Читать книгу The Little Brooklyn Bakery - Julie Caplin - Страница 8

Despite the god-awful time of 5 a.m., she was wide awake, her body clock, even after only five hours’ sleep, hell-bent on London time and, according to her biorhythms, enjoying a leisurely nine o’clock lie-in.

With a groan Sophie rolled over, feeling grimy, travel stained and full-on icky, her body still crimped from the plane journey. She stared up at an unfamiliar ceiling as half-hearted daylight clawed its way through the flimsy curtains. As usual, the thoughts began to crowd in. Memories of the last two years, fighting like gremlins coming up through the crevices. Nope, not going there. Refuse to go there. Shower. Unpack. Find tea. They were the priorities.

She swung her legs over the side of the bed and planted them firmly on the wide-planked wooden floor and looked around the room. Just about enough space to swing a very small kitten, but clean and obviously newly painted. The tasteful shade of sage green was complemented by the cream-painted woodwork of the headboard and a matching chest of drawers and an oval mirror hanging above it. Space was tight, so the bed was pushed up against the opposite wall and there was no sign of a wardrobe.

She found the reason when she pushed open the second door leading from the bedroom. It opened into a tiny hallway with a built-in wardrobe and, at the end, another doorway which led into a long and very narrow bathroom. However, the shiny, glossy brick tiles and immaculate, gleaming chrome fittings more than made up for its corridor-like dimensions.

At the sight of the state-of-the-art shower, chrome-filled with numerous taps, heads and levers and big enough to take a rugby team, she peeled off her clothes and stepped into the blissful streams of hot water. It was only as the water streamed through her long blonde hair, from two different directions, that she realised that there was no shampoo, no soap and no towel. She blinked hard at her stupidity. Why hadn’t she thought to pack towels and sheets?

As she shook herself like a dog to try and dry off, using her jeans as a bathmat, she glared at the idiotic image in the mirror, her hair wrapped in her T-shirt to soak up the drips.

For God’s sake, she was normally the person who could be relied on for having packed spares for everyone else.

She went through her case pulling things out, appalled at the random contents and glaring omissions. Hair straighteners. No hairdryer. Fourteen pairs of knickers. One bra. Three tubes of toothpaste. No toothbrush. Tweezers. No nail scissors. Her second-favourite cookery book. And decaffeinated tea-bags? Just when she could have mainlined caffeine with bells on. Who drank decaffeinated anything? There should be a law against it.

Sitting back on her heels, she looked back at the last week with sudden clarity. Lord, hindsight was a wonderful thing. Now, when it was far too bloody late, she could see that her packing had been done in a blur of denial and downright indecision. Convinced she wouldn’t ever really leave. Right up to the last minute when the taxi driver rang the bell, she’d not really been sure she’d go through with it.

Biting her lip, kneeling among discarded shirts, jeans and Converse hi-tops, she picked through her final days in London. Once she’d said yes to Angela, it was as if she’d stepped on a treadmill and had neither the will, the energy nor the reasoning capacity to do anything but keep putting one foot in front of the other. Misery, it had turned out, was a useful shield, blurring away reality until it was too late to get off the treadmill. The taxi was there, her passport was in her hand and she had two cases and a cabin bag at her side.

And here she was. In America.

‘Right.’ She stood up, tugged the T-shirt from her wet hair and looked firmly at herself in the mirror. ‘You are here now.’ She glared into her own eyes. ‘You, yes you, Sophie Bennings … Beauchamp, Bow-champ to the nice customs man, need to knuckle down. Sort yourself out. Sheets. Towel. Toiletries.’

Those stupid omissions at least gave her a mission for the day. She had to go out and buy those as an absolute minimum.

‘And shopping.’ For Pete’s sake, she was so wet, she hadn’t even explored her new home. And she was talking to herself. ‘And what’s wrong with that? Come on. This is an opportunity.’ Saying things out loud made her feel less stupid. Perhaps she ought to buy one of those self-help manuals, come up with a few more convincing mantras. ‘It is an opportunity. Some people would kill to be me.’ OK, kill was perhaps going a little too far, but all her friends had been frankly envious. Not one of them had said, ‘Oh, God just think how big and scary New York is and how lonely you’re going to be.’

