so I can step into his shoes.’ Her blue-green eyes were alight as she talked. Her hair was piled on top of her head and tendrils escaped as if shaken free by a busy day.
‘Do you mind if I continue?’ she went on. ‘I’m creating a mammoth spreadsheet and I’m not quick at working out functions and sums.’ She took her cup of coffee and disappeared into the other room. He was left to muse that she’d have missed most of the Christmas build-up in her own shop by the nineteenth.
Nan found things to interest Josie and Maria in the dresser drawers and Nico could see exactly why she’d made such a fantastic foster carer. Josie was soon cutting out ladies from magazines and Maria stirring a ‘pudding’ of pasta shapes in a bowl. He watched them absorbed in their activities.
From his seat he could see Hannah gazing at her laptop. Taking his coffee, he stole into the dining room to join her. ‘I’m pretty handy with functions and sums,’ he offered, making her jump.
She rolled her eyes. ‘I can make the columns and rows add up but I need to separate out the VAT so we can reclaim conversion costs.’
He pulled out a chair. ‘Just the VAT on the total? Wouldn’t it be easier to analyse each sum ex-VAT and then total the VAT column?’
She tutted in exasperation. ‘I’ve forgotten how to do the basics. With Hannah Anna Butik I had accounting software but I’ve cancelled the monthly fee.’
‘I can help you with a template.’ He paused to sip his cooling coffee thoughtfully. ‘You’re talking in the past tense about Hannah Anna Butik.’
Her hands froze over her keys. Then she sighed, letting them drop. ‘I lost the shop.’ Her smile was so bright it almost, but not quite, outshone the tears in her eyes. She had to swallow before adding, ‘So when this project fell in my lap I thought I’d do it while I’m here with Nan.’
Nico nodded, the tears on her lashes hitting him beneath the breastbone. ‘I’m sorry. That’s … horrible.’ He wanted to hug her. Was it financial trouble? She’d been delighted when he’d merchandised Hannah Anna Butik. Her takings were supposed to have shot up but maybe it had been too little too late. That would explain her scrabbling around for work in England while she cared for Nan Heather. But where did the rich boyfriend fit into that …?
‘It is what it is.’ Her voice was rough with emotion but she transferred her gaze back to her computer screen, giving him the message that she didn’t want to say more about the business she’d loved. ‘I wish I had a magic wand. Simeon hasn’t prepared a basic financial forecast – just listed bills with “monthly” or “annually” scribbled alongside.’
His heart squeezed at her obvious determination to battle through her problems. ‘I love spreadsheets,’ he heard himself saying. ‘Why don’t you bring your laptop round after the kids have gone to bed? You can tell me what you need and I’ll do the magic.’
Her eyes widened. ‘Really?’ she croaked. The wintry dusk had fallen as they’d talked and her face was illuminated by her screen. ‘I’d love help, thank—’ Her words caught and she swallowed hard.
He patted her shoulder, pushing aside any concerns about whether spending time with a woman he should stay away from would be good for his emotional health. ‘I’m a non-working man, remember. Happy to help.’
Hannah arrived at Honeybun’s kitchen door at nine-thirty. Freezing fog had eerily blanketed the village and moisture beaded the coat she hung up. Along with a blast of chill winter air, she brought in her backpack, her laptop, paperwork, a bottle of white wine and a packet of Oreo biscuits. ‘You bought a table,’ she observed, straightening a soft blue jumper that clung. She glanced at the English farmhouse units and brass handles. ‘It’s not scrubbed pine or pippy oak but I like its clean lines.’ She patted the black table top.
‘My Swedishness came out. Try it for size.’ He took down two wine glasses and a plate for the Oreos to keep his gaze from what her jumper clung to while she set out her things.
Though she accepted a glass of wine she plunged into her record-keeping needs, outlining what was being handed over to tenants and what remained the responsibility of the landlord. It was easy stuff. He created templates while she edged her chair nearer and watched him changing formats and introducing