If she could just reach that darn top shelf.
Clover perched on her toes on the narrow top rung of the ladder. She nearly had the large silver coffee bag positioned where she wanted it. It would look great amongst the tea containers and selection of eclectic cups and saucers she’d found rummaging through her favourite op-shops. She prodded the bag with her fingertips, but a corner stubbornly caught on the shelf ledge.
A loud, disruptive banging from the shop fit-out across the road made her look through her front window. There were no signs advertising the new business that would be there, but a little notice advertising Sinclair and Son in the window corner told her all she needed to know. Upper Crust Bakeries was a national business, soon to be in every major shopping centre in busy suburban locations. But it didn’t make sense for them to be in an outer Melbourne town like Kallista, setting up in a strip shop location. This was a place for locals to make their living, and the locals liked their distinctive street-shop fronts being just that — unique.
There wasn’t room in this small street for two similar cafés, especially not in the mass-market style of Upper Crust. Not only did it not suit the town, it was going to be a fight for customers. Where she would quickly run out of money to keep her business going, if it came to that, the Upper Crust Bakery had the funds to support their newest shop to settle in no matter how long that might take. It was a waiting game she couldn’t afford to play.
She threw a determined gaze back to the coffee bag. If she could just get a bit higher. Spreading her free palm on her freshly painted crimson wall, she balanced her knee on the bottom shelf, knocking aside some T2 containers. She could push off with one foot on the ladder and her knee balancing on the lowest shelf, and prod the bag in one neat movement. She held her breath, tensed her muscles ready to spring, and…
‘Watch out!’
She jerked backwards and lost her hold on the shelf at the same time. Her foot slid off the rung. She tensed for a bone-thudding crash but found herself cradled in a strong, firm wall of male muscle. She only had a chance to blink into surprised light-brown eyes before the coffee bag crashed on her stomach. The air was punched straight out of her. Coffee beans poured from the ripped bag and clattered onto the floor. She coughed in a spasm.
‘Breath in through your nose and out through your mouth.’
She was bursting for air, but her body refused to cooperate.
‘Just relax and you’ll be able to breath.’
She fought her panic and relaxed her muscles, sagging into his arms. Her chest opened and she gratefully gulped in a lungful of air. She blinked rapidly, waiting for the white spots to stop dancing in her vision.
‘I thought this might happen.’ The voice was bemused, and also very male. So deep and warm it clung to her bones.
Which was absolutely ridiculous. She blinked away the spots and looked into a pair of striking eyes. What she thought was just light brown was now more sienna, with streaks of cinnamon spearing the inky iris. The eyes were keenly intelligent, and she felt as though she were under an intense spotlight. Maybe it was the way they didn’t flicker from her face, or that they held a sprinkling of disapproval, but his gaze also irritated her.
‘What sort of a man frightens a woman who’s up a ladder?’ She couldn’t help the words that tumbled out.
The eyes widened, his brows arching high. ‘Why was this woman up a ladder?’
‘A woman who needs to gets things done!’ She sounded more snappish than she wanted, but the amused way in which he watched her fuelled her aggravation.
His lips turned up slightly at the edges. ‘And how does this woman plan to get things done when she’s sprawled across the floor?’
‘I wasn’t about to sprawl across the floor, as you put it, until you barged through the door and yelled at me.’ She narrowed her eyes, trying to be her most severe, which she probably wasn’t doing a very good job of. Her friend, and now waitress, Holly said she was about as frightening as a wombat, even when she’d fully lost it. Which rarely happened. And it was this infuriating man’s fault she’d now lost her usual good humour.
‘I didn’t barge through the door, and I certainly didn’t yell at you. I was just trying to get you to be careful.’
‘What? By startling me so much I fell off the ladder?’
‘You shouldn’t have been up there, especially in boots like those.’ He indicated her boots with a tip of his head. She noticed how ruffled his hair was. Spiking in all directions, as though he’d just run his hands through it.
‘There’s nothing wrong with my boots.’ She’d got them at the Beggar’s Bazaar at the end of Main Street on a sale. Black leather cowboy boots, floral patterns imprinted into the leather and practical flat heels. She loved these boots the moment she’d seen them and after she’d finally plucked up the courage, and the savings, to buy them, she’d worn them just about every day since.
His eyes flowed from her ankles to her thighs. His gaze was as intimate as a touch and as though hypnotised, she watched his eyes travel to hers.
‘No. There’s not.’ He cleared his throat, ‘Isn’t there anyone you could have asked for help to do…what were you doing up there?’
