Hot Bloke shrugged and held out his hand. “Yep. All mine. Kim Penrose. Pleased to meet you.”
“Jas Manning.” I shook his hand. “Nice to meet you too.”
“Jas? As in, Jason?”
I rolled my eyes. “No, that would be ‘Jase,’ not ‘Jas,’ wouldn’t it? It’s Jasper, actually, but don’t even think about pulling a Brummie accent on me. I’ve heard all the carrot jokes in the world.”
That earned me a grin that made the sun look pale. Kim laughed too, deep and rumbling. “Not gonna lie, if you’d been a redhead instead of them ebony curls, I might’ve tried it.”
I didn’t doubt it for a second. Hot Bloke—Kim—had a mischievous gleam in his eyes that I’d seen many times from my brothers. Not that he reminded me of Gaz or Nicky.
Fuck no.I gave myself an internal shake and gazed around at the rest of the stall’s offerings, which were complete with a work-in-progress at the very back. “So this is your stuff?”
“Aye. Never done this event before, though. We’re kinda new.”
“To the area?”
“Nah, Porthkennack born and bred. You?”
I didn’t bother to quip that if I’d grown up in Porthkennack, we’d likely have already crossed paths. Since returning to the family fold, I’d fast learned that native folk didn’t take kindly to their tight-knit community being mocked, however well-meant. “I was born here, but I grew up in London with my mum. Only just moved back. My family has been doing these festivals for years, though. There’s a lot of them around, if you like that kind of thing.”
“We do.”
We? I forced myself not to ask the question. Gay, straight, whatever, I’d sworn off men for good. I couldn’t help giving Kim a second once-over, though, and I bit back another sigh. Whichever way he swung, he obviously wasn’t single. And anyway, I’d finished my pint, so it was time I moved on.
I said goodbye and started to turn away. Kim caught my arm. “You never said why you were here. Do you have a stall? Or are you browsing?”
“Uh, I’m helping my brother in the food tent.”
Kim’s hand on my arm was electric. “You’ll be here all day, then?”
Looks like it.
Eventually, after explaining the family business I’d spent my whole life dodging, I tore myself away from Kim and his intriguing stall and drifted back to the food tent, though not before pulling out my phone and snapping a discreet shot of Kim’s slender back, because,damn, I couldn’t help myself.
Gaz greeted me with barely concealed surprise. “Where’ve you been? Thought you’d sloped off home.”
“Moi?” I slipped seamlessly behind the bench like I did it all the time. “Just went for a pint. Where do you need me?”
Gaz eyed me with suspicion. “How many pints did you have? Twenty?”
“Piss off.”
He relented and passed me an apron. I winced. Baby blue wassonot my colour, but despite my chagrin, I still got a kick out of having the family business plastered across my torso.Belly Acre Farm. Side-splitting, eh? My dad had thought so when he’d renamed his Porthkennack farm in the seventies.
Though being tied to the resulting artisan food company sometimes felt like the bane of my life, it didn’t take long to slip into my well-practiced role of master salesman. The patter came to me like breathing, and it was well into the afternoon by the time Gaz nudged me and said, “You’ve got company, kiddo.”
I looked up from the gooseberry chutney I was relabelling on Gaz’s behalf—was it really so hard to stick the labels on the right way round?—and found myself lost once again in Kim’s eyes.
“Got time for a drink?”
“Er . . .” I glanced at Gaz, who raised an amused eyebrow before he shrugged and turned away, and cleared my throat. “Sure. Let’s go.”
I escaped the stall and fell into step beside Kim. He didn’t say anything at first, and it took me a while to notice he was staring at the apron I’d forgotten to ditch. “Don’t ask,” I warned, though I knew it was pointless.
“What’s your connection to the farm? I’ve often chuckled over the name.”
“My dad and his missus own it,” I said. “And he’s to blame for the name. He smoked a lot of weed in the seventies. Still thinks it’s hilarious.”