Returning my attention from Fin to the book, it was clear the image I stared at had been photoshopped. The laughter lines evident on Fin’s actual face had been smoothed out and the golden glow to his skin lightened. There was no hint at his confident, cheeky manner; in the picture, stood there with his arms folded and wearing chef whites, Fin appeared the consummate professional.
My heart raced as I flipped the cookbook back over and scanned through the blurb, reading about how Fin had cooked for royalty,both regal and Hollywood alike.I saw words likeworld-classandrenownedfollowed by a whole list of appearances on American TV shows.Oh, Lordy.There was even a mention of a recent stint as a judge on a top UK cookery programme. I swallowed.Why did it have to be that programme?The show might have been new, but from the very first episode it had taken the nation’s cooking aspirations by storm; everyone, bar me, seemed to watch it. I recalled all the conversations I hadn’t been able to join in with. The themes of the week, the food combinations, the gorgeously handsome judge.Oh, bugger.He was only stood in my kitchen.
“What have you got there?” Fin asked, glancing over from the stove.
I stuffed the book back into my bag before he could see it. “A gift from Annie,” I replied, trying to keep calm. “A book she thought I’d be interested in.”
“That’s kind of her,” he replied with a smile.
“Isn’t it?” I said, imagining her sat at home laughing to herself, at the same time knowing I’d be freaking out.
I told myself to calm down and carry on as normal. Although as I watched him get back to his cooking, I had to wonder why he’d kept quiet on the career front. I began to feel affronted, all the while insisting it didn’t matter to me what Fin did for a living, so what if he happened to be the most famous judge on UK television? Did he think I’d play fangirl just because he was on the telly? Did he think I’d throw myself at him? Like that was ever going to happen. I silently scoffed. It just went to show how little the man knew me.
I struggled to maintain my indignance, unable to reconcile the man I’d just described with the man I was observing. The Fin in front of me had shown no signs of being egotistical or superior; he’d been nothing but generous. The man had run me a bath for goodness’ sake.
I glanced at my bag, wishing I hadn’t stowed his book away like that. Not facing him with it meant I had to keep his secret too; something I wasn’t sure I could manage.
“The shop owner seemed a nice woman,” Fin said.
My pulsed quickened. Shop owner, Karen, the woman who watched every cookery programme going. Karen, one of the nosiest people in the village. I began to panic. “So you spoke to her then,” I asked.
“Not really. She just seemed very polite.”
Oh, Lordy.Not usually one for good manners, the woman had clearly recognised him.
I knew Fin’s presence would be all around the village. Between Karen and Roberta…Oh, no, I thought, suddenly recalling Roberta’s weird response to Fin.That’s why she was staring. She knew who he was.Looking back the clues kept coming.And the sunglasses he wore.They were obviously a disguise.A bad move on his part, I realised. Shades in the middle of a depressing Yorkshire Dales winter didn’t exactly render the wearer inconspicuous. I began to freak even more, picturing desperate housewives and cookery wannabees queuing down the street.
12
“Voilà!” Fin said, laying a plate in front of me. “Shepherd’s pie.”
I tried to show some appreciation as I looked from my dinner to him, but the shock of finding out Fin was the nation’s current TV darling was still affecting me. I took in the creamy mashed potato, browned to perfection; the bed of minced beef, covered in a rich mouth-watering onion gravy; and the heap of puréed carrots that brought the dish a bit of colour. “Perfect,” I said, mustering a smile even if my usual healthy appetite had all but gone. “Although Ireallywish you hadn’t,” I added, thinking about Fin’s trip to the shop. “We could have ordered something in.”
“I wanted to. My way of saying thank you. It can’t be easy having your space invaded like this.”
If I’d thought having an unexpected house guest was bad before, it suddenly seemed a whole lot worse. “Don’t be silly,” I said. “It’s fine.”
Picking up my fork, I thought about the breakfast Fin had made, the bath he’d just treated me to, and the dinner I was trying to eat. I knew I’d said I wanted some excitement in my life, but having a famous chef running around after me wasn’t quite what I’d meant. “You do know they’ll have you down as my live-in lover? And by now, the news will be all around the village.”
“I’m okay with that if you are?” Fin replied, accompanying his words with a great big smile.
I felt my cheeks redden. Having half hoped and half expected him to run for the hills at such a prospect, I was surprised to find he quite liked the idea.
“Dig in,” he said, indicating I should eat.
Doing as requested, I realised I had no other choice than to accept the situation and I told myself if he didn’t have a problem with gossip, then I shouldn’t either. He was the TV star and had more of a reputation to lose than I did. If anything, I garnered a bit of kudos out of the situation. Besides, real life could be boring, I asserted. So what if people thought I was partaking in ahistoire d’amourwith a man celebrated for his cooking?
My heart sank. Who was I kidding?
Imagining the tittle-tattle, my enthusiasm began to wane. Recalling past events in the village, I didn’t think I’d ever forget the spotlight old Mrs Harper found herself under when her husband died. The locals weren’t always kind with their words, despite everyone knowing the woman had wanted that new patio of hers for ages.
“It’s all right for you,” I said. “I still have to live here after you’ve gone.”
I fell quiet, wondering why Fin hadn’t revealed his identity. Did he miss having anonymity and was enjoying the chance to be himself for a while? Did he have trust issues? The latter being a bit rich considering I’d blindly given him a bed.
Pushing my food around, I snuck a look at him, aware that the man’s behaviour was no different now than it had been that morning and I scolded myself for thinking his fame changed things. Since landing, Fin had been nothing but thoughtful, valuing the fact that I hadn’t claimed there was no room at the inn and that he’d have to go and find himself a Christmas stable. And it wasn’t as if I’d been totally honest with him either. I hadn’t shown him the cookbook and faced him with his stardom; I’d kept it to myself, just like he had. Feeling like a hypocrite, I took a deep breath. “I have a confession to make,” I said.
“Really?”
