Breakfast Under A Cornish Sun: The perfect romantic comedy for summer. Samantha TongeЧитать онлайн книгу.
‘The most considerate boss you’ll ever have the honour of meeting,’ called a voice.
‘Izzy,’ I said in a faux bored voice. ‘What do you want? Isn’t it enough that you listen to my erudite conversation all day, every day?’
She stepped backwards, into view, and we grinned at each other, although my chest squeezed. I’d avoided her after Saffron’s phone call, not wanting to answer embarrassing questions about my fictional boyfriend, Ross. I headed over to the front door and pressed the button to let her in. Eventually, footsteps sounded in the hallway and I opened the door.
Izzy walked in, carrying a large plastic bag and humming, headed straight for the kitchen. With her yellow shorts and strawberry-red T-shirt, she reminded me of a garnished Pina Colada cocktail.
‘Make yourself at home,’ I said and she caught my eye. We chuckled and I shut the front door.
‘Thanks for working that double shift,’ she said. ‘Figured I owed you a decent dinner as it was so busy. When I left, a group of eighteen-year-olds came in … or at least said they were. I prompted James to check their ID and, as a result, most had to order mocktails instead. So I think he’s having a quiet night.’
‘I’m surprised you didn’t stay to help your newest employee,’ I said, airily.
Izzy swung around.
‘Goodness, how flushed your cheeks look, must be the heat.’ I grinned. ‘Or the thought of how his muscles show through a tight T-shirt. That man must live in the gym.’
‘You know me, Kate—ever the professional. I would never have a relationship with someone I’d hired …’ She cleared her throat. ‘So if I have to fire him for not thinking to check those girls’ IDs on his own, well, so be it.’
‘Izzy!’
Her shoulders moved up and down as she laughed. ‘Only joking. Sure, he’s cute, but a bit young for me.’ With a flourish she pulled out a bottle of Prosecco.
‘Ooh. What are we celebrating?’
She shrugged. ‘There’s no law against fizz on a week night, is there—especially if you’ve had a challenging day?’
My throat went tight.
‘I saw your face after that phone call,’ she said softly. ‘No need to explain if you don’t want to. I just thought your evening might benefit from a bit of sparkle. But Auntie Izzy is here if you need a chat.’
My mouth quirked up—‘Auntie’ indeed. Izzy was only a couple of years older than me, although to be fair, she fussed over all her employees, apart from the ones she sacked for turning up late or helping themselves to too many doughnuts. Gooey as her heart was, like unfried batter, kind Izzy was no pushover.
My throat tightened further as, for a few seconds, I relived the teenage feelings of inadequacy, embarrassment, self-hatred—feelings belonging to Katie Golightly, the round peg in a square hole girl.
‘Oh, Izzy. What have I got myself into?’ I slumped onto the sofa.
She came over and sat next to me. ‘So, when were you going to introduce me to this Ross?’ Her eyes twinkled.
Now my cheeks burned.
‘Some friend has asked you to their wedding and you decided to make up that you had a plus-one?’
Avoiding her eye, I nodded.
‘Kate! It’s not like you to lie! And there are thousands of people every year who go to events on their own. You’d be viewed as a confident, strong woman.’
‘Or as a wallflower wimp,’ I said. Izzy already knew bits—about the teasing; me not fitting in with the popular crowd. However I’d never really talked about what exactly had happened between me and Saffron and how she’d ditched me as soon as we left primary school. How we’d once been friends but then, for no apparent reason … I cleared my throat and again tapped on my laptop. ‘Sorry for going on,’ I mumbled and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. ‘I know I should be over the whole high school thing by now.’
‘I don’t think people ever get over that teenage stuff, Kate. It’s fifteen years ago for me and I still remember the knots in the pit of my stomach when the older girls used to corner me in the toilets. I’ve always loved cooking and used to hang out in the food technology department at lunchtime and read up on new recipes with my favourite teacher. I didn’t smoke, drink or snog … guess I was an easy target.’ She shrugged. ‘But those experiences don’t need to define our whole life, right?’
I nodded.
‘So, why don’t you just forget this whole Poldark thing? Tell Saffron you and Ross split up. Or, even better, don’t go to the wedding at all. She’s not even a friend. You’ve nothing to prove to anyone and you don’t owe her a single thing.’ Izzy got up, headed over to the tiny, open-plan kitchenette and, seconds later, a cork popped. She picked up two clean glass tumblers from the side of the sink and came back. Izzy sat down and our glasses clinked. As tiny Prosecco bubbles tickled my tongue, heat spread through my chest. I put down the glass.
‘But why did she invite me? I’m curious. And If I say Ross and I broke up it will seem suspicious. No …’ I sat upright. ‘My original plan remains. I need to find a Poldark lookalike and I’m hoping an online dating site can help.’ I sighed. ‘If only Johnny were here.’
‘But he’s not, Kate. And I really hope you are trying to stop messaging him,’ she said gently. ‘You know he won’t respond.’
My ears felt hot and I swallowed, suddenly experiencing the biggest urge to do exactly what she’d advised against. Apart from Guvnah, Izzy was the only person who knew I’d obsessed with my late boyfriend’s social media platforms for the first few months after he’d gone. Now, the need to check out his profiles was less overwhelming, less compulsive, and yet proved to be a hard habit to break.
‘But if you are adamant that this pretend plus-one plan is the way to go, I’m here for you,’ she said more brightly, ‘and I’ll do whatever I can to help—starting with making us something to eat. I brought chicken and stir-fry veg. It won’t take me long.’
While ingredients sizzled in the kitchenette, I dived, broad mind first, into a search engine, looking for appropriate dating sites to join. Wow. What an array. I found one for dog owners, another for ramblers, several for naturists and even for grisly fans of The Walking Dead. I couldn’t help glancing at the profiles of people who’d joined that one. Most had made up their faces with plastic eaten-away skin and trickles of blood or held a crossbow or gun. Images flooded my mind regarding the perils of zombie sex and loose body parts. Ew.
But wait a minute. I moved forward and perched on the edge of the sofa. Perhaps there were dating sites specifically for fans of other shows like … Quickly I typed in ‘Poldark dating’. I scrolled down website links offering articles about the TV programme, its stars and Cornwall and was about to give up on page three when … ooh: Perfect Poldark Pairs—find your perfect brooding hero or feisty heroine. No joining fee. Could your very own Ross, Demelza or Elizabeth just be one mouse-click away?
‘You won’t believe what I’ve just found,’ I said and took another sip of Prosecco.
Izzy stopped chopping and headed over, a tea towel between her hands. She sat down and read the screen. ‘Really? I mean, really? Can’t people tell the difference between fiction and reality any more? It’s fine having a celebrity crush but taking it this far … ?’
I snorted. ‘So you wouldn’t be interested in joining a site that promised to find your very own Jack Black?’ Nothing attracted Izzy more than a man who could make her laugh—apart from a Disney prince.
Izzy giggled. ‘Hands up. You got me there.’ She leant forward and, not for the first time, I admired the length of her legs. But then at a curvy five foot two, most people’s limbs outstretched mine and certainly Izzy’s