‘Sure, give me your mobile number and I’ll pass it on. Now, can we un-pause the TV? I love this film.’
‘You do?’
‘Absolutely.Emmais Austen’s best, in my opinion, and this version slaps.’
‘Slaps?’ Rosie dissolved into a fit of giggles. ‘Oh my god. I’m not even sure what that means.’
‘It’s what the kids say when something’s really good,’ Aled grinned. ‘Which this film is. Though I prefer Jonny Lee Miller as Mr Knightley. He plays it just right, I think: like the man’s a smart arse who can’t help himself starting arguments with the woman he secretly loves, because healsoloves being right about everything.’
Rosie gaped at him. First, this was probably the longest run of sentences she’d ever heard him utter. But he also seemed to be telling her, with no agenda, that he’d seen multiple TV and film adaptations ofthe samenovel. Her stomach flip-flopped involuntarily, the way it always had over handsome boys with bookish tendencies.
‘How about I get some drinks? Beer? Wine?’ he asked.
‘A beer would be great, actually. There are some in the fridge.’
He reappeared a moment later, two ice-cold bottles clutched between the fingers of a single large hand. Rosie found herself oddly transfixed by the sight.
‘What are we waiting for?’ Aled demanded, grinning. ‘I want to see Miss Woodhouse put that snooty vicar back in his box.’
Rosie shook her head, as if the motion might settle her thoughts into a more coherent order. Aled was …confusing. Full of light and shade. Cool and aloof one minute, then warm and funny the next.
Smiling back at him, Rosie accepted her bottle of Asahi and experienced a brief rush ofsomethingas his hand brushed hers.
Whatever it was, she was not going to obsess about it.
Resolute, she picked up the remote and pressed play.
A few days later, Rosie found herself outside the cafe-slash-deli Aled had directed her to. It was the same one he’d visited on the day he’d found her locked out of the flat – the sort of place that sold incredible bread, to-die-for pastries and bottles of balsamic vinegar that cost as much as champagne.
She’d never been in, even though it was within walking distance of the flat – mostly because, had she succumbed to any of the temptations on offer, James would have refused to join her in enjoying them. Now, in the early-evening cold, the smell of baked goods and freshly ground coffee beans – powerful enough to drift through ancient gaps in the door and window frames – made her stomach grumble.
The sign on the inside of the door, visible through a large pane of glass that was foggy with condensation, said ‘Closed’, which she had been told to expect. She rapped lightly on the painted wood. No answer.
Swallowing, she tried again, but louder.
A clear, rich voice boomed, ‘Coming! I’ll be there now!’ from somewhere Rosie couldn’t see.
Seconds later, a tall, statuesque figure bustled into view, unlocked and then opened the door. It was a woman – pretty and red-haired – with a tea towel thrown over one shoulder and a biro pushed into the bun on top of her head. Rosie guessed they were around the same age.
‘You’ll be the girl about the job, I take it? You’d best come in.’
The woman’s tone was brisk but warm, and her accent, like Aled’s, was decidedly Welsh. Rosie nodded and followed her inside.
‘I’m Rhianne,’ the woman announced.
‘Rosie.’ She considered trying to shake Rhianne’s hand, but chickened out before her arm was fully extended and ended up waving her right palm in a weak greeting she immediately regretted.What a dork.
‘Coffee?’ Rhianne asked, able to sense Rosie’s nerves.
‘Please,’ Rosie replied. Why was she so jumpy?
Perhaps, she realised, it was because she already liked this place – actually felt interested in working here. Also, she felt as though she’d been recommended for this position – like she’d be letting Aled down if she made a bad impression on the owner.
‘Cappuccino? Flat white? What d’you fancy?’
‘A flat white would be great,’ Rosie said. ‘Thanks.’
Rhianne smiled, her generous, red-lipsticked mouth opening a little to reveal a row of straight white teeth. She gestured for Rosie to pull up a stool at the polished wood counter, then moved to its other side and began flipping switches on a gigantic chrome machine.