Page 46 of I’ll Be Home for Christmas

“Soooooo.” She looked around. “What are we doing here?”

“I’m cooking you a meal.”

“Here? On the boat?”

“Yes. Please step this way.”

Ryan ushered her into the cabin, flicking on the small yellow wall lights.

The delicious cooking smells were explained by a slow cooker on a butcher’s block gently steaming up the windows, a loaf of sourdough on a board beside it.

He motioned her to sit on one of the two camping chairs set up around a wooden crate laid with bowls, cutlery and an unlit jar candle.

She did as she was told, sinking down into the fabric chair and feeling like a queen in her own private restaurant.

The boat rocked gently. Ryan plucked a bottle of wine from a large crate by the door and poured them each a glass and then lit the candle.

An old CD player sat on a shelf beside the fishing radio, held secure with cable ties; he reached over and pressed “play,” and film scores by John Williams filled the silence.

“I think this is the best date I’ve ever been on,” she said, watching as he unclipped a cool box and tipped bags of fresh prawns and mussels into the hot stew.

“Already?” he said, smiling at her as he stirred the pot and replaced the lid. “You seemed kind of haunted by the events of the last time we were on a boat together. I wanted to replace those memories with some positive ones.”

She laughed. “Well, since you already let me kiss you, I guess I won’t need to throw worms at you this time.”

“I specifically made sure there was no bait left on this boat before I let you on board, just in case.”

He sliced the bread and placed it between them with a small dish of butter and sea salt flakes. Fred spread a slice thickly with the butter and sprinkled over some salt and bit into it hungrily.

“Oh my god, that’s good!” she said. “Eadie’s bakery?”

“Of course. Although, these days, Bettina makes most of the loaves. And the sea salt is made by the Sampsons, they’ve just started selling it in bags at the shack. I said I’d stock some at the shop, and Mary’s using it in her handmade chocolate bars at Cocoa Me.”

“Wow, they’re making their own sea salt, that’s a great idea. Kind of you to offer to sell it.”

He shrugged and tore off a piece of bread, dropping it into his mouth.

“Just paying it forward. They sell my coffee in the shack. The least you can hope is that your own community supports your endeavors.” He got up and went to check on the stew.

“Almost ready,” he said. “Just another couple of minutes for the last mussels to open and we’re good to go. ”

“I should’ve just brought Warren here for his article,” she said, and then kicked herself for bringing him up.

His expression tensed, but he hid it well and asked, “Have you heard from him?”

“No. I don’t expect to. I think I turned out to be something of a disappointment for him.”

“Are you sad about that?”

“No, not at all.” She caught his eye, and smiled. “I was already falling for someone else; I just didn’t know it for a while.”

“That’s because I was in stealth mode. I crept up on you without you realizing, and then made my sniper love move.”

She laughed. “How romantic.”

“In all seriousness, after a panic attack wasn’t how I’d planned to ask you out. If I’d thought you were really set on making a go of it with Warren, I never would have interfered. I guess I caught a break on him being a total dickweed.”

“I think I was flattered that he’d be interested in someone like me.”

“Someone like you?”

“You know what I mean. He’s a highflyer who’s going places…”

“He’s no great shakes, Fred, he’s just another prick with an ego.”

“You’re right. God, I have terrible taste in men; present company excluded.”

“Well, a lot of people are excited about having the food of Pine Bluff in the paper, so he was good for something at least.”

“If he gets the job. He let me read his article; he’s a good writer.”

Ryan pulled a face. “I know he charmed the pants off most people, but I never liked the cut of his jib.”

“You don’t say,” she said, archly.

“I didn’t trust him before he upset you, I certainly don’t trust him now.”

“I’m not sure that’s fair; his attitude just sent me back to a bad place and I freaked out.” She was still embarrassed about having been so affected by him.

“We’ve argued a hundred times over the years, and it’s never once caused you to have a panic attack.”

