The Cosy Coffee Shop of Promises. Kellie Hailes
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heard the rumours. Mrs Harper was in here today saying The Bullion isn’t paying its bills, and that it’s also behind in taxes. That you’re only months away from being bankrupt and losing everything. Let me help you change that. And I promise that, once my mother has gone, I’ll release you from fiancé duties and continue to help you build a menu.’
Tony pinched the bridge of his nose. Damn. He’d hoped people hadn’t realised the dire straits he was in. But with his dad’s refusal to admit they were in trouble, then the cost of his funeral, and on top of that the modernisations and innovations of pubs in the closest villages, which had seen Rabbits Leap’s locals leaving The Bullion for more interesting pastures, money had been tight. Tighter than tight. Verging on non-existent. He was screwed. And Mel knew it.
‘So, Tony McArthur, will you marry me?’
Tony’s breath caught in his throat, like a noose round his neck, or a ring on his finger. ‘It seems I have no choice.’
‘Good.’ Mel nodded. ‘Well, it’s time for me to shut up shop, so we may as well make a start. Have you ever made lasagne?’
***
Mel picked up one of Tony’s knives and ran her finger over the blade. It was as blunt as she’d been back at the café. Her stomach had knotted up when she’d brought up his financial situation, but he’d left her no choice. She needed him as much as he needed her, and she didn’t have the time to deal with his resistance, not with her mother due to arrive on her doorstep.
‘When’s the last time these were sharpened?’ She turned to Tony who was propping open the door that separated the pub and kitchen, keeping an eye on the handful of punters who were nursing a beer.
He shrugged. ‘Not since Dad passed. And even then, he wasn’t one for the cooking. That had been Mum’s domain.’ He flicked his eyes away from her and focused them on the customers.
Was it her imagination or had Tony’s eyes misted up?
‘How old were you when your mum passed?’
‘Five.’
‘That must have been hard, not having her around.’ Mel rifled through a drawer and found a butcher’s steel and got to work sharpening the knife in preparation for her first cooking lesson.
Tony glanced down at his shoes and grunted. Followed by another shoulder shrug.
So it had been hard. Mel figured as much. She knew a thing or two about not having parents around, and she didn’t know what was worse. Having one gone for ever, or having one who came and went whenever it suited them…
She set the steel down and grabbed an onion. ‘Right, so you know how to chop an onion, don’t you?’
‘Of course I do. Pass the knife.’
Mel sighed, relieved. Since she’d followed him to the pub he’d been all monosyllabic answers and grunts. That, combined with furtive glances and plenty of space between the two of them, had made for an uncomfortable half hour. How they were going to fake a relationship in front of her mother she had no idea, but maybe the cooking would bring them together.
‘Stop!’ she cried out, registering the butchering going on in front of her. ‘What are you doing to that poor vegetable? What did it ever do to you?’
‘What do you mean, what am I doing? I’m chopping it up like you said.’
‘You’re killing it deader than dead. Who even thought to teach you how to chop a vegetable like that?’
‘Well, as we just talked about, my mother has been busy being deceased for the last couple of decades and my father’s idea of cooking involved a deep fryer and whatever came out of the bulk bags of bar food he had shipped in. So what little I know is what I’ve taught myself.’
Mel’s face flashed crimson-hot with embarrassment. ‘I’m sorry. Stupid choice of words.’
‘Don’t worry about it.’ The deep lines running between Tony’s eyes softened. ‘So, are you going to show me how to cut an onion or are you going to just stand there looking at me with that cute little face of yours all red as those tinned tomatoes?’
‘First rule of the kitchen – don’t irritate the chef by calling her cute. Now give me that knife.’
Mel took the knife off Tony, grabbed a fresh onion, chopped the top off it, halved it, then began running the knife down the length of it, making lines half a centimetre apart. When she reached the other end of the onion she spun it round and efficiently sliced it width-wise, watching with satisfaction as little cubes of onion crumbled onto the board.
‘It’s like magic.’
The wonder in Tony’s voice made her grin. It had seemed a little like magic to her the first time she’d watched a chef do it, too, but after peeling and chopping her thousandth onion in a matter of weeks it had well and truly stopped feeling magical and simply felt like second nature.
She ran her finger down the blade of the knife to clean off the last few bits of onion, then flipped the handle in Tony’s direction.
‘Your turn.’
Tony glanced sceptically at the knife, then turned the look on her.
‘It won’t bite,’ she said.
‘But you might.’
‘Not if you don’t want me to…’ Her words came out low, sweet… and there was no missing the seductive tone. Mel mentally kicked herself in the shins. What was going on with her? She was acting like… someone she never wanted to act like.
Tony’s lips quirked as his eyebrow raised in amusement. ‘Geez, Mel. Is it getting hot in here, or is it just me?’
The sparkle was back, sending the warmth that had bloomed over Mel’s face skyrocketing. ‘Yeah, it’s hot. It’s just the oven. Another rule – if a recipe says preheat the oven, preheat the oven.’ She fanned her face furiously. ‘That’s a mighty good oven you’ve got over there. Works fast.’ Stop burbling, she ordered herself. ‘Now stop gawking at me, pick up the knife and chop that onion like I showed you.’
‘Yes, Ma’am.’ Tony saluted and took the knife from her.
He held it gently, as if it might bite. The complete opposite to the confident manner with which he’d grabbed it before hacking at the onion a few minutes ago.
‘Chop off the top,’ Mel instructed, keeping her voice soft, calm, so as not to freak him out any more.
His fingers took hold of the fresh onion and held it to the board. His knuckles turned more and more white with tension the closer the knife got to its victim. His shoulders bunched up once more.
‘You don’t have to be nervous. You’ve got this. You can do it. It’s just chopping an onion. I mean, you did it before, badly, but you did it.’
The knife clattered loudly onto the stainless-steel bench as Tony took an abrupt step back.
‘What’s wrong? You’ll be fine.’
She reached out to touch his arm but he jerked it away so it was just out of reach.
‘I don’t know. I don’t know if I can do this. What if I bugger it up? What if it all goes wrong?’ His blue eyes were panicked as the words rushed out.
Mel knew he wasn’t talking about the onion. He had the look of a person who could see their future falling apart. His voice held the same fear she’d felt to her very core when her business in Leeds had started to fall over. His eyes had the same wild look she’d seen reflected back at herself every time she’d been packed up, pulled out of school and taken somewhere to start a new life.
His life was spinning out of control and he didn’t believe he could do a single thing to slow it down. But she could.
‘Here. I’ll help.’ She picked up the knife. ‘We’ll