‘So,’ Hans says, releasing him just enough to enable him to draw breath, ‘what are you doing here? I never thought you’d …’ He made a plane movement with his hand, complete with whooshing sound. ‘I mean, I’m just so—’
‘I’m here to do this, let’s just leave it at that.’ Luke rubbed the back of his neck with his left hand, and Rebecca realised, he was uncomfortable with the question. ‘Work’s been a bit mental, I guess …’ Hans clocked the messy workspace, and raised a brow in surprise. Rebecca glared at the mess at Luke, but he was too busy avoiding Hans’s eye. She knew shifty when she saw it.
‘But anyway, I made it! Are we …’ He paused and shot a quick look at Rebecca, then back up to Hans. ‘… all set?’
He said it jovially, but there was something in his voice. Rebecca noticed the way he and Hans nodded at each other. I’m intrigued, but realistically, it can’t be good, and I want nothing to do with drama. I have had enough of that to last a lifetime. Baking the next batch of croissants was something she could do. She could make coffee, serve customers, clean tables. There was routine in that, a regularity to the mundane that she needed to keep herself steady. Present, and not on that mountain top, about to shove off the snow and screw up the life she knew and dearly loved. At the time, anyway. She’d had her eyes opened on some things with the rose tint of time. Robbie, for example. That was another disaster she’d skied right into.
She folded the next set of croissants, laying them out on trays so that she could pop them in the oven. The two men kept chatting quietly together all the while, and Rebecca found herself relaxing once more into her work. But she didn’t miss Hans shooting her looks from time to time, which was odd. Even for him. Probably checking the fire extinguisher was still on the wall, ready to go. The poor man had PTSD from their ‘Hans School of Baking’ time. It wasn’t every man who could take a broken, slightly bitter, ex-professional skier and turn her into not only a decent waitress, but a bloody good baker to boot. Hans had done a good job, Holly too. They’d held her together till she could stand on her own feet once more. One of them had even sacrificed a forearm to the cause, and a fair bit of man pride.
The men still had their heads together when her chicken timer clucked loudly. Another gem from her mother under the guise of career development, but at least this one had a good use. The biographies of influential female athletes she sometimes posted were still firmly in the bottom drawer. Taking the special batch of croissants out of the oven, Rebecca beamed as she looked at her work. She might have zero interest in … well, anything, but these moments, seeing what she had made, they helped her drag herself out of her frosty pit every morning.
‘Are these what all the fuss is about? They smell lovely, but what is that flavour?’ Luke was suddenly there in front of her, bent double, looking enraptured by the tray of golden loveliness.
‘It’s my own creation actually, I like to try new combinations.’ Shut up, mouth. She pursed her lips together tight.
Hans was standing behind him, huge hands on his hips, an odd look on his face. A look Rebecca knew well.
‘Well, they smell lush.’ Luke looked up at her, well, into her breasts. It had been a while since a bloke had done that. Even if it was just an eyeline faux pas on his part. I wish I had worn my better bra. I bobbed my comfortable one on this morning. Lets the ladies do their thang. It had to be a man who invented the underwired bra, I tell you. Those babies take out washers and dryers with a single errant wire, so why the hell do we shove our breasts into them, scaffolded and bound like captives? No thanks. I’ll let my puppies fly free, ta. Still, given the way that Luke was looking at her relaxed little uniboob, maybe Victoria’s Secret had a point.
‘Thanks,’ she said, folding her arms over her chest, removing his viewpoint. He looked up at her, and she could see he was blushing. Which made her blush, and when recognition hit that he had been caught out, his face exploded into a tomato-like hue. It was endearing in a way. She found that she didn’t mind him looking. The feminist in her shuddered, but allowed it.
‘So Luke,’ Hans boomed from behind, making them both jump. ‘I have somewhere you can stay, for a few days at least. I’d put you up myself, but things are hectic at mine.’ Hans is the least hectic person I know. What’s going on?
‘That’s okay, I wouldn’t want to impose.’ Luke waved him off, looking ever more awkward by the minute. ‘Nonsense!’ Hans stepped forward, slapping him on the back hard. Luke took a stumbling step forward and coughed a little. ‘You can’t impose on us, right Becks?’
Shit. I think I know what’s coming. Nah … he wouldn’t do that. I know he won’t. Surely he won’t …
‘Miss Atkins here would be honoured to put you up, wouldn’t you, Becks?’
‘Er …’
‘No!’
‘Brilliant!’
Luke and Rebecca both spoke in unison, but Hans was by far the biggest, loudest windbag. Damn him.
‘It’s settled then! The lodge has a guest room, it’s pretty big, there’s a desk there, Wi-Fi is a bit patchy sometimes, but it works. Rebecca