“That’s because I know I’m safe with you.”

“Good,” he said, taking the bowls from the crate-table to serve up. “I’m glad that you know that.”

He ladled the fish stew into bowls and placed them down on the table. The gentle bobbing motion caused the lamps to sway and the wine to lap against the sides of their glasses.

Fred dipped her spoon in the steaming stew and blew on it before taking a mouthful. It was delicious: savory with celery and onions, sweet with white wine, and salty with seafood. “Mmm, this is wonderful! I didn’t know you could cook.”

He eyed her. “I would hazard there are a lot of things we don’t know about each other.”

“True,” she said, dunking her bread in the fragrant broth. “I didn’t know I’d been drinking your coffee for the last three years, until I came home.”

“Well, there you are. I’m looking forward to mining all your secrets.” His tone was seductive, and she swallowed hard.

This was a side of Ryan she had never seen before—and boy was she here for it. She realized she’d been holding a spoonful of stew mid-air without delivering it to her mouth.

“Who”—her voice came out as a squeak, and she cleared her throat—“who taught you cook?”

“I did. When I was starting the business and didn’t have disposable income for eating out, I realized that if I wanted to eat good food, I was going to have to learn to cook it.”

“Was it tough to begin with? Financially, I mean.”

Fred used an empty mussel shell to pluck a juicy morsel from another one and then discarded the shell in the handy bowl in the middle of the table.

“It was.” Ryan ate a spoonful of stew. “I’d managed to get a small business loan from the bank, and I had a bit of money saved, but it didn’t go far.

My parents offered to help me out, cover the loan repayments for a few months while I found my feet, but I couldn’t take money from them; they already work hard enough, without financing me as well.

Plus, as you know, I’m the baby of the family, and my brothers never let me forget it.

I needed to prove that I could make it on my own. ”

“I bet Martha still tried to help, though.”

He smiled. “Of course she did. Every now and then, a Tesco food delivery would just randomly turn up.”

“That’s sweet.”

“That’s mums for you,” Ryan said, fondly.

“Yeah, I guess it is.” She smiled to herself as she buttered another slice of bread, recalling the myriad ways her own mum had shown up for her—even when she hadn’t wanted her to—and felt thankful for her tenacity.

“And now your parents are on the Coast Roast books. What’s that going to be like, after doing it by yourself for so long?” she asked.

“I think it’ll be good. They don’t want to get involved with the day-to-day running, it’s more of an investment for them really.

Hopefully,” he added, touching the wooden crate for luck.

“And it’s nice to be able to run ideas past them.

Now that the business is established, I feel more comfortable having them on board.

There are still financial risks, but fewer than when I was a novice.

I think the offer from Crema has helped to boost my confidence. ”

She looked at him quizzically as she de-shelled a prawn. “Crema, as in the international coffee chain?”

He looked embarrassed. “Yeah. They want to buy Coast Roast, have it as a boutique arm of Crema. There’s a growing wave of consumers who are actively moving away from the chains in favor of independent coffee shops, and Crema want them back.”

“So, they want to buy you out? When did this happen?”

“Not exactly, I’d still be ‘CEO.’?” He put air quotes around the word.

“They want to keep the indie feel and name of Coast Roast while having one in every town, as an ‘indie’ alternative to the traditional Crema branches. Only, of course, they wouldn’t be independent, they’d be part of a conglomerate in indie clothing. I’m going to turn them down.”

“What? I’m sorry, I’m having a hard time absorbing this. Crema, one of the biggest coffee establishments in the world, has offered you a partnership and you’re going to turn them down?”

“I think I am, yeah. They gave me a month to think about it, but I know it’s the right thing to do.”

Fred was reeling. “How did I not know about this?”

He shrugged. “I didn’t exactly advertise it. I told my family and Mina, and they gave me their opinions, but the final decision had to be mine.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“We’re only just getting to know each other again; I didn’t want you to think I was bragging.” He shifted in his chair, looking uncomfortable. “It seemed in poor taste to tell you that I was being headhunted by a global brand who want to make me a millionaire, when you’d lost your job.”