Her gaze dropped to the coffee bag on her stomach.
‘There’s no-one…I have no-one…I mean…someone had to arrange the coffee bags and I did it.’ The truth was that she was the owner, chef, waitress, and book-keeper of her little café in the main street of Kallista.
That was until this particular man had come through the door and reminded her that she had no option but to do it all on her own. She inwardly sighed. It would be nice to have someone to help. But there was simply was no-one else to do ‘it’.
She blinked herself back to reality. She was still cradled in his arms and he’d made no attempt to put her down. Her world tilted a little bit more when she realised it felt quite nice to be held like this. Her shoulder and waist were pressed hard against him and she felt every ripple of solid muscle beneath the navy polo he wore. One arm supported her back while her knees were draped over the other. His hands curved over her upper arm and knee, effectively locking her in his grip. She took a steadying breath and looked into his eyes again. ‘You’ve forgotten to put me down.’
He seemed surprised that he was still holding her and with a firm but gentle movement she slipped from his arms while her feet took her balance once again. Her body felt strangely bereft once his touch left her, as though all the heat had gone with him. She didn’t have time to ponder the subtleties of her body as the coffee beans rattled to the floor, skidding on her newly painted boards beneath her freshly swept counter top. She’d have to do the chore again. Suddenly her shoulders ached and she felt old beyond her twenty five years.
His hand shot to her upper arms, the fingers pressing securely as though she might faint. ‘Are you sure you’re all right?’
Her eyes caught his. She didn’t know where that snippet of self-pity shot from. It simply wasn’t her style to think too much about things she couldn’t change. She moved from his grasp. ‘Quite fine.’
That sounded so prim. She should thank him. He did actually save her from a whole lot of pain. She looked into his face and blinked her surprise. Although she was wearing her flat-heeled boots which gave her a little extra height, he was still taller than her by half a head. He wasn’t handsome in the traditional sense, whatever that was, but there was something about him that had her eyes roaming his face like she wanted to remember every detail about him. She found her tongue, remembering a lifetime of manners that had been drummed into her by her parents.
‘Thank you.’
He had a slim face that was well balanced by a sharp straight nose. His brows were darker than his hair, slightly bushy and slashed across his eyes in rather a straight line. His cheeks slanted beneath strong cheekbones. She was glad to see there was no designer stubble along his jaw, just freshly shaved skin.
His mouth was also straight, the lower lip slightly larger than the top, but together they made a strong masculine mouth. There were faint lines running from the edge of his lips to beneath his nose. There was a matching vertical furrow between his eyebrows at the top of his nose.
Grey tinged his temples and she had that disconcerting feeling that his body was of a different age to the man inside. There was something vaguely familiar about him, coupled with a distinct feeling of discontent. She studied his face a moment more, and realization clicked.
‘You’re him?’ she gasped, surprise lacing her tone. ‘From across the road, at that… that…Upper Crust Bakery.’ She touched her finger to his chest, meeting a wall of solid, very warm, muscle. ‘You’re working for them.’
His brows rose as he looked at her finger and she nearly scowled at the bemused look that crossed his face. She quickly withdrew her finger, pretending it was the look, and not what she felt that made her remove it so quickly.
‘I’m sorry for jabbing you.’
‘Jabbing?’
‘With my finger. The Upper Crust are big. National. Surely they could keep to the big suburbs where there’s room for one more bakery. Shops here support their community. Upper Crust support no-one but themselves. A big, faceless giant storming into a location that doesn’t want them. It’s different here. People make an emotional investment in each other.’ She sent him an apologetic smile. He really had nothing to do with the decision to build across the road. He was just a guy trying to earn a living just like she was. ‘I’m never usually so upset. Let’s start again, shall we?’ She held out her hand. ‘I’m Clover Loveday. Welcome to Four-Leaf Clover. Nice to meet you.’
He smiled, the lines around his eyes and mouth smoothed out and he morphed into the appearance of a younger man.
‘Glad to meet you — Clover Loveday.’
His hand covered hers in a warm and solid grip. A charge zapped through her palm and ricocheted up the arm. She pulled back, jerking her hand from his. ‘Oh,’ she gasped.
He looked at his hand to her, seemingly as startled as she was. She laughed nervously. ‘Looks like a bit of static. I didn’t catch your name.’
The smile from his face flat-lined. Seriousness allowed the lines on his face to return. ‘Liam Sinclair.’
He stared at her. Waiting. Anticipating.
