This was such an odd, unexpected question that she burst out a laugh.

What?

Just answer the question, Ms. Sharpe.

Annie took a moment to consider, before replying: Tea. I know that’s probably terribly boring but there really isn’t a situation which can’t be soothed or made better by a cup of tea. You?

Irn-Bru. I’m Scottish, it would be treasonous to choose anything else.

Annie gave this three laughing face emojis and a thumbs-up.

I’ll see you Friday.

You will indeed.

Annie was all a-flutter. John Granger really was most surprising. She picked up her book and went back to reading the shocking exploits of Lady Lucy Audley, though her eyes kept slipping to the bedside cabinet where Mr. Knightley lay waiting, wrapped in one of her linen scarves, ready for action.

Chapter 50

On Friday morning, when John Granger strode into the café he was greeted like a prodigal son by Annie’s Willow Bay customers and eyed curiously by those from out of town, who were trying to ascertain if he was someone they ought to recognize. Annie was busy at the coffee machine.

“What can I get you?” she asked, noting with pleasure that for the first time he was properly noticing the changes she had made to the café. “I’m afraid I’m clean out of Irn-Bru.”

John smiled at her. “Can you do a flat white?” he asked.

“Of course!”

“It looks good,” John said, nodding to the shelving and the new arrangement, though Annie could see it cost him to say it.

“Thank you,” said Annie. “I’m really pleased with how it’s turned out. I think your aunt would approve.” She saw his jaw clench ever so slightly and felt satisfied. Can I do a flat white, indeed! she thought.

“I hope it didn’t cost you too much. I wouldn’t like you to be out of pocket when it sells in the new year.”

Annie saw one or two wry smiles and raised eyebrows around the café.

“Nothing I’m not already well on the way to recouping,” she replied sweetly. “As you can see, business is booming.” A little queue was forming at the kiosk window.

John smiled. His eyebrow twitched infinitesimally, Annie noticed, and she grinned inwardly.

Annie banged the milk jug on the counter to disperse any milk bubbles and poured the milk into the waiting espresso, flicking her wrist lightly as the coffee neared the rim of the cup, to create a perfect feather in the rich crema. She handed John his flat white and wondered if she looked as smug as she felt. John looked at it, one eyebrow raised slightly in what she had come to learn was John’s reaction to surprise. He took a sip—no sugar, she noted—and licked his top lip; Annie found her eyes lingering on his mouth and mentally slapped herself.

“Good coffee,” said John.

“I know,” Annie replied.