She laughed. “I’m not completely self-serving; I have the capacity to be happy for other people’s successes, even when my own career is in the toilet.

” She dunked another piece of bread. “A millionaire? Have you really thought this through?” she asked, catching a dribble of broth on her chin with a napkin. “It would be life changing.”

He smiled at her with a measure of self-deprecation. “I didn’t simply disregard them out of hand, Fred, I’m not a complete indie dogmatist. I took some time to study it from every angle, and I’m happy with my decision.”

“No, of course, I know you will have given it a lot of thought. It’s just that you would be set for life. You’d have Coast Roasts all over the world…” As someone who’d spent the past year in economic difficulty, it was hard to fathom turning down that kind of financial security.

“But they wouldn’t be my Coast Roasts, would they? Not really. They’d be a cartoon version of an indie business.”

“You could retire! You could become an international jet-setter! Are you allergic to money?” she asked, in a tongue-in-cheek tone, holding her spoon toward him like a microphone.

He laughed. “I could do those things, and no, I am not allergic to money. Don’t imagine I didn’t consider what a life of lazy luxury might look like.

The simple fact is that even as a CEO I couldn’t possibly oversee how things are being run in a branch in Brazil or Norway.

Or be sure that staff are being paid a living wage, or that the beans are ethically sourced and Fairtrade across the board, or even that they’re being roasted in the way I want them to be. ”

She softened, seeing his point. “I can understand that. What did your family say about it?” she asked.

“They were excited about the offer, I mean, who wouldn’t be? But at the same time, they understand where I’m coming from, and they respect my decision.” He left a beat. “It would be nice if you could too.”

“I do, of course I do, it’s just a surprise, that’s all. You’ve had a month to get your head around it, I’m only just hearing about it. Don’t be cross with me for asking questions, I just wanted to make sure you’d really thought it through.”

“I have.”

“Then good! Congratulations on being headhunted and sticking to your integrity. I’m proud of you.” She meant it.

“Really?” He seemed unsure. There was a small cloud of tension hanging in the air but before either of them had time to properly dispel it, Ryan’s phone rang and he stood and went out on the deck to take the call.

Great, Fred. Way to put a dampener on a perfectly nice evening.

Why did she have to press him? Stupid, stupid!

She looked out of the window, the wind making it impossible to hear what he was saying, but from his expression and the way he was pacing up and down the small deck, she could tell something was wrong.

She got up and began to clear their plates, wiped them over with some kitchen towels and stacked them in the crate by the door.

She was about to refill their wineglasses when Ryan came back in, his expression pensive, worry rolling off him in waves and crashing over her in turn.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, concerned.

“I have to go. Dad’s sick, they’re waiting for an ambulance.”

“Oh my god! Is he okay? Stupid question. Is it his heart?”

Ryan nodded grimly, checking his phone. “Looks that way.”

“Shit. Okay, I’ll come with you.”

He looked around the boat, indecision etched across his face. “What if I’m gone all night? I can’t leave the boat here.” He put his hands on top of his head, interlacing his fingers; he looked lost, as though he didn’t know what he should do first.

She went to him and put her arms around his waist. “Go be with him. I’ll clear this lot. And get the boat back.” She didn’t know how, but she’d cross that bridge when she came to it. She felt Ryan’s arms slip around her, felt his breath in her hair, then he nodded and pulled away.

“Are you sure?” he asked.

“Positive. Go.”

“What about getting home?”

“I’m a big girl, I’ll be fine.” She nodded toward the door.

He gave her a half smile, made to leave, then doubled back and kissed her cheek, and then he was gone.

She switched off the music, blew out the candle, and stood for a moment listening to the crunch of his boots on the pebbles as he hurried away. “Fuck,” she said, and then set about clearing up the boat.