Her exploration didn’t take long. The apartment was small, but perfectly formed. Modern, urban and very sophisticated. Not what she was used to at all, but as she stood in the open-plan lounge-kitchen, she nodded to herself. OK, she could live here. The polished, wide-planked, wooden floors were lovely and the huge sash windows let in loads of light and provided a great view out over the street. There was a television and a black box thing, with several remote controls, which she glanced at briefly with a wince. That had been James’s department. The bright-red sofa, with grey cushions positioned opposite a fireplace, looked inviting and welcoming.

On the other side of the room, along the back wall, was a long galley kitchen, with white brick tiles on the walls separating units of glossy, dark red. A wooden-topped island with a breakfast bar created a division between the living room and the kitchen. It contained the sink, drainer and more counter space, and she was pleased to see that the hob, oven, fridge and sink were arranged in the perfect cook’s triangle of practicality.

When she opened a couple of cupboards to find ubiquitous Ikea china mugs and plates, she was unable to decide whether they were disappointing or reassuring. One half of her hoped that there’d be some exoticism – chic American branded crockery, proof that she’d flown 3,000 miles to be here. But the other half – the more dominant half, to be perfectly honest – was relieved by the sight of the familiar tall-bodied mugs and the chunky primary-colour plates. They said, See, not so far from home after all.

With a nod of approval, she was about to turn when her eye caught sight of an unexpected door, tucked out of sight at the end of the run of units.

‘Oh, hello.’ She stepped through the door out onto the deck, immediately tipping her face up to let the warm sunshine dance on her skin. The sun burnt bright in a cloud-free sky. For a minute she stood there, letting the heat wash over her. The golden glow held her in a timeless embrace, giving her battered spirits an immediate boost.

‘I want to see the sunshine after the rain, I want to see bluebirds flying over …’ she hummed as she surveyed the bistro table and two chairs and the empty planter, which begged to be filled with herbs. She would speak to Wes, the mysterious herb man from last night. Musing whether to add a chilli plant in there as well, she turned to survey the backdrop landscape of rooftops and secret insights of backyards. You could see down into the neighbouring plots. Some held climbing frames and swings squeezed onto tiny lawns, while others held compact decks handsomely furnished with expensive-looking garden furniture. She came back to the refrain, ‘Sunshine after the rain,’ and swallowed back the lump, fighting against tears. OK, so it was going to take a while, a long time before she saw anything flying over mountains or otherwise, but one day she’d feel better. She cast a bitter look at the second bistro chair.

With a sigh she went back into the kitchen. She needed to keep herself busy. There were lists to be made. If only she’d packed a bloody pen. She knew she was putting off the moment when she had to leave the apartment.

And there, taped to the back of the door, was a large piece of greaseproof paper, a jagged tear down one side as if someone had grabbed the first thing at hand, with a note scribbled on it in what looked like bright-blue Sharpie pen.

Welcome. Pop down to the café and say hi. First coffee is on me and I’ll throw in breakfast, because I didn’t get to the store for you. Your landlady Bella

Coffee. Now the thought was in her head, her stomach growled. When was the last time she’d eaten a proper meal? She couldn’t stay here all day … actually, she probably could … but she needed stuff, towels and sheets. This gave her the perfect excuse to get going and stop being such a wuss.

Grabbing her guide book and purse, she hastily packed everything she thought she might need and headed out.

For a moment, she stood utterly entranced by the window display, which she’d completely missed the night before. A picture of Audrey Hepburn in My Fair Lady in her iconic black-and-white Ascot costume was suspended mid-air above what Sophie could only describe as the most magnificent display. Matching black-and-white decorated cupcakes arranged on two candelabra-style cake stands stood like ladies in waiting behind a five-tiered wedding cake, its elaborate icing and shape cleverly referencing the design of the hat. Underneath the picture was a quote:

Nothing is impossible, the word itself says I’m Possible! Audrey Hepburn

Reading it, Sophie gave a nod. She needed to start being more positive. Her can-do spirit seemed to have evaporated. With a professional eye, she studied the cakes, marvelling at the precision and creativity, until the door opened beside her and someone came out of the café, followed by a waft of coffee.

