Emilia entered the bakery and swiftly closed the door behind her. The winter wind was strong and bitterly cold, but, luckily, the snow had held off. She pulled the woollen hat from her head and fluffed up her hair.
She approached the counter, peering at the assortment of cakes lined up in the case. The assistant greeted her, but Emilia kept her attention focused on the cakes.
Of course, she knew it was rude not to return the greeting. She just preferred to pretend she hadn’t heard it or that she was distracted by making a choice of what to purchase. Which wasn’t the case at all. She knew what she would be ordering. The same thing she always ordered. Coffee and a slice of almond cake.
Why mess with perfection?
She took a deep breath to gather her courage before looking up at the assistant, smiling, and placing her order. She handed over her money, and the assistant said she’d serve her at the table.
It was one of the reasons Emilia liked the bakery. There were two in town, but this one brought your food and drink to the table, which meant no standing around making small talk while the assistant assembled your order.
Emilia looked around the small space and debated where to sit. She’d never arranged to meet someone in a bakery before. She usually chose to sit tucked away in a corner in case someone saw her and—heaven forbid—wanted to chat.
But now she was meeting someone, she needed to be visible. A familiar spike of panic ran through her.
Ever since a courier had arrived late the previous evening with a note in which Amber Tate said she looked forward to their meeting, Emilia had cursed her decision to offer up a time and location for their discussion. She’d been certain that Amber would decline.
How wrong she’d been.
She picked a table within sight of the front door but not close enough that the draft would bother her. She removed her scarf and gloves and shoved them, along with her hat, into her bag.
She couldn’t believe her bad luck.
She’d felt so smug when she had written to Amber, thinking for sure that her plan was utterly fool proof. After all, who would agree to travel to another country for a meeting in a couple of days? Amber Tate would, it seemed.
Emilia wouldn’t even go across the bridge to Copenhagen to meet up with her best friend, so why would a complete stranger fly to another country to meet someone in a bakery?
It was all Hugo’s fault, she decided.
Well, maybe her own a little as well. But if Hugo hadn’t pushed her to socialise, then none of this would have happened. She’d not be shivering with a little cold and a lot of fear in a bakery, waiting for the arrival of someone she’d never met.
She didn’t even know what Amber looked like. She glanced around the shop, just in case Amber had arrived early and she hadn’t seen her.
I didn’t think this through. What if she’s here? How would I know? And if she’s not here, how will I know it’s her when she arrives?
A mug of steaming coffee and a slice of cake arrived at her table, thankfully stopping her descent into further panic. She gratefully wrapped her cold hands around the mug. It wasn’t like her to feel the cold this much. She’d spent many winters walking outside without feeling so much as a chill. The sudden drop in her temperature could only be attributed to one thing: fear.
She hated meeting new people. She wasn’t even that fond of meeting people she knew. Only Hugo had managed to get through her defences and become someone she was always happy to see. But then Hugo had been a part of her life since she was five years old. He was like the sibling she’d never had.
And, like a sibling, he nagged her.
Mostly to get out of the house more, which was ridiculous. She loved her house. She was happy when she was at home, alone. And what was so wrong with being happy? Being outside made her uncomfortable. Why should she be forced to do things that made her feel uncomfortable?
The only reason she was in the bakery now was because of her conscience. She knew that Amber Tate was on her way to meet her, and she had no way to cancel the meeting at such late notice.
Her plan to trick Amber had backfired spectacularly. She’d happily written to Amber, giving her as little notice as possible in the hope that she wouldn’t be able to make it. In return, Amber had returned her letter giving her as little notice as possible that she would indeed be attending.
As much as she hated the idea, Emilia had to be at the meeting she had half-heartedly set up. The idea of asking someone to travel all that way and then just not turning up was unthinkable.
And Hugo would have been unbearable if she had cancelled. In fact, there was a strong possibility that Hugo would still be unbearable. Ever since he had started working in Copenhagen, he had become increasingly adamant that Emilia needed more friends, needed to get out more, and needed to leave her comfort zone.
