“I’m not sure I’m cut out for not working at all. I get fidgety. And there’s something about this place. I don’t know how to explain it.” She paused for a moment, and Alex waited. “It inspires me,” she said finally. “It makes me want to build something, something that’s just mine.”

“Well, then, you’ve answered your own question,” said Alex. “Stop dipping your toe in and make it happen.”

Annie had her first customer at a quarter past eight and she informed him, and all those who came after, that from now on she would be open every day bar Sunday. A six-day week didn’t entirely fit with her original taking a step back idea, however, she decided she wouldn’t open past half past two in the afternoon, thus giving her acres of free time.

Between customers, she took the chairs down from the tables in the tearoom and set a scented candle on each one. Along the middle table, at which they would sit for the book club, she ran a line of tealights and positioned her new lamps. When it became clear that it was going to be a busy day for coffee, Annie brought her ingredients for tonight’s snacks downstairs and baked them in the small oven in the café kitchenette.

Her phone lit up with a text from Max as she was rolling out the pastry for the tartlets. She hadn’t thanked him for the hamper; she didn’t know the etiquette for gifts from estranged husbands—any message would open a dialogue she didn’t want.

Did you find the hamper I left the other night? I didn’t hear from you, so I wasn’t sure if you’d got it. I put the perishables in a cool-box in case you spent the night elsewhere. I hope you enjoyed it. Do you remember that night? I’d like for us to go back. Start again. Like when we were mad for each other. I meant what I wrote. x

Annie sighed. It was the same as always: sentimental words sandwiched between thinly veiled passive aggression. She replied right away to prevent a follow-up call.

I did find it. Thank you. And yes, I do remember. The baskets were a nice touch!

She dared not say more. She added no kiss at the end. Max needed only the scantiest crumb of encouragement and he’d be like a Jack Russell down a rabbit hole.

Chapter 33