Her stomach complained again and she grabbed the door as it started to close. The minute she stepped inside, she paused and closed her eyes, inhaling. What the sunshine upstairs had started, the familiar magic alchemic smell of butter and sugar, eggs and flour finished. She felt lighter, as if some invisible weight had dislodged itself from her shoulders, as she registered the soothing hint of vanilla, the richness of chocolate, the sharp citrus of lemon. The scents swirled around her, grounding her. She almost laughed out loud. Grounding her, really? But it was true, for the first time in two weeks, she felt a bit more like herself again. And then she spotted the notice above the counter. You’ve got 86,400 seconds today. Have you used one to smile?

Taking the message to heart, she let her mouth relax into a broad grin, taking another discreet sniff. This almost felt like home and suddenly she wanted to be in the kitchen, mixing, stirring, tasting and baking.

She opened her eyes and headed for the counter. Her eagerness felt rusty and unused. Now she was dying to see what was available, where all those delicious smells were coming from and what she could learn. She’d never been to America before, there was a whole new world of food to explore. Her eyes lit up. Oh yes, there surely was.

‘Good morning. How are you today? What can I get you?’ asked a petite redhead with a mass of curls bundled up in a bright-green scarf, wiping down the coffee machine.

‘Hi, I’m … very well, thank you. I’m Sophie. From upstairs.’

‘Sophie!’ The girl squealed, dropping her cloth and racing around the counter, and putting her hands on Sophie’s arms, surveying her with bright-eyed enthusiasm, rather like a great aunt who hadn’t seen her for years. ‘Hey! It’s so great to see you. I’m Bella. Your landlady. I’ve never been a landlady before. Is the apartment OK?’ She let go of Sophie and gesticulated eagerly, letting her hands take a share in the conversation. ‘Do you need anything? I’m sorry I didn’t get any groceries in. I think maybe I should have, I didn’t know but then we had a rush order and I just … well it’s always mad on a weekend. Welcome to Brooklyn.’

Sophie laughed and held up her hands to fend off the rush of words and the semaphore fingers, and to reassure the other woman. ‘It’s all fine. The apartment’s lovely. And a nice man called Wes helped me carry my cases in. Even left me a pot of herbs.’

‘Ah yes, the luscious Wes,’ Bella’s mouth dipped slightly before she continued, ‘he’s a sweetie. And always pushing those herbs.’ She nodded towards the aluminium pots of lavender on the tables. ‘Phew, it was a rush to get it finished in time, but when Todd, he’s my cousin, said the magazine needed a short-term rental, I couldn’t turn it down. Now what can I get you? Are you horribly jet-lagged? Is it the middle of the night for you?’

‘No, it’s early afternoon but I’m trying not to think about it. Coffee would be lovely, thank you.’ Normally she was a die-hard tea drinker but she knew New Yorkers were fond of their coffee and she suspected getting a decent cup of tea would be a challenge.

‘Gee, I love your English accent, it’s so cute.’

‘Thank you.’ Sophie had to beam back. It was impossible not to. Bella bounced around like an animated pixie caught in a whirlwind, her hazel eyes sharp with interest and intelligence.

‘How about something to eat? I made these lavender-and-vanilla cupcakes this morning, or there are carrot-and-cinnamon or orange-and-lemon.’

‘St Clements,’ said Sophie automatically.

‘St what?’

‘It’s cockney rhyming slang, orange-and-lemon flavours are sometimes called St Clements. It’s one of my favourites.’ For some reason she softly sang, ‘Oranges and lemons say the bells of St Clements.’

‘Aw, that is so cute. I’ve never heard that before.’ Her face took on a dreamy expression. ‘Cockneys. They’re in Mary Poppins. I could do a whole theme. Supacallaf‌ragilistic cakes.’

