam raised both eyebrows this time, and she could tell she’d caught him off guard. ‘I never really thought about it, but you’re right. Eliza looks much more like Dad than I do.’ He sat quietly for a few moments as though contemplating the idea before a look of determination narrowed his eyes. ‘Nice distraction attempt, no macaron.’
She couldn’t help but laugh. ‘I honestly wasn’t trying to put you off, you just had this expression which was pure Annie. I don’t regret leaving London. There was an accumulation of things—Charlie dumping me back in the summer, Eleanor dying and leaving me this place, and everything at work coming to a head. I wasn’t happy there anymore.’
‘What happened with Charlie?’
Surprisingly, the question didn’t bother her. After so many months of pain over the break up, all that was left now was confusion. ‘I’m not a hundred percent sure. Things seemed to be going all right, maybe we’d gone off the boil a bit, but isn’t that what happens in most relationships after a while?’ She stared into her tea. ‘He came home one night and out of the blue told me it wasn’t working for him. Packed a case and told me he’d give me a bit of time to find my own place then walked out the door.’
‘And that’s all he said? Wanker.’ She had to smile at the outrage in his tone.
‘I know it sounds ridiculous, but I was so blindsided by it I didn’t know what to say until he was halfway out the door. I tried to contact him for a few days, but he ignored my calls and messages. It was his flat and the rent was way beyond my salary, so I found some digs and moved out.’
Sam reached across the table to grasp her hand. ‘You must have been devastated. I had no idea.’
‘Well, yes and no. I was shocked, of course, and it was difficult being on my own because most of the friends I’d made in London were through him, so I was cut adrift from them too. I told Eliza and Libby, and Mum.’ She glanced up, saw the understanding in Sam’s eyes and pulled a face. ‘You can imagine how well that went down.’
‘Things are still the same between you two, then?’
She nodded. ‘Yup. Charlie had everything going for him as far as she was concerned, and I’d let him slip through my fingers.’
Beth buried her nose in the dregs of her now cold tea. Sam was too damn easy to talk to. He’d always been this steady presence growing up, taking care of her just like he did Eliza. Like a favourite jumper, being around him always made her feel cosy and warm—comfortable. Charlie had never put her at ease in the same way, and she wondered if perhaps that had been part of the problem. ‘Have you ever been in a situation where you feel like there’s a private joke you’re missing out on?’
Sam opened the box and placed another macaron on her plate. He took another one and lifted it up to study it. ‘When I first moved to Paris, no one in the kitchen was allowed to speak to me in anything other than French. I’d done all right with it at school, but the leap from basic conversation to full-on technical discussions especially in the high-pressure of a busy service was a nightmare. After the first week I was ready to quit, but then one of the guys took pity on me and we went for a drink after work. Turned out he wanted to improve his English, so we used to meet up and teach other. If it hadn’t been for him…’
‘You speak French?’ She couldn’t keep the surprise out of her voice, then immediately felt like an idiot. Of course, he’d be able to speak it after living there for a year.
‘Mais oui, mademoiselle.’
Bloody hell, that accent! A flush started at her toes and swept all the way up her body to set her cheeks on fire. Sam Barnes wasn’t the sort of man who spoke to her in seductive French tones. Or maybe he was. She risked a quick glance at him, hoping her shock wasn’t written all over her face. He’d always had those pretty eyes, but she’d taken them for granted, just part of a Sam-shaped whole.
Oh, God, if she wasn’t careful, she would end up making a prize fool of herself. Lusting over the boy next door was not a sensible life plan, and that was what she needed. She’d spent too long trying to please everyone else—her mum, Charlie, that wanker Darren—it was time to stop being a passenger in her own life, and take some control. Besides, Sam still saw her as a little girl with scraped knees who needed rescuing. Forcing her thoughts back to the topic in hand, she nibbled the edge of the macaron on her plate. ‘When I met Charlie, he had this established group of friends, they’d grown up together, gone to the same fancy private school, their parents holidayed together—you know?’
Sam picked up his empty cup and rose to switch the kettle back on. Leaning against the board, he folded his arms then nodded to her. ‘A kind of upmarket version of us lot?’
That brought a smile to her lips. ‘Yeah, only they went to the Caribbean, not the beach on their doorstep. Anyway, we met not long after I moved to London, so I didn’t really know anyone else. It was natural for us to socialise with them.’ She stopped, not sure she was making much sense. No one had ever been unkind, though it had taken a while for a couple of the women in Charlie’s circle
