Tristan laughed. ‘What a relief! Imagine if it said I was meant to be a footballer or an accountant or something.’
‘Well, I can see you were good at sports as a child and had a well-supported childhood and were given a lot of freedom to pursue your own path in life. Did you lose someone when you were about ten?’
‘My grandfather when I was nine. Does that show up?’ Tristan asked with amazement.
Lola nodded. ‘Yes, this little cross here, it shows trauma, but I’m glad to report you don’t have many of those. Things seem to have been quite plain sailing, which is nice. I’m happy for you about that. Some people have had awful tragedies.’
‘What do you do if you see something bad predicted? Do you tell them?’
Lola paused. ‘It depends. I mean, I might hint at hardship, but really, does anyone come to have their palm read to hear about the bad things? No. They want to know if they’ll find true love or their fortune.’
‘What about my true love or fortune?’ Tristan asked, leaning in, his voice curling around her.
Glancing up, Lola met his eyes, which sparkled flirtatiously. ‘Ah, the question everyone wants the answer to.’ She winked before turning back to his palm, slowly tracing her finger along his heart line, enjoying the way she sensed him holding his breath. Its path was so intricately entwined with her own. Could she tell him? She flicked a glance at him, meeting his blue eyes, which crackled with a fire that set her soul alight. She resisted the overwhelming temptation to bring his palm to her lips and kiss it.
‘Lola?’ He leaned forward a fraction more and all her senses were scrambled as she breathed in the scent of him, earthy but gentle, everything about him deliciously subtle.
Foreheads almost touching, Lola leaned into the magnetic pull of him. There was a pause, a fraction where everything was held in one frozen moment. The desire to kiss him buzzed through her but terrified by what might happen if she stepped over the friendship boundary, Lola pulled back, breaking the spell.
‘Yes, there’s love, there’s always love,’ she whispered. ‘Not very far away now. In fact, it might be why you’ve, erm, come here,’ she laughed nervously. ‘Anything else will ruin the surprise,’ she said, passing his hand back to him, as if his touch was burning her.
Before she could say anything else, before he could reach her, Lola slipped off her stool, putting some distance between them. Tristan watched her, puzzled and full of a frustration she recognised. It was a distance she immediately regretted. Lola liked him more than she wanted to admit, but watching him from across her kitchen, the thought of giving in to those feelings sent fear coursing through her veins. He was so perfect, so kind and gentle, she ached to take his hand back, pull him close, see what would happen, but she was frozen to the spot with fear. Her heart beat a frantic tattoo as if to warn her of the danger of getting involved romantically with him.Friends, she repeated to herself,best to remain as friends.
‘So,’ she fished for something to say, ‘I take it a palm reading isn’t why you really came here tonight . . .’
Tristan was looking at his palm as if puzzled by what had made Lola back away. Composing himself, he stood up and walked towards her. ‘No. It wasn’t, but it’s been entertaining. Sorry, that sounds as if I’m dismissing your skills, I’m not . . .’ He stopped himself from blabbering on any further. ‘I came here to tell you that I’ve been investigating the fishing disaster.’
‘Oh! Go on.’ Lola tightened her apron strings as if to secure herself against making a move on Tristan.
Tristan paused as he took in the bags of dried fruit and bowls on the kitchen island. ‘What’s all this? I’m not interrupting anything, am I?’
‘Of course you’re not. I’m going to prep the fruit for the Christmas cakes. I need to soak it overnight in brandy so that I can start getting the cakes baked tomorrow. I’ve had thirty orders already, can you believe it? It’s only been one week.’ She felt safer back on home turf.
‘Wow, that’s a lot of cake.’ Tristan looked impressed.
‘I’m in for a long night,’ Lola sighed.
‘Well, would you like some help?’
Lola sized him up. ‘You mean it? You don’t have any pressing parish business to attend to?’
He gave her his gorgeous lopsided smile. ‘No, anyway, there can’t be anything more pressing than helping provide Polcarrow with cake, which I secretly think is the most important job.’
Lola clapped her hands together in delight. ‘Excellent, as long as you don’t mind a bit of Christmas music to get us, erm, in the mood.’
‘Not at all. It’s November, I think Christmas music is now acceptable,’ he said as he followed her instructions to wash his hands.
Lola laughed and rifled through the aprons on the back of the door. Slightly relieved they’d returned to their easy chatter. ‘Let’s get you kitted up. Then you can tell me what you’ve found out.’ She passed him a faded blue and white striped apron and watched as he put it over his head and attempted to fasten the ties. After a few moments of struggling, Lola stepped forward and, giggling, offered, ‘Let me help.’
Before she could even think about what she was doing Lola reached around Tristan’s waist to grab the apron strings. Her breath caught. There was something nice and solid about him, dependable, that made her want to keep her arms wrapped around him and never let go. As he glanced down, she looked up and knew he’d always protect her. Despite her earlier reservations, the urge to snuggle in against him was strong. She quickly looped the strings and tied them in a bow.
Having secured his apron, Lola stepped back, flustered; at this rate she would need to open the windows to cool off for more than just the baking. She risked a glance back at Tristan. He was watching her, the same look in his eyes from when they’d been perched on the stools. Breaking the tension, she grabbed an industrial-size tub of glacé cherries and passed them to him.
‘I need you to weigh these out and then chop them up. Quarters will be fine. It’ll be sticky work, so roll your sleeves up.’ She peered at her recipe. ‘Actually, on second thoughts just do the whole lot.’
Tristan prised the lid off and looked at the glistening, sticky cherries and she wondered if he’d changed his mind. Instead, he announced, ‘I loved these as a child. I’d sneak them out of the cupboard along with those little jelly sugared diamond things you used to get.’
‘Oh yes, I remember them! I’ll have to investigate and see if I can get them, they’d look cute on fairy cakes.’ A wave of affection washed over her as they set about their tasks in companiable silence. She watched Tristan concentrating as he carefully cut up the cherries.