‘I love the window. Did you design that cake?’

Bella beamed and Sophie swore the dusting of freckles on her nose danced too. ‘Sure did. You like?’

‘Love! It’s amazing. Those black-and-white frills and the sugar-paste feathers are so clever.’

‘Awesome. Thanks. Now you must be hungry, so what would you like? First one’s on the house.’

‘Mmm, they look delicious.’ Sophie’s stomach grumbled obligingly as she examined the contents of the glass cabinet. One side was stacked with interesting-looking loaves, walnut-and-raisin, rye, five-grain, along with cheese-and-herb plaits and pumpkin-seed rolls, while the other had rows of beautifully decorated cupcakes, topped with pale cream frosting and sugar-paste flowers like Easter baskets, as well as several fruit-topped cheesecakes, a line of giant cookies, chunks of melted chocolate glistening, and a couple of full-sized cakes.

‘Do you make all of this?’

‘No, I don’t have time. The celebration and cupcakes are mine. And I live in hope that the wedding-cake side will take off. The cheesecakes come from the fabulous Maisie, who lives around the corner and bakes them while her kids are at school. She uses organic cream cheese from the family dairy upstate in Maine. They are to die for. And the breads and bagels are delivered in daily by a two-man team. Ed and Edie. Well, a man-and-woman team,’ she laughed, ‘their company is called Two Eds. And their slogan is When it comes to breads, two Eds are better.’

Sophie groaned, ‘Oh my word. I just got even hungrier. And if the cakes in the window are anything to go by … you should have plenty of customers.’

Bella pulled a face. ‘It gets a bit crazy in here at the weekends. And this week has been crazier than normal. I had two birthday parties, two hundred and fifty cupcakes to make and then ice and decorate with baseball players. I tell you, those little striped shirts are darn fiddly. But then, who doesn’t love a cupcake?’ She caught Sophie’s eye and winked.

Sophie grinned back, ‘I love the sugar-paste flowers you’ve done,’ she pointed to the cupcakes on display. ‘They look such fun. I’d love to learn how to do those.’ She gave them a considering look. ‘I’m a cookery writer, so I do a lot of baking. Testing recipes.’

‘Really? Todd didn’t say what you do. That’s so cool. Maybe we can swap some ideas some time.’

‘That would be wonderful. There’s something about baking that …’ Sophie sniffed the air again, feeling a tiny bit better about being here.

‘Oh, I think I’m going to love you. Yes, there’s something about baking … it’s almost magical. I love seeing the customers. Coming up with new ideas. Watching their eyes light up. Cakes make people smile.’

‘These look gorgeous.’ Sophie peered down at the tray of cakes in front of her. ‘They must take hours.’

‘They do … but they’re worth it and every single one is hand-crafted with love,’ Bella beamed. ‘Although it’s hard work, but it’s my business. Well mine, the bank’s and my granddad’s. He owns the lease on the building.

‘Now, is there anything you need? It’s the first time I’ve let the apartment. The renovations were only finished ten days ago.’

‘Seriously, Bella, it’s all gorgeous. Everything.’ Sophie bit her lip, she didn’t want to mention the lack of bedding, as it really wasn’t Bella’s responsibility, but she had a feeling she’d make it hers.

‘Well, let me know if there’s anything you need.’

‘No, it’s great and I love the deck.’

‘Just watch out for the mossies. They’re nasty.’

‘Mossies? As in mosquitoes?’

‘Oh yeah. If you’re planning on sitting out there, get some citronella candles or a fan. Now, coffee? A latte, drip coffee, iced coffee, cappuccino, macchiato, flat white, Americano, espresso?’

‘Cappuccino, please. The last drink I had was on the plane. I’m gasping.’

‘Garsping,’ teased Bella, elongating the vowel. ‘Gee, your accent is so cute.’

Sophie winced, glad she hadn’t asked for tea, and watched as the other girl set to work with quick efficiency, tapping out the old grounds, tamping down new, quickly twisting the silver filter into place while pouring milk into a jug with her other hand.

