Rosaline Palmer Takes the Cake (Winner Bakes All #1) - Alexis Hall Page 0,61

don’t tell my mates.”

She gave him an incredulous look. “Come on, it’s just a football game.”

“Mate, you do not get it. Better dead than red.”

With a Sydney Carton sigh, Harry began trudging back to the house. And nestling the crab safely into her luggage, Rosaline scanned the horizon for any sign of St. John Palmer.

She’d been waiting for ten of what she expected to be at least twenty minutes when her phone buzzed.

We seem to have missed each other, Alain had sent. I very much enjoyed the weekend.

If he’d enjoyed it that much, why hadn’t he managed to see her before he left? Except it was impossible to ask without sounding needy, passive-aggressive, or shrewish. So, in the end, she went with me too. Which, while bland, was impossible to take negatively.

Sorry, I was in a bit of a mood last night.

He had, indeed, been in a bit of a mood. And if his sudden disappearance was anything to go by, was in a bit of a mood today as well. But, once again, she didn’t particularly want to confront him with it. She was very out of the loop on dating, but she didn’t think “have sex a few times and then start complaining at someone” was a good way to kick off a relationship.

I understand. We all have bad days.

If I haven’t put you off, I’d love to see you this week. I’ve just come to the end of a contract so I’ve got some free time at the moment.

Could she get babysitting? Lauren was already doing a lot for her, and she couldn’t ask her parents twice in a row. But maybe if it was Thursday—Amelie had karate on Thursday, so she’d be out for most of the evening anyway.

There’s a lovely little pub in the village. We could have lunch. Go for a walk. Or not go for a walk. Sit in my garden. Practise our bakes. I’ve recently had the kitchen re-done so you’re more than welcome to take advantage. A pause. Of the kitchen. And anything else that takes your fancy.

It sounded so exactly what she needed. A little bit romantic, a little bit sexy. Taking the time to be alone with someone who was into her and liked the same things she did. But could she get the day off work? Could she afford to?

That all sounds great, she texted back. I just need to sort some things out first.

Absolutely.

Can I let you know Tuesday?

Looking forward to it.

Sticking her phone back in her pocket, Rosaline plonked herself down on a wall and watched the few wisps of cloud drift across the slowly setting sun. She wanted to feel more excited—this was a date, a proper date, not a stress-relieving on-set hookup—but the logistics. God, the logistics.

Immediately her mind began spinning through everything she’d need to put in place: she’d have to ask Lauren to come a day early, ask her manager to move her shift, and move it where? She was already taking weekends off. She’d have to let the community centre know that someone else would be picking Amelie up from karate and, for that matter, let the school know someone else would be picking her up from school. And, of course, she’d have to tell Amelie she’d be away for another day, which Amelie would accept but not like, and, fuck, was she being a bad mother? Running away to be with some guy in his garden instead of looking after her child like she was meant to. Or did worrying about that make her a bad feminist? Was she a bad mother and a bad feminist? And would Amelie like Alain? She liked him, but she wasn’t an eight-year-old girl. And while there were lots of good things to say about Alain, he definitely wasn’t an anglerfish. Or a Viking.

On top of which she somehow had to find time, space, and energy to make an awful lot of biscuits.

And all this stress and chaos because a guy she liked had invited her to a pretty village for a baking-themed booty call? Surely there’d been a time in her life when good news hadn’t fucked with her head this much.

Week Four

Biscuits

Thursday

ALAIN LIVED IN a chocolate-box English village called Something-on-the-Wold or Whatever-on-the-Water, which was sufficiently hard to get to by train that Rosaline had been forced to choose between travelling at an inconvenient time or for several hours. Having plumped for “inconvenient time,” she had arrived at Thingummy-on-the-Thinagammy station at five to