Page 2 of Cupcakes and Kisses in Micklewick Bay

Sucking in a deep breath, she set off, hurrying along the street of two-up, two-down terraced houses, unzipping her bag and rummaging for her sunglasses, warm air rushing over her skin.

If she put her best foot forward, she could get to the Jolly in twenty minutes, provided she didn’t melt into a sweaty puddle beforehand, that is.

She had so much to share with her friends and was eager to get their opinion on a couple of things. Her heart fluttered at the thought.

It wasn’t until she was striding along the top promenade of Micklewick Bay on the North Yorkshire Coast, her feet pounding over the flagstone pavement, that Jasmine’s thoughts had steadied sufficiently to allow herself time to process her day, and in particular, that phone call.

Excitement fizzed through her as she replayed the conversation in her mind.

Oh, my days! She could hardly believe it – she’d actually had to pinch herself several times to prove she hadn’t been dreaming or hallucinating!

Things had suddenly taken off with her celebration cake-baking business in a way she could only ever have dreamt of and, much as she didn’t want to tempt fate or jinx herself, she hoped it was a sign that her life was about to turn a corner.

And boy, did it feel good. She’d sent her friends a brief text earlier, hinting that she had something big to tell them.

Their enthusiastic replies suggested their interest had been thoroughly piqued and she couldn’t wait to share the details with them.

She gave in to the smile that had started tugging at her mouth.

It didn’t matter one jot to Jasmine that her hair was sticky with icing sugar or that sunlight glinted off the edible glitter that had found its way to the tip of her nose and the dusting that decorated her left eyebrow.

It was par for the course. Nothing could dampen her spirits tonight – not even her former in-laws, and that was saying something.

She elbowed the recent toxic encounter with them out of her mind before it had a chance to take root.

It wasn’t as if anything she ever said to Gary and Alice Forster made any difference and their latest accusation, of her still hanging on to some of Bart’s stuff, was just the latest in a long line of hassle she’d had with them.

But Jasmine wasn’t going to give their spite and negativity the tiniest bit of headspace, especially tonight.

Tonight was all about positive vibes only.

She strode on, arms swinging, as the mellow evening sun shone down from a clear blue sky.

The town was still bustling with day-trippers and locals making the most of the fine weather.

Upping her pace, she glanced to her left, taking in the stunning vista that stretched out before her.

A handful of fishing boats bobbed about on the waves that sparkled in the sunshine where seagulls dipped and dived, their cries carrying over the water.

But what dominated the view was the precipitous range of cliffs that held the North Sea at bay along this stretch of the North Yorkshire coastline.

Taking centre stage was the rugged broad shoulders of the iconic Thorncliffe that loomed over the cove where the higgledy-piggledy cottages of Old Micklewick huddled close together, and the Jolly sat stoically facing out to sea.

The beach below swept around in a dramatic arc of golden sand, reaching all the way along to where work on the new marina was underway, transforming the fortunes of the once tired part of town.

The skeletal shapes of industrial Teesside further up the coast seemed incongruous juxtaposed against such an idyllic seaside scene.

Jasmine loved her hometown and couldn’t imagine living anywhere else, not least because her family and best friends were here; after her children, they were what mattered most in her life and she loved them all dearly.

She soon reached Skitey Bank, the steep road that wound its way down to the bottom prom and the beach beyond, and hurried along it, almost tripping over her own feet in her haste – despite its steep ratio, it was far easier than the alternative of tripping down the uneven range of one hundred and ninety-nine steps.

She’d taken a tumble down them several times before in her rush to get to the Jolly.

The extra traffic snaking up and down the bank was a reflection of the beautiful weather the seaside town had been blessed with that week.

Beads of sweat prickled her brow as she scurried by boats and the precariously stacked lobster pots by the sea wall, weaving her way through clusters of people ambling along at a leisurely pace, the hush of the tide idly lapping at the shore in the background.

Up ahead, the characterful, whitewashed building that was the Jolly came into view, triggering a wave of relief that her destination was within reach.

Even from here she could see the outside seating area was heaving with customers, with every table taken.