‘Take a seat and I’ll bring it over.’

Sophie sat down at the only free table, a bistro set in the window, and took a good look around at the bakery. She loved the eclectic decoration and how it had been divided into specific areas, each one with its own distinct style where the sofa, chairs, cushions and throws took their inspiration from the wallpaper design in the wall panel nearest them.

Towards the back there was a large archway and beyond it you could see the kitchen, the table still covered in flour and utensils as if the latest batch of goodies had just been finished.

With a happy sigh, Sophie sat back in her chair. She already loved this place and Bella had given her such a warm, friendly welcome, suddenly she didn’t feel quite so far from home. She pulled out a notebook and her guide book, there was so much she needed to do but her head felt a bit too buzzy and cotton-woolly to get a proper grasp on what she should think about first. Jet-lag was a bummer.

The underground map looked horribly confusing and she couldn’t figure out the names of any of the lines, there seemed to be so many different options. She glanced over at Bella, busy behind the counter, she’d ask her for some help. She could do this.

Nerves shimmered as she looked through the window at the busy street. She was really here. London was several hours ahead and in the safety of the café she felt that perhaps if she took one day at a time, she could get through the next six months.

It would be late afternoon in England. What would James be doing? Was he still with his wife, Anna?

‘Hey, I hear you’re Sophie.’

With a jolt, she looked up to find a man looming over her, the sun streaming in through the window, outlining his shape but making it difficult to see his features. From the way he nodded over at Bella, who was gesticulating with those wild arms again, it was obvious the American girl had indicated who she was.

Twisting a chair so that the back faced him, he swung his leg over the seat and sat down grinning at her.

Immediately she was irked by his confidence, the casual attitude, so utterly sure of his welcome. She gave him a tight smile.

‘I’m Todd.’ He held out a steady hand which she had no option but to shake. His grip was firm and dry.

She stiffened, wanting to move backwards. He exuded self-assurance which made her feel doubly inadequate, out of place and alien.

‘Bella’s my cousin. I found this place for you.’

What did he want? A bloody medal?

Politeness forced her to nod and say tightly, ‘Thank you.’

‘No problem.’ He lifted his head as Bella approached with Sophie’s drink and cake. ‘Hey, Bella babes. Can I get an iced coffee?’

‘Hi Todd, what brings you this way so early?’ She put the coffee and cake in front of Sophie. ‘I thought you’d still be sleeping off last night’s party.’

‘Who said I’d been home yet?’

‘Stupid me, of course you haven’t.’

She turned to Sophie. ‘This is my cousin, Todd McLennan. Party animal extraordinaire.’ She leaned down and gave him a hug. ‘So where was it happening last night? Or rather, should I ask who was it last night?’

‘You wound me.’ He put his hand over his heart, grinning at Sophie. ‘Don’t believe a word she says.’

‘Do believe everything I say. He’s bad news where women are concerned.’

‘Bella, Bella, Bella … you do me wrong.’ He sighed. ‘I never lie to them.’

‘True, but they always think they’ll be the one to reform you.’

He shrugged and leaned over to dip his finger in the frosting of Sophie’s cake, winking at her as he did. ‘I can’t help it if they don’t listen.’

Sophie narrowed her eyes as Bella slapped at his hand.

‘Keep your mitts off, that’s Sophie’s. She’s probably not had any breakfast yet.’

‘Sorry,’ he said, his mouth stretching into a wide smile, ‘neither have I.’

‘Have you even been home?’ asked Bella, shaking her head.

‘Yes, slept snug and tight in my own bed, if you have to ask. Now are you going to bring me a coffee or do I have to beg?’

Sophie refrained from snorting, as if he’d ever had to beg for anything in his life. Just looking at him, in his casual linen Ralph Lauren shirt and smart navy shorts, with expensive, if scuffed, loafers on his feet, you could tell this one led a charmed life. Almost as if he could read her disparaging thoughts, he gave her a charm-fuelled, dazzling, film-star smile.

