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“I hope the aching eases up tomorrow.”

“From past experience, it’ll be worse tomorrow,” Michael said grimly.

“That’s right,” said Dylan, coming up behind his friend and slapping him on the back, which elicited a wince. “Good old DOMS.”

“Delayed Onset Muscle Soreness,” Michael explained, grimly.

“You’ll be fine, mate,” said Dylan. “Just try to keep moving so you don’t seize up. Remember, we do curls for the girls.”

Lucy rolled her eyes and Michael made a little grumbling noise. “Anyway, can I get a latte and a cappuccino to go, please. And, um, what do you reckon Carrie and Mary would like, pastry-wise?”

“The croissants are good,” Lucy said. “Carrie said she’d been craving them the other day.”

“Let’s hope she still is,” Michael said. “They do look really flaky. Chuck in another one for me, would you?”

“Sure,” Lucy said. “Say hi to Carrie and Mary for me and let them know I’m looking forward to seeing them this evening.”

“Will do,” Michael said, paying and picking up his goodies. “Thanks again for yesterday,” he said to Dylan.

“Any time, mate,” said Dylan. “You’re seeing Carrie and Mary later?” he asked as Michael left.

“Yeah. It’s Christmas book club at the bookshop tonight,” Lucy replied. “We decided to make it as close to Christmas as possible so everyone would be able to escape from Christmas prep for a few hours and have a relax and a catch-up.”

“Cool. Have you finished reading the book?” Dylan asked.

“I have. It was good. Jenny Colgan wrote it and I like anything by her, plus I love a Christmas story.”

“Everyone takes along some food to share, don’t they? Do you need a hand making something?”

“I was just going to pick something up from the supermarket.”

“We could make some arancini with the leftover risotto from last night? That thing just seemed to grow and grow. There’s so much left over.”

“That’s a really good idea, actually. I’d normally take a load of pastries or something, but I didn’t ask Jo to make any extra and the mince pies especially have been flying off the shelves. It would be a bit lame to turn up with something from the supermarket when I run a local coffee shop.”

“Just a little bit,” admitted Dylan. “I can make us some pasta to have before you go, and get the arancini going at the same time.”

“I’ll prep a salad and be general kitchen hand then,” Lucy offered.

* * *

Later, Lucy watched as Dylan confidently placed the seasoned breadcrumb-covered balls into the pan.

“How did you learn to cook?” she asked, slicing some spring onion.

“I taught myself when I was at university,” Dylan replied. “I was really getting into going to the gym and realised that my diet was holding me back. Before that I basically lived on junk food: whatever was easy, cheap and tasted good. I got myself a basic cookery book and started watching the occasional cooking show — not that I admitted that to my friends at the time. Anyway, I felt better, was getting stronger and I discovered I liked cooking. I had a lot of part-time jobs during uni, and I tried to get them in restaurants when I could, so that I learned more.”

“That’s awesome,” Lucy commented.

“Plus, it’s a great way to impress women. A home-cooked meal always goes down well.”

“I’m sure it does,” said Lucy. No doubt this was a tactic he’d made good use of over the years.

“Don’t be jealous, Luce. It just gave me a chance to perfect my skills for you.”

Lucy gave a little snort.

“I’ve never enjoyed cooking for anyone the way I do you,” Dylan said, his eyes meeting hers.