Gran. Make her coffee. She used to bake everything and serve, and I’d box all the orders and clear up.”
“There were only two of you?”
Dash nodded. “We had a girl—Esme—come in for Saturdays and the holidays to cover the front so Gran could make the cakes, but the store always closed at two, shut on Sundays and Wednesdays.”
“Well, that certainly doesn’t sound like nothing much,” Jensen mused. “And what did you like doing at home?”
Dash smiled. “The garden,” he said reverently. “Gran loved growing all her own veg. It got too much for her, so I used to do most of it.”
“That sounds like hard work.”
Dash sagged. He’d tried, but it wasn’t enough. “I was happy.” And it had seemed wrong.
“Did you finish school?”
Dash hesitated. “I got my diploma.” Gran had made sure of it.
Dash’s phone ringing made him jump, and he hastily scrambled off Jensen’s knee. Barely four people had his number, and—
“Dash?”
Dash’s heart sank. It was Mr. Wright. “Hello, sir.”
“I need your things collected. Tracey’s coming home from college, and I need the space. We said the first, and I’ve been generous while you sold the cottage. I need it gone.”
Dash opened his mouth to reply, but there was nothing he could think of to say. Collect his things? And put them where?
Then Jensen gently took the phone off him and shot him a warm smile before speaking. “Mr. Wright? I’m Jensen Carmichael, a friend of Dash’s. If you could give me your address, I’ll arrange for them to be collected.” He listened for a moment, then rattled off a phone number which Dash knew was his. “Perfect. Shall we say twelve?”
Jensen pressed the button to end the call and looked over at Dash. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have assumed.”
“But where am I going to put everything?” Dash sounded panicky even to his own ears.
“What are we talking about here? Clothes, personal items? Furniture?”
Dash glanced away. He wished. “There’s no furniture.”
Jensen gave him another squeeze. “Then let’s get to it.” Jensen looked like he was waiting for Dash to add something.
“I sold the furniture with the house.”
And it had nearly killed him. All he’d kept were Gran’s baking box, a couple of boxes of things Gran had kept he knew were his, and his clothes. The only jewelry she had was a wedding ring, and that was on the chain he wore around his neck.
“What’s the matter?” Dash felt Jensen lift his chin gently until he had no choice but to look at him.
But Dash didn’t know where to start. He couldn’t tell Jensen what a failure he was, even if it was more than obvious anyway. “I’m causing you so much trouble.”
“Nobody can get everything right all of the time. My first restaurant went bankrupt seven months after we opened. I hadn’t done my homework properly, and the area it was in was due to be redeveloped. We were without parking for three months, and it finished us off.” Jensen heaved a sigh. “It set me back about four years, but worse, Ellie had remortgaged her house and thanks to me she nearly lost it. If Mimi hadn’t remortgaged this place for us, she would have lost her home.” Jensen swallowed. “Trust me, nothing you could do could be as bad as that.”
But it could. It had. It was a million times worse, and when Jensen found out, he would despise Dash.
“I can go and get your things on my own,” Jensen said. “In fact, I think it might be easier on you.”
“No, I couldn’t.” Dash heaved a horrified breath. “I—I need to. It wouldn’t be fair.”
Jensen just waited calmly while Dash ran out of protests, and Dash bit his lip to stop any more spilling out of his mouth. He was such a baby.
“Do you really want to go, or are you just worried it will inconvenience me?”
Dash swallowed.
“How about if I compromise?” Jensen mused. “How about if we send a cab to pick the boxes up, then neither of us have to go?”
“But—”
“I have a regular car service that isn’t that expensive.” But Dash doubted that. It was also very tempting. Not having to go. Not having to pass Gran’s house. Not having to explain anything or answer the hundred questions Mr. Wright would fire at him. And even better, Jensen not going on his own.
Dash didn’t think he’d actually answered Jensen, but in another moment Jensen was on the phone to someone else and issuing clear instructions.
“Right.” Jensen pocketed his phone. “That’s taken care of.”