wearing cagoules and trainers issue apologies and make way for another woman. It’s like they’re never-ending.
“I need a word with you,” I say before he can get distracted. Believe me, it’s necessary. There’s so much demanding his attention around here that I’m surprised he even manages to breathe.
He smiles as an old woman puts an arm around my waist and pulls me more into the frame.
“It’s a bit like going out with Fifty Cent,” he muses as more flashes go off.
“More like loose change,” I mutter, thinking of the latest gas bill.
He laughs before glancing at the old people who are now gathering back around June. “I’d say Tom Jones, looking at your fan base,” he whispers.
I shake my head. “Have you got time to come with me?”
“Where?”
“Out for a drive. We can have a chat.”
He straightens up. “I’ve got to take this case to the tea rooms. Can you walk and talk instead?”
“Oh.” I falter. “I thought you’d be finished by now for the day.”
I can’t do this as part of a walk and talk to the tea rooms. It wouldn’t exactly make for a memorable moment. I’ve got a picnic basket in the boot of the car stuffed with food from the local deli that he loves. There’s also a bottle of champagne in a bag of ice. I thought I’d whisk him off to the spot high up on the cliffs around Boscastle that he loves and I’d propose there.
I swallow hard. I’m ridiculously nervous. I know he loves me. I feel it in my heart every day. But I’m not sure what he’ll think of marriage. He’s never expressed a yearning for it and displays no interest either way. However, I know myself. I want to see the pretty ring I have in my pocket on his finger, where he can look at it every day and know how much I adore him.
He pauses. “You okay?” he asks with a note of concern in his voice.
“I’m fine, Pika,” I say automatically. “I just need to talk to you. It’s not urgent,” I finish somewhat unconvincingly.
He stares at me for a second, his keen gaze probably seeing right through me. Then he inclines his head. “Let me drop this off with Mrs Granger, and we’ll go out.”
I shoot him a grateful smile, and he winks and turns towards the back door that leads onto the gravel path to the tea rooms.
I follow him, taking the time to appreciate the sight of his arse in his jeans properly. High and tight, it’s also perfectly rounded, and it makes my mouth water. We have a lot of sex, so it still takes me by surprise how he can make me hard at a glance from him or just catching the scent of ginger from his aftershave.
The tea rooms are a hive of activity as always. Megan on the counter is busily ringing up orders, while the two girls from the village scurry around delivering food. Mrs Granger has been a huge hit, and the cakes and cream teas at Chi an Mor are becoming well known in the area. Oz employed a girl to help her, and they make a great team. Then last year he added a chef with the remit that he make hearty homemade food. I always try to stop in when I know he’s cooked cottage pie, and sometimes Oz will bring home dishes for me when I’ve been working late.
I follow Oz’s lithe form as he edges his way adeptly through the crowd, exchanging smiles and chatter as he walks behind the counter and crouches down to start filling the fridge with the juice.
I crouch down to help him, and he grins at me. “Busy today, eh?” he says, his eyes sparkling with delight. He rubs his hands. “Lots of money,” he whispers.
I snort. “You’re turning into Harry Enfield.”
“That character would have been a hell of a lot louder if he’d had a bill to replace the windows in the east wing too.”
Once we’re done, he rises from his crouch and goes over to check with Megan that they have everything they need. Leaning against the counter, I look around the room. I remember this as the stables and being full of horses when my grandfather was alive. The old bastard had died when a horse threw him, which Henry has always insisted was because the animal had got tired of our grandfather’s personality.
Three tables have been pulled together, and the members of the