Stevie thought she was dying and that was before she risked moving her head. As a matter of fact, she didn’t think she could move it, without it dropping off and rolling away. Her stomach gurgled unpleasantly, her mouth was drier than a dust storm on Mars, and to top it all off, some sadistic little elf must have superglued her eyelids shut during the night, because her lids were impossible to open. And something was compressing her chest.
She knew what it was when a paw patted her on the nose. ‘Peggy,’ she murmured. ‘Geddoff.’
Peggy gave a little mew and suddenly the weight lifted off Stevie’s chest as the cat jumped to the floor. Blindly, Stevie struggled out of bed, trying to force her eyes open while wrestling with her dressing gown, which had got itself tangled up in her legs during the night.
She paused in her efforts. Dressing gown? Why was she wearing her dressing gown in bed? She hunted feebly around in her throbbing head for an answer but couldn’t find one. She must have been drunker than she had thought – not a great deal of the end part of last night made any sense.
She prised one eye open with her thumb and index finger and groaned. ‘Ow.’
The early summer sun shot through her eyeball and skewered her brain. She quickly shut the eye again, carefully peeled her tongue off the roof of her mouth and tried to wet her lips. It was like rubbing an armadillo’s backside.
‘Cooeee.’ Cassandra’s voice floated up the stairs.
What time was it? Stevie rubbed her eyes and tried to focus on the alarm clock on her bedside table. Late, that was what it was. Very late.
With another groan, she levered herself upright, took off her dressing gown and hunted for some clothes. She really should have a shower, but the thought of hot water hitting her head made her wince. She settled for splashing some cold on her face instead, cleaning her teeth, and tying her hair into a bun.
She looked a mess, she thought, as she stared at her reflection. Bloodshot eyes, sallow skin, wounded expression, and no wonder, because she dimly recalled downing several glasses of beer before Leanne had suggested gin. Stevie didn’t even like gin!
‘Stevie, are you OK?’ Cassandra sounded worried.
‘Yeah, I’m fine. I’ll be down in a sec.’ Stevie took one last look, vowed never to touch another drop of alcohol again, and teetered gingerly down the stairs.
‘You look awful,’ Cassandra stated, taking one look at her.
‘Thanks.’
‘Are you ill? Can I get you something?’
‘Paracetamol and a coffee would be lovely. Don’t bother firing up Bert, use the instant stuff.’ The coffee machine would need to be switched on soon, but Stevie couldn’t face it just yet. It usually made one hell of a racket and tended to blow out the odd cloud of steam.
‘Do you want me to put these in the oven for you?’ Cassandra pointed to the trays of ready-prepared pastries. She looked worried.
‘Thanks, that would be great.’ No wonder she was concerned – Stevie had normally baked the breakfast batch and was usually working on the more elaborate cakes and fancies for the elevenses crowd by now.
‘Summer flu, do you think?’ Cassandra asked as she switched the ovens on.
‘Leanne.’
‘Ah.’ Cassandra filled the kettle. ‘Then I’ve got no sympathy for you; the woman can drink like a whale.’
‘I found out,’ Stevie replied mournfully, her head in her hands. ‘She had me on gin.’
‘Homebrew?’
‘Regular stuff.’
‘Phew, you’ve had a lucky escape. She usually brews her own and it’s lethal. Whatever you do, never go to her place for a meal. She’ll have you so drunk on it you won’t remember your name.’
‘She’s done it to you, hasn’t she?’
‘Yup.’
Stevie accepted the coffee gratefully, scalding her mouth on the hot liquid. As the caffeine worked its magic and began to revive her, Stevie saw one of her boots lying on the floor. What was it doing there?
The other one lay a little further away, and now she came to think about it, she remembered seeing the odd garment or two lying on the stairs as she came down them.
Vague images of last night floated on the edge of her mind – rain, and a sexy voice, and being very, very cold. Oh, and arms, strong ones, picking her up. But that couldn’t be right, because she clearly remembered walking out of the pub with Leanne. Then the fresh air hit and the memories became somewhat hazy.
The bell above the door tinkled and Stevie grimaced. She wasn’t in the mood for customers this early. It was only just gone eight o’clock – they didn’t open until eight-thirty, and the croissants weren’t cooked yet, and the coffee machine had to be switched on, and—
‘Good, you’re still alive.’ A figure filled the doorway.
‘Huh?’ Stevie squinted at it.
