Rosaline Palmer Takes the Cake (Winner Bakes All #1) - Alexis Hall Page 0,92
“Liv . . . what’s your . . . I mean . . . I don’t . . . what do you do?”
“I run a small interior design firm.” She draped one immaculate leg over the other. “It’s how I met Alain, actually. There was a Georgian country house near Oxford that the owners wanted renovated.”
“I was the outside,” added Alain, “she was the inside.”
Liv nodded, her edged smile reminding Rosaline faintly of Alain. “Which meant I was charged with installing a full range of modern conveniences in a listed building without sacrificing either comfort or the original aesthetic. And Alain put a big pond in the garden.”
“As I recall”—Alain’s tone perfectly bisected the boundary between teasing and deadly serious—“I reimagined several hectares of eighteenth-century landscaping while you spent the whole time saying ‘I think we’ll just leave that as it is.’”
“Actually,” Liv cut over him, “leaving things as they were was the most difficult part of the job. Because the house was intended for a family, I needed to make sure that whatever original features were maintained formed part of an environment that would speak to a child throughout their development. Inspiration is such an important part of a child’s life, don’t you agree?”
Rosaline blinked, slightly dazed and uncertain whether this had been the friendly kind of bickering or the kind that led to everyone going home in separate taxis. “Well. Yes. I suppose so. Do you have children, then?”
“Oh heavens no.” Liv’s horrified laugh echoed off the exposed brickwork of Some Kind of Cocktail Bar. “I was speaking purely professionally.”
As far as Rosaline was concerned, speaking about children without having children was speaking very much as an amateur. “To be honest, I think kids can find their own inspiration pretty well. I mean, my daughter is into deep-sea fish at the moment, and before that it was Norse mythology.”
There was a pause. “You have a daughter?” asked Liv in that What went wrong in your life? voice.
“Did Alain not mention that?”
“He did not.” She turned an arch look on Alain. “What else have you been hiding?”
He smirked. “That’s for me to know, and for you to find out.”
Rosaline glanced between them. “So, what has he told you about me?”
“Not very much. You know what he’s like. He’s not the kiss-and-tell sort.”
“Which means,” Rosaline pointed out, “he did mention kissing.”
“I mentioned kissing. He demurred. But he did say you went to Cambridge, you’re very pretty, and he likes you very much.”
Shading his eyes with his hand, Alain shifted uncomfortably. “You’re embarrassing me, Liv.”
“I’m intending to, Alain. You’re rather adorable when you like a girl.”
“Ah yes,” he said wryly. “Adorable is exactly how an adult man wants an adult woman to see him.”
“I’m sorry, darling.” Liv did not sound at all repentant. “And Rosaline, you don’t have anything to worry about. He’s been nothing but uncharacteristically sweet about you. He said you’re fun and brave and doing well in the baking competition. In fact, if I didn’t know him better, I’d think he was a little bit jealous.”
“I’m not jealous,” Alain insisted. “I just had one bad week that I now regret telling you about.”
Rosaline’s cocktail was finally delivered by a penguin on day release, and she took a slightly needy sip. It was fine. Probably not worth the exorbitant cost, but definitely summery. “He’s got nothing to be jealous about. He’s doing far better than I am.”
“I suppose”—Liv reached for her own drink—“it must add at least the tiniest charge to the relationship, being in competition.”
Alain rolled his eyes. “We’re not in competition, Liv.”
“Well, that’s very magnanimous of you.” With one finger, Liv traced the rim of her glass, making it sing. “Especially since we both know Alain is competitive AF.”
Did Rosaline know that? Looking back, she thought she probably did know it, but maybe didn’t know she knew it. Also, who said “AF” in real life?
“I’m not competitive”—Alain was pouting slightly and not wholly playfully—“I just set myself high standards. And I wouldn’t have invited Rosaline to meet you if I’d known you were going to gang up on me.”
Liv’s gaze darted briefly to Rosaline and back again. “Sorry, Alain. Us girls have to stick together.”
It was a principle that Rosaline mostly agreed with—although she wasn’t quite sure how it applied to two friends snarking at each other over cocktails.
“But anyway.” Liv leaned conspiratorially forward. “Enough about us. Tell me something about Rosaline-um-Palmer that’ll surprise me.”