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Lucy rolled her eyes.

“I guess I’ll see you around?” he said. Their eyes met.

“Yeah,” Lucy just about managed to murmur.

“Right,” Dylan replied, with a little nod of his head. He turned and walked off. Lucy closed the door and turned around, determined not to watch him leave.

Chapter 3

Two months later . . .

Business had quietened and Lucy was trying not to worry as she tied her shoulder-length chestnut hair back into a ponytail and began putting cakes out under glass domes on the coffee shop’s wooden counter. She knew to expect this, as any tourist-reliant business on the British coast did, but it was only the beginning of November and she was already mentally calculating how many weeks it was until the Easter holidays and the holidaymakers would be back with a vengeance. The weather being decent had meant slightly higher takings than the same time during the previous two years since she’d opened. The lunchtime delivery service she’d started should help, and was picking up in popularity especially among fellow business owners working in the town, but it was yet another thing for her to have to organise. She’d look at the accounts again in the new year and see if she could take on some more help.

Lucy currently just had part-timers working with her: Jo, who’d moved to Castle Cove not long after Lucy, and Carrie’s mum, Ellen, who was wonderful with the customers. She could really do with someone full-time, though, so she had more time for baking, stock taking, and other behind the scenes stuff. It was certainly hard work but it was so worth it. Lucy was so proud the First Sip coffee shop was hers, and, while it definitely hadn’t been an easy journey to get to the point she was at now, she loved what she’d built for herself: the dark green she’d painted on the walls, which she’d debated for days, but which actually paired perfectly with the framed vintage tea and coffee adverts adorning the walls; the mismatched tables and chairs, collected from all over, along with the leather armchairs by the front window which she’d had to pick up individually when they wouldn’t both fit in her car at the same time; even the glass cake domes on the counter were unique antiques hunted down for her by her parents. Her gaze fell on the huge, professional coffee machine which still made her shake her head when she remembered how much it had cost her, even second-hand.

Lucy yawned as she began taking the chairs off the tables where she’d put them yesterday after closing so she could mop the floor. She’d slept like a log last night, going to bed at 9 p.m. simply exhausted. The lingering cold she had just wouldn’t shift completely. That, combined with her worries about the shop, had left her worn out.

A tapping on the door signalled that Ellen was waiting outside ready to start her shift.

“Good morning,” Lucy said, opening up to let her in.

“Good morning, love. Bless you, you look exhausted.”

“I’m still fighting off the remains of that cold.”

“Still?” Ellen said, concern lacing her face. “Are you sure you shouldn’t go to the doctor?”

“I’ll be fine.” Lucy stepped aside as Ellen came in, before locking the door again. “A few more early nights will sort me out.”

“You do too much,” Ellen scolded, gently. “Let me make you a nice cup of tea before I get started on some baking — I thought I’d make cheese scones; they sold really well last week.”

“Thank you,” said Lucy, gratefully.

The bread the coffee shop used was delivered from the town’s amazing bakery fresh each morning, but they made most of the cakes and pastries themselves. This was Lucy’s favourite part of running the coffee shop. She’d always loved baking and had trained as a pastry chef at college before opening her own cake-making business.

When that business failed, it had taken all her determination to pick herself up. But three years of hard work in a hotel restaurant, combined with any shifts she could pick up at a local pub, and moving back in with her (very understanding) parents, had meant she could save up enough to be able to start again, with the First Sip.

She’d dreamt of opening up a cosy little coffee shop by the coast in Cornwall since holidays there when she was a child, and now she was finally living her fantasy. She didn’t care how hard she had to work to make it succeed, she was more than willing to do it. She just needed to keep going as she was, and in a couple of years the business would be more established . . . She could possibly even look at expanding if she wanted to. But, for now, she just needed to keep plugging away.

* * *

Shorter winter opening hours meant Lucy was turning the sign on the coffee shop’s door to “Closed” at 4 p.m. with a grateful sigh. She’d been running the place by herself since Ellen had left for the day at two. That final couple of hours of the day were usually quite quiet, but she would have struggled if she’d had an influx of customers.

She was going over what else she needed to prepare for tomorrow before she could collapse on her sofa in front of Netflix, as she wiped down tables. She really could do with at least baking some muffins.

She went behind the counter and into the kitchen, turned on the radio for some background noise, and began measuring out ingredients — she’d make a basic muffin mix and then divide it to make some blueberry and some chocolate chip.

She was slowly adding buttermilk to the mixture, when she heard knocking at the door. Her heart sank when she walked back through into the coffee shop and saw who was waiting outside: Dylan. What on earth did he want? She was tired and really wasn’t in the mood to deal with his nonsense. They’d never spoken about the night they spent together, but the memory hung awkwardly between them, the thought of it making her cringe. She’d done everything she could to keep out of his way and they’d barely crossed paths since that fateful evening. She’d been hoping to keep it that way for as long as possible. But she couldn’t exactly leave him standing outside in the cold when it was obvious she was in and had seen him.

She reluctantly unlocked the door. “Can I help you?” she said. “We’re closed.”

“I come bearing mail for you. It was delivered to the bookshop by mistake and Carrie asked me to bring it round as I was leaving theirs.” He gave a deep bow which just served to infuriate Lucy more. Why couldn’t he get the hint that she didn’t find him funny? Although, somehow, she had that night they spent together . . .

“Thanks,” she said, taking the letters he held out to her.

“I was there helping Michael. He’s messed up something on his website again.”

“Great . . . Anyway . . . Thanks again.”