‘Hello, Nick,’ Cassandra said calmly. ‘We’re not open yet.’ She made to shoo him out of the kitchen. ‘Sorry, I forgot to lock the door behind me.’ She turned to Stevie. ‘You do realise you left it unlocked all night?’
Stevie had realised no such thing. ‘Damn. I could have been murdered in my bed.’
‘My fault, I should have locked it behind me when I left,’ Nick said, ‘but I was so tired, I couldn’t have been thinking straight… what?’
Both women were staring at him, mouths open.
‘Well, well, well, you dark horse,’ Cassandra said to Stevie, breaking the silence.
‘You were here? Last night? In the tea shop?’ Stevie was flabbergasted, scrambling through the disjointed images of the night before, and not finding him in any of them. But there was that voice…
‘Sort of, yes,’ Nick replied.
‘Why?’ Even as Stevie asked the question, she dreaded the answer. Surely, she’d have remembered if she’d slept with him? Shame reddened her cheeks and she stared at him, horrified.
‘I couldn’t leave you on the counter.’ He gestured to the stainless-steel island in the middle of the kitchen and shrugged. ‘You would have caught a chill, or worse,’ he added darkly.
‘What was I doing on there?’ she asked.
‘Sleeping, apparently.’
‘Yes, of course,’ she replied, as if it was the most normal thing in the world to use one’s kitchen island as a bed. ‘How did you know I was sleeping on it?’ She’d have to disinfect it before she used it again. ‘Cassandra, could you switch Bert on, please?’
‘Sure,’ Cassandra replied, staying exactly where she was. She had an avid look on her face and her eyes were wide with astonishment.
‘I saw you,’ Nick said. ‘You gave me the fright of my life – I thought you were some kind of…’ he paused. ‘Never mind. Anyway, I had to take you to bed.’
‘I bet you did!’ Cassandra declared. ‘Nick Saunders, I’m ashamed of you, taking advantage of a drunken woman.’
‘I didn’t!’ Nick protested.
Stevie wished they would both shut up and leave her alone.
‘I merely made sure she was OK and was warm enough,’ Nick retorted loftily.
‘Was she?’ Cassandra waggled her eyebrows at him.
‘Yes.’
‘Go away,’ Stevie said. ‘I don’t feel well.’
‘She was out with Leanne from the florist shop,’ Nick said, by way of an explanation.
‘I know,’ Cassandra replied. ‘I’m surprised she can remember her own name this morning.’
Stevie put her head in her hands as the conversation sunk in. ‘You put me to bed,’ she said in a disbelieving tone. ‘Did you undress me too?’
‘No, you did that all by yourself.’
That would explain the trail of clothes up the stairs. She must have taken them off, one soggy item at a time, as she went. ‘You should have stopped me.’
‘I wasn’t here at the time.’
She lifted her head to look at him. ‘I thought you said you were.’
‘I’d… um… popped back to my car for a second. By the time I came back, you were wrapped in a dressing gown and lying on the bed, shivering.’
Stevie let out a sigh of relief. He’d not seen her in her half-naked glory after all.
‘I tucked you in,’ he continued, ‘gave you a hot water bottle (neck warmer, actually) and went home.’
The look of anticipation on Cassandra’s face faded into disappointment. ‘You didn’t sleep with her, then?’
‘Cassandra! No, he didn’t!’ Stevie was shocked her friend could think such a thing.
Cassandra turned her attention to Nick. ‘How come you were in a position to put our lovely pastry chef here, to bed?’
‘I was on my way to The Manor and there she was, dancing about in the middle of the road in the rain, then she fell over, so I saw her safely into the shop and took Leanne home.’
‘On the way to The Manor, eh?’ Cassandra sent him a significant look.
Nick sighed. ‘Edgar’s hunter had colic.’
‘Was Miranda there?’ she asked.
‘Yeah, so?’
‘Just asking.’
Stevie’s ears pricked up. Who was this Miranda person? And why did Nick look so sheepish? She was about to ask, when the bell above the door tinkled; their first customers had arrived and nothing was ready.
‘Excuse me,’ she said to Nick, ‘we’ve got work to do. Cassandra, please see to Bert, I’ve got to check on the oven.’ She stood, scooping a passing Peggy up as she did so and deposited the cat on the stairs, shutting the door to the flat with the moggy firmly on the other side. ‘Thank you for what you did last night,’ she said stiffly, as Nick turned to leave. ‘I can assure you it won’t happen again.’
With that, she opened the oven door, letting out a blast of mouth-watering steam, and completely missed the look of disappointment on Nick Saunders’s face.