Page 17 of Christmas at the Little Cornish Bakery

‘Lola, what’s up?’ Tristan asked as he threw open the kitchen door early the following morning, his eyes skittering across her face searchingly. ‘Are you OK? Sorry, I’ve just seen your text. I was out like a light last night.’

The flash of concern in his eyes hit Lola right in the centre of her chest, causing her words to dry up and her hands to pause in the middle of mixing a batch of scones.

They stared at each other across the kitchen as Tristan caught his breath and Lola regained her composure.

She shivered as the cold air curled around her, causing Tristan to close the door and step inside.

‘Yes, I’m fine, all good,’ Lola said as she left the mixing bowl and went to wash her hands. ‘Cup of tea?’ she asked to bide her time as she flicked the kettle on.

‘Is this going to need tea?’ A wary look crossed his face as he unzipped his coat.

‘Everything needs tea, Vicar.’ She gave him a saucy wink before faltering – this probably wasn’t the right moment for flirtation. ‘It’s about Nannie Ruby,’ she explained.

Tristan’s exhale of relief did not go unnoticed. The fact that he’d been worried that something had happened to her scrambled Lola’s thoughts.

He pushed his hands through his hair. ‘Yes, go on. What have you found?’

‘The diary is in my handbag. Go on, get it out – I’ve put a bookmark in – and have a look yourself.’

Tristan hesitated before reaching into Lola’s bag and pulling out the book. He perched on the stool by the back door and began to read whilst Lola made the tea. Sneaking glances over at him, she took in his reactions to the words as the truth came to light on the pages.

‘Charlie?’ he asked with disbelief, his eyes moving from the book to Lola’s and back again. ‘It’s not . . .’

Lola moved towards him and peered over his shoulder at the words, the scent of his aftershave assailing her, making her head swim.

He smelled good. Resisting the temptation to bury her nose in his neck, Lola stepped back at the same time he turned and caught her eyes.

‘I wondered the same. Charlie. Charles.’ She shrugged. ‘Or am I jumping to wild conclusions?’

Tristan flicked forward a few pages before remembering it wasn’t his place to look. Passing the book back to Lola, he said gently, ‘I don’t think they’re too wild, it could be the same person.’

Lola’s stomach plummeted. She knew what fate had befallen Charles. Alf’s words at the memorial service swam back up and stung her. Something about needing money for a woman.

‘You remember what Alf said .?.?. I don’t think he approved.’ She chose her words carefully, trying not to speculate. ‘We need to know what Charlie looked like. Need to see if he’s the same guy in the photo with Ruby.’

Tristan considered this. ‘I can have another look, see if there’s anything in the local history books or parish records. There’s some old photo albums in the office that I’ve never looked at. I could try them?’

‘Could you?’ She slipped the book back into the safety of her handbag. ‘It’s just, I’m worried Ruby might have been the woman Alf said Charles needed money to run away with and we all know how that ended . . .’

Heartbreak, loss, grief. For a split second Lola thought Tristan was about to reach out to her but he caught himself just in time. Her face felt the ghost of his almost touch.

‘Anything for you, Lola,’ he said softly, the words like a caress.

‘Thank you.’ She passed him his tea. ‘It’s that or ask Alf and I’m not ready, not yet. I’ve still got so much left to read.’

Tristan nodded his understanding. ‘I’ll have a look this morning. Are you coming to decorate your tree for the festival later?’

‘Oh! Yes! Of course,’ Lola bluffed. She’d half forgotten about it. ‘Three o’clock? I’ll ask Freya to cover.’

‘Perfect.’ He smiled. ‘I can’t wait to see what your tree will look like.’

‘Me too,’ she laughed, ‘and I look forward to seeing what’s in those dusty old albums.’

Their eyes caught and slowly their gazes explored each other’s face, searching without quite snagging on the moment.

Lola settled into Tristan’s calming presence and was warmed by the idea that if they tore down the boundaries they were pretending to defend, every morning could be like this, intimate in its simple ordinariness.

Tea and chatter. Lola felt as if she had been presented with what she had been searching for.

Peace and companionship. Friendship that flirted around the edges of love.