Her eyes slid from his to the sign attached to the front of the building across the road. Then…meaning. Her gaze slid back to his. ‘You don’t just work for them. You’re…’
‘…the son.’
* * *
He might as well tell her now. It would be best coming from him, rather than her finding out later. In his experience it was much better to be up front. Although this time he’d wanted to remain anonymous. Just for a little more.
She was refreshingly honest. The fire in her eyes was truth. She hadn’t hidden her aggravation at him. After all, she was protecting her business. That was something he understood. He looked about him at the café. In fact it looked as though she’d poured herself into her business. The inside seemed an extension of herself. An eclectic array of non-matching tables and chairs from the fifties that looked as new as the day they were made, table lamps with bright shades, a matching splash of crimson on the back wall. The rest of the walls were a burnt orange where a line of artworks from a local artist hung.
A tiny kitchen was tucked at the back behind a narrow door, as if it were an afterthought, but an array of mouth-watering smells coming from it infused the air. He breathed in, savouring the sweetness evident in the aroma. As though reading his thought, her mouth opened. ‘My muffins!’
She dashed into the kitchen in a flurry of sexy cowboy boots and leggy fish-net stockings. Her mid-thigh skirt did nothing to hide the toned shape of her legs that led to a firm handful of shapely derriere. She’d felt so good in his arms, a perfect fit, and he’d been reluctant to return her feet to the floor. There was a clatter from the kitchen. He sauntered to the entrance, leaning against the frame, happy to watch her.
She glanced at him again, a knowing look, but said nothing, returning to her task.
‘You’re the cook?’
‘Cook, waitress, coffee maker — owner.’
‘Everything?’ She concentrated on plucking the muffins carefully out from the tin and laying them on a cooling rack. He watched her, intrigued with her efficient, quick movements.
‘I’m no stranger to a hammer, believe me. Dad taught me all I know.’
‘He sounds like a hard worker too.’
The kitchen was tiny. There was a centre bench, of which she took up all the space. Behind her was a stove top over an oven. Next to that, a fridge. There was a door leading outside, the sink next to that. There was barely space for the shelving unit that held an array of plates, cups and saucers. All matched in colour, but were not of the same set. But like the chairs and tables, they all cleverly came together.
He paused, looking out from the kitchen to the tables. It all seemed so tossed together, but he felt a certain style of homeliness settle within him. Something he’d never felt when he stepped into one of his many bakeries around the nation. Comparing the difference, they seemed so faceless. Sterile.
‘Ouch!’
He turned from his contemplation to find her rubbing her knuckles.
‘What’s wrong?’ he asked.
She shrugged a delicate shoulder. ‘Burn.’
Heated tears welled in her eyes, then one trickled down her cheek. She brushed it aside with an angry flick of her fingers. One step had him through the kitchen over to her. He took her hand. There was a red slash across the top of her thumb.
‘Water.’ He man-handled her to the sink, placing her hand beneath a flow of cold water.
‘I can do this myself.’ Her voice wavered, hot and thick with unshed tears. She tried to remove her fingers from his grasp, but he held them tight.
Liam looked down into her large aquamarine-blue eyes. They flashed beneath a thick fringe. Her face was framed perfectly by dark chestnut hair. There was an air of independence about her and he had no question that she could look after herself. The food, the shop, the decorating. She was so small, so slight. It didn’t seem right that this woman was such a jack of all trades. Maybe she looked after things a little more than she should.
He inwardly sighed. He frowned at the running water while he held her hand beneath it. Most of the women he knew simpered after him. Actually it wasn’t him. It was usually his money. He’d learned that the hard way. A memory of Tania and his CFO, Peter Shaw, flashed unbidden through his mind and he quickly pushed it back into the dark corner where it came from. He didn’t want to be reminded about that. Not now. It was as though his brain had learned to review it in his mind every five minutes, forcing him to re-live the pain of that single moment that had not only crumbled his life, but his faith in women.
She took her hand from his and turned off the tap. ‘Thanks, but I’m used to burns. Occupational hazard.’ She dried her hand on a tea-towel, studying the wound and held her hands up to him. They were criss-crossed with a variety of cuts and slashes, some faded, some fresh. The latest burn was the reddest. ‘It’s fine.’
He felt a frown pull his forehead. ‘You really should get some antiseptic cream on that.’
She tilted her head, placing her hand on a slim hip. ‘Are you usually so concerned about small flesh wounds?’