As she drew closer, the jaunty sound of a fiddle floated towards her, accompanied by the familiar tones of the folk band that played there every Friday.

It was joined by the tempting smell of fish and chips that wafted under her nose, making her stomach growl, reminding her she’d only had a banana for her lunch which seemed like an age ago.

Jasmine had found that the sweet scent of the sugar paste and icing sugar took the edge off her appetite while she was busy cake-decorating, and she had to make a concerted effort to remind herself to grab something quick to eat just to keep from flagging.

Stepping inside the pub, she wasn’t in the least bit surprised to be met with a wall of people.

It was always a popular spot, in no small part because of landlady Mandy’s fish and chips which were legendary and had recently won an award for being the best in town – from the corner of her eye, Jasmine had caught the chalkboard on the wall outside proclaiming the very same.

The ancient pub was oozing with character, with its thick, uneven walls, the low ceiling supported by smoke-darkened oak beams, the wide inglenook fireplace and the repurposed hurricane lamps that cast their soft light around the room. It was no wonder people were tempted back.

A loud, cackling laugh rang out above the folk music and conversation. Jasmine instantly recognised it as belonging to Lobster Harry. When he wasn’t out to sea in his ancient trawler, the grizzle-faced fisherman was as much a fixture in the pub as the old ship’s bell that hung above the bar.

As she pushed her way through the throng of warm bodies towards the table where her group of friends gathered and put the world to rights every Friday evening, she caught the eye of Ando Taylor.

She groaned inwardly as he gave her an exaggerated flirty wink.

He was a harmless soul who was regarded as something of a local character, though he was known to stray into the realms of silliness when he was on the wrong side of a few pints of beer.

His penchant for skateboarding, and his youthful garb of ripped jeans, battered leather jacket, brightly coloured trainers, topped off with a baseball cap worn back-to-front, belied the fact he was well into his forties.

He’d been showing an increasing amount of interest in Jasmine over recent months but, much to her irritation and no matter how many times she turned him down, he remained undeterred.

She gave him a tight smile and continued her way across the bar, hoping he wouldn’t trouble her tonight.

It was Maggie who spotted her first, her face lighting up with a smile as she gave an enthusiastic wave, causing the others to turn and follow suit.

Jasmine smiled back, her heart lifting; it was always so good to see her pals.

‘Jazz, you made it, flower!’ Florrie said when Jasmine reached the table. She pushed her tortoiseshell glasses up her nose and grabbed her friend’s hand, giving it a squeeze.

‘Hiya, lasses,’ said Jasmine.

‘Yay! So glad you’re here, Jasmine.’ Lark beamed a warm smile at her, making her pale green eyes crinkle.

‘Oh, you look all hot and bothered, petal. Park your bum and catch your breath.’ Maggie’s smile was dampened by the faint hint of a troubled expression.

Jasmine inwardly berated herself for not running a smudge of concealer over the dark circles that seemed to have become a permanent fixture beneath her eyes these last couple of months; her haste to leave the house meant she hadn’t given it a second thought.

She knew her friends’ concern for her had been growing with all the extra hours she’d been working and she didn’t want to worry them, especially tonight when she had exciting news to share.

She didn’t want anything to take the edge off that.

‘I agree, you do look all of a fluster, Jazz,’ said Stella, reaching for the bottle of Pinot Grigio chilling in the wine bucket and filling the spare glass. Though she smiled, the look in Stella’s eyes betrayed that her thoughts were straying down the same path as Maggie’s.

Jasmine draped her jacket over the back of the seat at the head of the table before flopping into it.

She blew out a long breath, feeling her heart rate begin to settle.

She inhaled slowly, the familiar soothing scent of the essential oils Lark doused herself in tickling her nostrils and overpowering any perfume the others were wearing.

‘Tell you what, hot and bothered, and all of a fluster, doesn’t even begin to cover it.

I’m shattered and I’m absolutely sweltering.

And I don’t even want to think about the horrors taking place inside my plimsols after the race I had to get here.

’ She gave an exaggerated shudder, making everyone laugh.

‘Can’t say I’d be keen to give that too much thought, either,’ Maggie said dryly, hitching an amused eyebrow at her.