Page 18 of Barging In

C lem stretched back in her chair, propping her feet on the gunwale and tilting her face towards the welcome warmth of the sunshine.

After two days off, she felt mildly refreshed, even if it had been a long and busy Friday.

The lunchtime rush had become so frantic that Max popped his head in to ask if she needed help.

She had promptly set him to work on the espresso machine.

Now she was looking forward to the scrumpy he’d promised to bring over once he closed up.

The break had given her space to breathe and reflect on how things were going.

She’d realised she could use a backup traybake for later in the afternoons.

Customers had been asking for something savoury around lunchtime, so she’d added sausage rolls and cheese scones to the menu.

They’d sold out in fifty minutes flat. It was amazing what ideas came to mind with a bit of downtime.

The relaxing cruise she’d planned on the first day of her break had been a complete washout.

The heavy rain that had been forecast for late morning had arrived early, so she’d turned around and gone home.

Standing at the tiller in the pouring rain wasn’t her idea of relaxation.

It only served to reinforce the nagging feeling that maybe she wasn’t cut out for boating life.

Had she grown up with some nostalgic, rose-tinted view of it?

She’d only lived on a boat until she was five and remembered little of it, but she’d spent plenty of time aboard The Kingfisher’s Rest , which she’d thoroughly enjoyed.

Of course, that had felt more like a holiday, with her mum handling the meals and her dad doing the heavy work.

Her own contributions were limited to the occasional bit of piloting and opening a few locks.

The Kingfisher’s Rest was also luxurious, and although Florence had been newly refurbished, she couldn’t compete with the space and comfort of a twelve-foot wide-beam. Living in your workplace, she was discovering, also made quite a difference.

The weather wasn’t the only reason she regretted leaving the jetty that morning.

It had resulted in an awkward encounter with Victoria.

Less than twenty-four hours after vowing to avoid her, she’d spotted Victoria on the towpath.

There was no getting past her unseen. On foot, one could turn around and slip away unnoticed.

Gliding along a thin stretch of water on a bright orange narrowboat, there was no escape.

Sailing past her at a glacial pace, she had felt compelled to acknowledge the woman.

What was intended to be a brief nod instead became a long stare.

Victoria had that older-woman sexiness wrapped up in confidence, and it made Clem’s brain stall for a moment.

It might have been the cause of the inane smile on her face as she cruised away.

Hopefully, Victoria hadn’t noticed from so far away.

On her second day off, she’d struggled to keep her mind off the woman and ended up deep-cleaning Florence before beginning her evening bake. Cleaning was good for the soul, not to mention a welcome break from a relentless queue of customers.

She’d done her best to move on from the awkward encounters with Victoria and had avoided checking her ratings since.

But now, pulling out her phone, Clem decided it was time.

As much as it grated her to not have the full five stars, it was probably best for business.

It was unrealistic to be that perfect, and it stank of paid reviews.

Bad feedback was always useful — if it was genuine, anyway.

It often pointed to areas that needed improvement.

Victoria had added a comment to the one-star reviews.

She’d stated that as the director of Otterford Wharf, she suspected they were the work of a disgruntled former employee, adding, I would encourage anyone to try Clem’s Coffee I promise.”

There was a dampness on her forehead and a tremble in her voice when she spoke.

Her blue eyes were unreadable, like she was half there, half tangled in deep thought.

There was something so magnetic about her that Clem pushed her buzzing thoughts aside.

Something was wrong, and her heart squeezed with concern.

“Are you okay?” Clem asked, brushing her hair from her shoulders.

“No, not really,” Victoria admitted. “I’m a catering manager down, and I’m hosting a party of fifty tomorrow afternoon, which I need to cater. Christine’s parting gift was cancelling the entire food order. To top it off, a couple of members of staff left with her.”

“Shit.”

“Precisely,” Victoria said with a heavy breath. “Look… can we start again?”

“I’d like that,” Clem said, unable to prevent the smile that was forming on her lips.

She stood and offered her hand, gesturing with her head to the boat. Victoria blinked; then, as if noticing she was being invited aboard, she stepped onto the gunwale and took Clem’s hand. Her skin was soft, softer than Clem had expected, and her grip was vice-like as she descended into the bow.

“Thank you.”

Clem gestured to her empty chair. “Sit.” When Victoria hesitated, she added, “Now.” She smiled, realising she was echoing Victoria’s exact words from earlier in the week. Why had she remembered them so precisely?

Victoria smiled, too, as if she was having the same thought, and lowered herself into the seat.

Max jumped up and offered his chair to Clem, then perched on the gunwale with his glass.

“Thanks,” Clem said, turning the chair to face Victoria better, still unsure what exactly she was doing here. “Victoria, this is Max, he owns the neighbouring boat.”

Victoria gave him a nod. “Hi.” She turned her attention to the bottle on the small table. What’s that?”

“Scrumpy,” Max said. “Want a glass?”

Clem noticed a slight tremble in Victoria’s hands. The scrumpy was pretty good at settling any anxiety, but something told her Victoria might need an entire vat of it.

Victoria nodded. “Please. ”

Clem turned to Max. “Could you grab—” Before she could ask him to grab a glass from inside, Victoria had picked up Clem’s half-full glass and downed it in one go.

She coughed, eyes watering, then wiped away the alcohol-induced tears. “Wow, that has a kick.”

“Max brews it,” Clem said with a grin.

Victoria gave him a nod of acknowledgement. “Don’t let my curator, Jasper, find out. He has a thing for cider — the stronger, the better.”

Clem shot a smirk and a wink at a grinning Max.

Victoria shifted in her seat. “I know I have no right to ask for your help, but here I am. I’ll cut to the chase. I need cake, and I need it tomorrow. Can you help?”

“Oh, erm — what exactly do you need?”