‘So English, how are you finding Brooklyn?’ He leaned forward on the back of the chair, focusing all his attention on her as if he really wanted to know. She had the feeling it was a practised move, that came as easily to him as breathing.

‘It’s Sophie, and I’ve only just arrived, so I’ve not had a chance to find anything yet.’ Her words sounded stiff and starchy.

He leaned forward and pulled her notes and map towards him. ‘Bergen Street. The F line 47th/50th.’

‘Sorry?’ Hell, she sounded even more prim and prissy.

He simply grinned. ‘The route to work. That’s what you were looking up, weren’t you?’

Was he some sort of mind reader? She frowned.

‘You’re doing the job swap with Brandi. I suggested Bella’s place when they let the other girl’s place go. Man, bad luck her breaking her leg, but lucky for you, I guess. Never thought they’d get someone to fill the post, that quickly. Were you second pick or something?’

‘Something,’ snapped Sophie with uncharacteristic sharpness, stung that everyone would think she was second choice, when she didn’t want to come in the first place.

‘Hey!’ He held up his hands in quick surrender. ‘I’m not suggesting you’re not as good.’ Unexpected sympathy brimmed in his eyes, as if he knew it was more complicated than that. ‘The subway can be a bit confusing for a first-timer. Bergen Street is a couple of blocks away. I could show you after coffee.’ He lifted his shoulders. ‘We’re going to be co-workers.’

‘What? You work at CityZen?’

‘Sure do.’ His eyes twinkled wickedly and he raised his eyebrows in suggestive challenge, ‘I write the Man About Town column.’

Clearly she was supposed to know about that. She should have checked out the magazine in advance, which is what a normal enthusiastic person, who’d been offered an amazing opportunity to come and work in the most exciting city in the world, would have done.

Suddenly she was sick of herself, sick of her seesawing emotions, sick of feeling sorry for herself and sick that James had done this to her. She’d spent her childhood rising above things, being sunny and positive despite everything her Dad’s ex-wife had thrown at their family. James was not going to take that away from her.

With a deliberately bright smile, she responded, ‘That sounds fun.’ As soon as she left here she would find the first newsagents (didn’t they call them newsstands here?) and pick up a copy of CityZen.

‘Oh it is.’ Those film-star teeth flashed again, although did she imagine it, or did the smile not quite reach his eyes? She got the impression he’d said it many times. ‘When you love your work, it doesn’t feel like work.’

‘I’ll second that,’ said Bella, sliding a tall glass of iced coffee in front of him. ‘That’ll be four dollars.’

He dug in his pocket and pulled out a handful of crumpled bills, like tissues, handing one to her before swiping another taste of frosting from the cake.

‘Oy, get your own.’ Sophie tapped his hand smartly and moved the plate closer to her side of the table.

‘You’re no fun, English,’ he moaned, taking his time, licking the big dollop of frosting from his finger. ‘Man, this is good.’ He shot Sophie a sudden, horrified, disapproving look, ‘Please tell me you’re not a crazy person who considers her body a temple and thinks sugar is sin.’ With a surreptitious glance out the window, he added, ‘There are way too many of them in Brooklyn already. The soya-and-sushi sisterhood. All quinoa and chia seeds.’

Sophie burst out laughing, finally succumbing. It wasn’t his fault that she currently hated the world in general. ‘I’m definitely not a crazy person.’

‘Damn, and here was I hoping to guilt you into handing over the cake.’

‘No way.’ She put her arms protectively around the plate. ‘I love my food.’ With a rueful smile, she added, ‘A bit too much.’

Shamelessly he gave her body a once up and down, his eyes dancing with appreciation and merriment. ‘Not from here, you don’t.’

With a ladylike snort, she ignored the faint blush that stole along her cheeks, knowing better than to take him seriously. She’d got his measure. This was one man you should never take seriously and you’d be a fool if you did. And she was not going to be a fool again. Ever.