As she spoke a woman with remarkable white hair with pink stripes staggered through the door carrying a large brown paper box. She placed it on the bench while Clover moved the cooling muffins out of the way.
‘I hope I’ve got everything you need. Taylor’s didn’t have the poppy seeds so I had to trek over the other side of Dandenong to get them from On-Time Importers. But at least they had them.’ The white-haired woman looked at him as though she’d just noticed him, which was probably right. She couldn’t have seen much from behind the box. Her eyes slid curiously over him and then travelled back to Clover. ‘Oh. I hope I’m not intruding.’
He quietly regarded her. Her hair suited her, the pink bringing out the flush in her cheeks. Without the aid of the artificial colour, her skin would be quite pale. She had a dainty heart shaped face that was at the moment turned towards Clover. They two were so opposite. One dark and mystical, the other as light as a fairy. Together, they fitted the place. He was feeling definitely out of place, wearing his formal business attire, beneath the curiosity of the white-haired woman’s gaze. She turned towards him, blocking Clover with her shoulder and held out her hand.
‘Hi. My name’s Holly. I haven’t seen you around here.’
‘This is Mr Sinclair,’ Clover said. ‘Mr Liam Sinclair.’
Holly’s violet gaze became unfocussed. Introspective, as though she were looking beyond him. He tried to take his hand back from her grasp, but she had a solid hold. Finally she let go, turning to Clover. ‘He’s the one building The Upper Crust over the road.’
Clover nodded, the waves of her hair fluttered around her face. Both women turned their eyes on him and he had the distinct feeling he was being evaluated. He shuffled uncomfortably. From the moment he’d stepped foot in her café, his world seemed to keep shifting. ‘Ummm…I just came over to see if you were open for business.’
‘Tomorrow’s the big day, but, as you know, I have a fresh tray of muffins. I was testing out the oven,’ she gestured to the huge stainless steel oven behind her.
‘It seems like I have barged in on you, then.’ His stomach gave a loud gurgle. Great timing. Or maybe it was the delicious smells in the kitchen that made him hyper-aware he hadn’t eaten since five that morning.
Clover’s mouth twisted into a wry grin. She took one of the steaming muffins from the tray and handed it to him. ‘Here, have a muffin before you go. No charge. We give food away around here to hungry people. It’s a community thing.’
He took it from her, feeling the sticky weight of it in his hand even though it was held in a square of paper. Large and doughy, raspberries spotted the top of the muffin. It looked like a tiny work of art. The organic, wholesome look suited both her and the café. It seemed everything she touched had her distinct style.
‘I didn’t poison it. Take a bite. They’re good. Raspberry and white chocolate.’
The aroma that wafted from the muffin smelt delicious and his mouth instantly watered. With a little irritation he realised the muffins his bakers made for Upper Crust didn’t make him want to shove the whole thing into his mouth. The smell was tantalizing. Again he had the fleeting sensation of something earthy. Homely. Like he’d found a place, a centre where he could just…be. For the first time in a long time, she’d unsettled him enough to expose feelings he thought were long buried. A past he’d liked forgotten.
He looked into her eyes. She watched him carefully, waiting. He took a bite, flavour bursting in his mouth. She had filled the muffins with raspberries and chocolate all the way through, not just on the top as Upper Crust often did. They were absolutely delicious. He looked at the muffin, amazed that it contained such flavour, and devoured half of the muffin in one bite. To his surprise, Clover laughed. The husky sound enveloped him, sinking into the soft centre of his mind.
Her mouth had curved from softly pillowed lips to a smile that lit her face. It was so prominent on such a dainty face, but it suited her. He felt his own mouth twist and realised how good it felt. It had been a long while since he’d felt lighthearted enough to smile like this.
‘It’s good. Really good,’ he said after swallowing the bite.
‘I’m glad you think so,’ she replied. Her eyes were bright. This was her passion, her spark. Whatever it was, he instantly recognised something in her that had been absent in him. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but it was as though stepping into her world had made him recognise how sterile his had become.
‘I’d really better be leaving,’ he said.
‘Yes, your workers will be wondering where you’ve been,’ Holly said.
He looked at Clover. ‘Thank you for the muffin. It’s delicious. Really.’
Clover tilted her head. ‘I’m glad you liked it.’
‘I did like it. Definitely.’ He nodded to both women before leaving. As he stepped through the door, a crisp breeze slapped him in the face. He adjusted his coat, feeling as though he were stepping back to reality. His world.
And he was strongly reminded again just how empty it had become.