Snowflakes at Lavender Bay. Sarah Bennett
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in their strides, he was only a few paces behind her as Libby rushed through the front door of the chip shop. The clatter of her boots on the tiled floor turned all eyes towards them, including those of the man behind the counter. Mick Stone took one look at Owen and blurted out, ‘What the hell are you doing here?’
Thankfully, Libby assumed the question was aimed at her. ‘I’ve come to help you with the late shift, what do you think I’m doing here?’ she asked as she edged past the queue to slip around the edge of the counter. ‘Give me two seconds to get my coat on.’ She placed a quick kiss on her father’s cheek and disappeared out the back.
Joining the back of the queue, Owen made a show of studying the large menu on the wall above Mick’s head. ‘I heard in the pub this is the place for the best fish and chips for miles around and I had to check it out for myself. Anyone have recommendations?’ As he’d hoped, the people ahead of him were all happy to offer an opinion and a friendly, if heated, discussion started of the merits of cod over haddock.
Libby returned, still buttoning up a white coat with her wild hair tamed beneath the ugliest hair net he’d ever seen. She took one look at him, bristled, then fixed a brilliant smile on the woman at the front of the line. ‘Evening, Rose, what’ll it be for you tonight?’
Fascinated, Owen watched as Libby and her dad paid particular attention to each and every customer. Conversations rose and fell like the tide washing on the beach as others waiting joined in with their own observations and chatter. Ten minutes later and he still hadn’t made it to the front of the queue, and to his shock it didn’t bother Owen one bit.
Had he been in London, he’d have complained long before now, would likely have already walked out in disgust at being kept waiting, but the likelihood of the scene before him unfolding in any of his local takeaways was about on a par with a unicorn charging down Kensington High Street. He’d used the Chinese at the end of his street pretty much every week for the past three years and still didn’t have a clue what the couple who ran it were called. Thanks to the ordering app on his phone, he didn’t even need to speak to them beyond giving a number and saying thank you when they handed over his usual crispy beef, chicken and pineapple with a side of special fried rice in a white carrier bag. Not that they went out of their way to be chatty, either.
There was definitely a different pace to life down here, and he would have to make some readjustments now he’d be spending more time in the bay. The deal with Sam over his restaurant had come out of nowhere. Owen had been on the hunt for an early morning coffee and come across the plans spread over the kitchen table in the pub.
A day spent poring over the plans for Subterranean had left him genuinely excited by the project. Sam had a fantastic vision, and plenty of top chefs had proven success with regional restaurants. It would be a gamble, but if they could position a couple of features in the right newspapers, the punters would flock to the coast for the chance to say they’d been the first to discover a hot new talent.
As for the chip shop, it occupied an absolute prime piece of real estate right in the centre of the promenade. Like many of the buildings along the seafront, it sprawled over three storeys, with living accommodation occupying the top two floors. He hadn’t yet decided whether he’d retain the retail space below, but with a bit of rejigging—and the requisite planning permission—the upper floors could be transformed into a couple of luxury duplexes complete with roof terraces. With some discreet planting, no one would be any the wiser about the terraces and he’d be able to provide a secluded spot for the discerning sunbather without altering the façade of the building.
His eyes strayed to Libby, red-faced from the heat as she lifted a basket of piping-hot chips from the fryer and wondered if he should tell her she’d directly influenced his plans. Her comments about ugly modern apartments changing the appearance of the promenade had stuck with him. It would be important to get the locals on side as any protests from them might put a spanner in the works. Only he couldn’t tell her anything about it, thanks to the ludicrous deal he’d struck with Mick about keeping quiet until after Christmas.
The back of his neck itched. When Mick’s ‘girl’ had been some amorphous, unknown individual, Owen hadn’t given two hoots about what she did or didn’t know about the deal. He’d never referred to her by name during their discussions and it was only during a chat with Sam that morning that Owen had put two and two together. Mick had assured him he was the sole title holder to the property since the passing of his wife, so whatever family drama selling up might cause would be his problem. He’d asked Owen to hold off so he could have one last Christmas with ‘his girl’, and as the timing had suited him, Owen had no objections.
Now he knew Libby was involved, it didn’t sit so well with him, especially when his new business partner was so closely connected to her two friends. It was clear the three women were very close, and if she objected to the sale of her childhood home and place of work, it could make things very awkward for everyone. He’d have to dig a little deeper, try and get to know Libby without giving the game away. Getting a bit closer to her wouldn’t be a hardship in the least.
It was finally his turn to be served. With a polite nod to Mick, Owen fixed a big grin on Libby who was doing her best to pretend he wasn’t there. ‘Evening, Libby.’
The glare she flicked his way all but scorched the skin off his face, but she was saved from responding by Mick. ‘You two know each other then?’
Resting one elbow on the counter, Owen turned partly towards him, but made sure to keep Libby in his eyeline. ‘Yup. We’ve met a couple of times in the pub. Just spent the evening together, haven’t we?’
Mick’s eyebrows climbed high enough to disappear beneath the brim of his white trilby as Libby made a strangled noise in her throat. She coughed, then muttered, ‘This is Owen. He’s investing in Sam’s new restaurant, they were talking about their plans while I was hanging out with Beth and Eliza.’
‘The restaurant? I didn’t know Sam was looking for a partner.’ The concern in Mick’s voice was palpable and it suddenly occurred to Owen he might think it would put their own deal in jeopardy.
‘He wasn’t. I’m staying at the pub while I follow up on another investment opportunity and I kind of stumbled across the plans. I’ve got room in my portfolio for both, and Sam’s vision for Subterranean is very exciting.’ He made sure to hold Mick’s gaze as he emphasised ‘another’ hoping he would understand he was referring to his purchase of the chip shop. Bloody hell, talking about something whilst not being obvious he was talking about it was too much like hard work. Surely Mick couldn’t mean to keep this up until after Christmas?
Mick visibly relaxed, much to Owen’s relief. ‘He’s a grand cook, is Sam. I’m sure he’ll make a roaring success of the place.’
‘And he was singing your praises, too. Told me you serve the best fish and chips in the county, so I’m sure you’ll have something here to satisfy my appetite.’ Owen aimed his last remark squarely at Libby and was rewarded with a hot blush, and another of those fantastically filthy glares for his trouble. She had spirit in spades, and he wanted all that fire inside her focused on him. ‘What does the lady recommend?’
Narrowing her eyes, Libby reached for a vicious-looking two-pronged fork and used it to spear a battered sausage with enough force to make Owen glad there was a solid counter between them. Oblivious to the tension between them, Mick shook his head. ‘We can do a bit better than that. How does a large cod and chips sound, Owen?’
Not wishing to be rude, Owen turned his attention to Mick. ‘Sounds great, thanks very much.’ He watched as Libby returned the poor abused sausage to the warming container before dishing up a huge portion of chips upon which she laid a long cod fillet wrapped in a pale golden batter. His stomach gave an appreciative rumble as the scent of the hot food hit him.
‘Salt and vinegar?’
He waited to reply until she lifted her eyes to meet his. ‘Lovely.’ Her lips twitched in spite of herself and Owen wanted to pump his fist at winning even that tiny reaction from her. ‘And I’ll take a Diet Coke as well, please.’
Mick