Part of her, the stubborn part, wanted to do just that to prove to him that she could. That she didn’t need his help in doing so. Unfortunately, she was as fearful of the whole idea as she was stubborn, and the two parts of her personality warred over the idea.
Her head whipped up as the shop door opened. A woman in her thirties, wearing a trouser suit, unsuitable shoes, and carrying a leather satchel, entered the bakery. She was clearly underdressed for the weather, and looked around the bakery in confusion.
Emilia smiled to herself.
So much for not being able to spot her.
She took a deep breath and stood up. “Miss Tate?”
Amber looked over and smiled. She walked towards the table, extending her hand. “Miss Lund, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”
Emilia politely shook her hand, distantly wondering when the last time was she’d shaken someone’s hand. Probably when she was a child playing with her grandfather, pretending she ran the local post office. It was an odd sensation, not unpleasant, though she had no idea how long to shake hands for. Was there a required number of ups and downs? Seconds?
The question was answered for her when she felt Amber’s grip loosen. She did the same, assuming that she had performed the ridiculous gesture correctly.
“Emilia, please,” she corrected.
“In which case, please call me Amber.” Amber turned towards the bakery counter. “Can I get you something?”
“No, I’m sorry, I started without you.” Emilia gestured to her coffee and cake. Heat grazed her cheeks. She should have waited, she realised.
“Not a problem, it looks delicious. I’m sure I wouldn’t have waited either.” Amber placed her thin coat on the back of her seat and her satchel on the floor. “I’ll get something and be right back.”
Amber watched her walk away and start speaking with the assistant at the counter. She seemed so confident. So corporate.
Emilia rolled her eyes and focused her attention on her cake.
She knew business made the world go around, but that didn’t mean she had to like it. Or be a part of it.
A few minutes later, Amber returned and took a seat at the table.
“So, Miss Lund—sorry, Emilia,” Amber began. “Firstly, thank you so much for agreeing to meet me. I imagine you’re very busy, and I’m grateful for you giving up your time, especially so close to Christmas. As I said in my original letter, I am one of the acquisition managers for Walker Clay Publishing. Walker Clay is a small but rapidly growing publishing house, we’re home to some of the best—”
Emilia raised her hand, and Amber stopped her speech, raising an eyebrow in confusion as she did. Emilia actually felt a headache starting in her temples, such was her revulsion at any kind of corporate speak. It was one of the many reasons she had thrown her television away years ago. Too many people talking without anything actually being said.
“No, no,” she mumbled. “I’m sorry, I don’t like all this formal talk. I prefer to get to know people, individuals. I don’t talk about business with anyone I don’t know on a more personal level.”
It was almost the case. It was true in the sense that Emilia never discussed business at all.
“Oh, I see.” Amber clearly didn’t see but was trying to be polite. Emilia could tell she’d completely baffled her.
“Let’s just… talk,” Emilia suggested. She hoped Amber knew how, because she certainly didn’t. The very idea of just talking was the reason she had her hands clasped in her lap, so no one could see the shaking.
“Talk… right.” Amber smiled. It was a terrified, hollow smile. Emilia was sure it reflected her own perfectly.
A mug of coffee was delivered to the table, saving them from the awkward moment for a couple of seconds.
“Thank you,” Amber said to the waitress.
She sipped the coffee. “I… I was surprised. I read an article on the plane over here, it said that Sweden was one of the biggest coffee-drinking nations in the world. I thought it would have been America.”
Emilia smiled. “Yes, we’re obsessed with coffee. Must be the long winters.”
“Must be. I think Finland was the biggest consumer, then Norway and I think Iceland. But Sweden was definitely in the top ten.”
Emilia was surprised at how easily casual conversation came to Amber. She was equally surprised that the topic was one that actually interested her.
“Where did Britain come?” Emilia asked.
“We didn’t make the top twenty,” Amber said. “We have more branches of Starbucks than you, though. Per capita, that is.”
It was small talk, but it was unexpectedly comfortable small talk. Amber had done the impossible and put Emilia at ease.
Maybe this won’t be so terrible after all, she thought.