‘I have to run a lot to balance it all out.’ At least she’d packed her trainers, if not a sports bra. ‘Bella was right, you are bad news, aren’t you? But I appreciate the thought.’ She was never going to be stick thin, but who wanted to be like that if you were miserable and starving? Regular running kept her between a size twelve and fourteen.

He grinned, unrepentant, and for a second their eyes met. She grinned back at him and picked up the cake, taking a large deliberate bite.

‘Ouch, I felt that.’

‘You were supposed to. Mmm, it’s delicious.’

‘Sure you can eat all of that? It’s a mighty big cake. Lots of calories.’

With a deliberate lick of her lips, ignoring the hopeful expression on his face, she savoured the tangy citrus sweetness of the frosting around her mouth, sighed heavily and gave him a smug look. ‘Oh yes, I’m going to enjoy every last one of them.’

‘You’re heartless, English. Heartless.’ He shook his head in mock sorrow, his lips curving in shared amusement.

‘You’d better believe it,’ she said, taking another thoughtful bite of the soft sponge, enjoying the exchange and ignoring the little butterfly-like flutters dancing in the pit of her stomach. Nothing to see here, she told herself firmly. Good looking, charming and totally shallow, light-hearted fun and nothing more. It was a while since she’d flirted with anyone and it felt rather liberating, especially when it didn’t mean a thing.

‘So, Mr Man About Town, can you fill me in on the local neighbourhood? I need to find somewhere to buy bed linen and towels.’ She paused. ‘Although maybe you’re not the best person to ask.’

‘Excuse me.’ He pointed to himself with his thumbs. ‘Man About Town. In touch with my feminine side.’

‘Really?’ She gave him a direct look.

‘And no, I’m not gay.’

‘I never said a word.’

‘It’s an inevitable side-effect of working on a women’s magazine. You absorb shopping stuff by osmosis. If you want serious thread count – see, I know this stuff – Nordstrom Rack for quality and discount, or T.J.Maxx for discount and a free for all. Just a couple of blocks away on Fulton Street. Here, let me mark on the map for you.’

‘I need to find a supermarket too, to buy …’ she couldn’t quite bring herself to say ‘groceries’.

‘A supermarket.’ He pursed his lips around the word, lifting the smooth column of his throat. ‘Jeez, I love how you say that, it’s so prim and proper.’ He grinned recklessly again. ‘Kinda sexy.’

Sophie rolled her eyes at him, ignoring the thought that someone must have invented the word for him. ‘You need to get out more.’

He laughed and scooted his chair closer to hers, pulling open the map. ‘Here, got a pen? I’ll mark a couple of grocery stores for you.’

‘I don’t have a pen.’

‘Here you go.’ He rooted in the canvas-and-leather man bag slung over his shoulder. Of course he had a man bag, he was so a man bag sort of man.

‘Associated Supermarkets on Fifth and Union Street is good. Not the nearest, but definitely one of the nicer ones. Turn right out of here, go down Union Street and then it’s a good six blocks but worth it. I’m guessing you can cook if you’re the new food columnist. I’ll have to get you to cook dinner some time, as we’re practically neighbours.’

She raised a single eyebrow at his casual assumption, a trick she was inordinately proud of. ‘Sounds like a plan,’ she said, before adding just as he took a sip of coffee, ‘and you can do my washing.’

With a choked laugh, he nearly spluttered his drink all over the table. ‘I like you, English. Funny girl. We’re going to get on just fine.’

Sophie gave him a considering look.

‘Come on.’ He rose to his feet and held out a hand to help her up. ‘I’ll show you the way to the subway station and then from there you can walk on down to Fulton Street, to get your home wares. We’ll take a rain check on dinner as I’m sure you want to get settled. And I doubt you’ve got any laundry yet …’ He waggled his eyebrows suggestively. ‘And you do know washing in the States is something completely different?’

As she put her hand in his, there was no little frisson of electricity, no gentle sizzle between them, no … a bloody great thunderbolt of lust that almost floored her. Todd McLennan was more than bad news, he was the sort of news that she needed to stay well, well away from.