The Cosy Coffee Shop of Promises. Kellie Hailes
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‘I’m sorry I bought the coffee machine. Actually, I’m not. But I’m sorry you had to find out about it like that.’
‘Not much of an apologiser, are you?’
He at least had the good grace to look slightly ashamed.
‘Well, I’m hoping we can come to an arrangement about it.’
‘Really? How about I arrange for it to be removed and you go back to bartending?’
‘How about you teach me how to use it… and maybe even teach me how to cook?’
Mel couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Was Tony mentally deficient?
‘Cook? What are you on?’
‘That smell, what is it?’
Mel sniffed the air and remembered she had lamb shanks slow-cooking in a tomato balsamic jus in the back kitchen.
‘That’s my dinner.’
‘It smells amazing.’
‘Don’t try and distract me.’ She waved her hand in impatience. ‘Why would I teach you my whole trade? Coffee and baking? I’d be out of business within weeks.’
‘No, I don’t want to know how to bake. I’m talking about learning to cook real food, like whatever it is you’ve got going back there.’ Tony’s eyes sparkled with excitement.
Mel could almost see the ideas forming in his head. His whole demeanour was changing in front of her eyes, energy fair sparking off his disturbingly muscular body.
‘You’ve seen the food we do at The Bullion. It’s all deep-fried and artery-clogging. I need to get with the times, update the menu, make it appealing, maybe even get entertainment in on special nights, see if I can’t pull in a few more punters. Turn the place into a tourist attraction, or something. Which would be good for your business, too...’
Tony leaned forward and placed his hand over hers.
Pull away.
But she couldn’t. Tony’s fingers tightened around the outer edges of her fist, warm, strong, capable. Hands that knew how to work. Weren’t afraid of getting dirty…
Did he work out, she mused, as her eyes travelled up the length of his legs and settled on his stomach. Was there a six-pack hiding beneath that grey T-shirt? Strongly defined, hard thighs underneath those denims? Biceps made for picking a woman up and pinning her to a wall…
Get it together, girl! She squeezed her eyes shut, hoping not seeing Tony would stop those unneeded images forming in her head. It didn’t work. Was this the effect he had on women? Is that why he was known for having a string of them? Was he truly irresistible?
‘So are you going to help me? Or are you too busy meditating over there?’
Mel tugged her hand out from under his and rubbed her face wearily. It had been a long day. Between her mother’s announcement sending her stomach into free-fall and the revelation that the man sitting opposite her had decided to pit himself against her in the business stakes, she was ready to go to bed. Alone.
‘What’s in it for me?’ Mel opened her eyes to see Tony giving her a charming smile.
‘The pleasure of my company?’
‘I’m not seeing anything pleasurable about your company.’ The lie came quick and easy.
‘Well, maybe it’s time you did.’ Tony’s teasing tone was back. ‘Look, how about this for a deal. You help me create a dinner menu, maybe show me how to make a decent coffee…’
Mel’s eyebrows shot up, her hackles rising.
‘…and I promise to not serve the java until your café closes at…’
‘Three.’
‘Three it is.’
‘I still don’t feel like it’s a good enough deal for me to give you this much help…’
‘Any wine you drink at the pub will be free for the duration of your help?’
The teasing tone was tinged with desperation. Tony had alluded to things not going great, things needing fixing, but maybe he was in deeper than he was willing to let on? And maybe – an idea flitted about her mind – he could help her with her latest drama, the drama that was about to blow into town any day now…
‘Okay. I’m insane for doing this, I’ll probably regret it with every fibre of my being, but okay. I’ll help you… but you’ve got to do one more thing for me.’
‘Anything. Just name it.’
Mel screwed up her courage and forced the words out before she could talk herself out of them. ‘I need you to be my fiancé.’
The scrape of metal on wooden floor filled the café as Tony pushed the chair away from the table and sprang up. ‘Woah, hold on there, Mel. You’re moving a little fast for me. Learning a few tips and tricks in the kitchen in exchange for getting married? I usually like to have a couple of dates first, be given flowers, chocolates, maybe even a diamond ring…’ he joked, hoping to see her demeanour lighten up.
He waited for Mel’s shoulders to sink. They didn’t.
Looked for her serious eyes to lighten. They remained serious.
‘Mel, this is the bit where you lightly elbow me in the stomach and tell me you’re joking.’
Mel stood up and folded her arms over her chest. ‘But I’m not joking. You need to be my fiancé if you want me to teach you how to cook. It’s this deal or no deal.’
Tony levelled his gaze at Mel What was she playing at? ‘You’re dreaming, Mel. Literally. I don’t do girlfriends. And I don’t do fiancées. Ever. There’s not a girl in this world who could make me settle down.’
Mel clapped a hand to her forehead and groaned. ‘Oh my God, not a real fiancé, you crazy man. There’s no way I’d put my heart in your hands, I’ve heard what people say about you, you know.’
Tony shrugged, unabashed. He knew what people said about him. It was the truth. He didn’t stick around, and he didn’t make promises he couldn’t keep. His father had shown him what heartbreak looked like, and he didn’t want to be in the position to repeat it. That meant love was off the table.
‘I don’t understand. Why do you need a fake fiancé? What for? To get back at the vet? The one who’s on a whole other continent, probably with his arm up a rhino’s butt right now?’
Mel closed her eyes as if trying to centre herself. ‘God, she’s not even here and I’m being sucked into her maelstrom,’ she mumbled under her breath.
‘Her? Who’s her?’ He took a step away from Mel. Then another. The café’s door was only a few metres away; maybe he could make his escape and forget any of this had ever happened. He’d find another way to save The Bullion, to keep it out of some grabby, money-hungry estate agents’ hands. Maybe he’d just have to return the coffee machine? Get the money back. Pay the rates. But then what? There’d only be more rates to come, and no money to pay them. No. He had to think bigger. He had to do everything in his power to attract back the locals, and to maybe even attract those from nearby villages.
Mel bit down on her lip. ‘Her is my mother. I need a fake fiancé for when my mother arrives.’ She opened her eyes and met his gaze. Didn’t even flinch when he gave her his best ‘are you for real?’ look.
‘So let me get this straight. In exchange for teaching me to cook proper pub food and for letting me serve coffee after 3 pm, I have to be your fake fiancé for the duration of your mother’s stay? I just don’t think it’s