A Taste of Home by Heidi Swain (the beginning after the end read novel TXT) 📕

‘We’ve only been open a few weeks. But business has been brisk, so far.’

‘How exciting,’ I nodded, looking around. ‘Sorry,’ I said, squeezing closer to the counter when I realised there was someone trying to get by.

‘You look as though you’ve got the ingredients for a great dinner there,’ said the other customer, flashing me a smile as he looked over my shoulder.

‘I certainly hope so,’ I said, feeling my face colour a little as he handed a bottle of olive oil to a woman who was also serving.

‘Those grissini are delicious,’ he grinned. ‘I tried some last week.’

‘Excellent,’ I smiled back, taking in his blonde hair and deep blue eyes. ‘Nothing beats a personal recommendation.’

‘That’s very true,’ he agreed.

We ended up leaving at the same time and as I was so weighed down with bags, he opened the door for me.

‘Thanks,’ I said, trying to evenly distribute everything.

I’d definitely got far too much. I could probably cook Italian dishes for at least a fortnight, rather than the few days I was imagining I was going to be at Fenview Farm.

‘Can you manage?’ the guy asked.

‘Not really,’ I admitted. ‘But I’m only going over there,’ I added, with a nod to where Bec had parked.

‘In that case,’ he said, holding out his hands. ‘Let me help. I’m heading that way too.’

He slipped his bottle of olive oil into one of the bags and we split the haul between us. Our fingers became entwined during the sorting and he gave me an even wider smile.

‘Thanks,’ I swallowed. ‘This is very kind of you.’

‘It’s no problem.’

We crossed the road together and I came to a stop behind Bec’s dazzling ray of motorised sunshine.

‘Nice car,’ laughed the guy who I’d named in my head, Mr Helpful.

‘Thanks,’ said Bec, suddenly appearing. ‘I’ve had it since I passed my test years ago. Striking, isn’t she?’

‘Just a bit.’

‘I call her the Banana-mobile.’

‘Well,’ he said, putting down the bags. ‘I’ll certainly keep an eye out for her from now on.’

I thanked him again and then he climbed into the sporty Audi next to us, waved and drove off. He’d forgotten to take his olive oil.

‘Who was that?’ Bec wistfully asked, looking after him with a soppy expression on her face.

‘No idea,’ I told her. ‘He was in the deli and offered to help carry the shopping.’

‘Manners and beguiling good looks,’ she dreamily sighed, giving me a nudge. ‘What a thrilling combo.’

‘If you say so,’ I laughed.

Personally, I thought her big brother had the edge on that particular pairing, but obviously I wasn’t going to tell her that.

‘What’s all this then?’ Bec asked, taking in the many bags around my feet. ‘I thought you were cooking dinner for five, not feeding the five thousand!’

‘I’m used to Italian portion control,’ I told her, pulling my phone out of my pocket.

‘Or lack of it,’ she giggled.

While Bec loaded the boot, I took advantage of the fact that my phone had enough signal for me to message Marco and give him an update on how the day had gone. I didn’t go into detail, or brag to him about Eliot’s bike, but I knew Alessandro and Nonna would take comfort in knowing that I was staying at the farm. It would suggest to them that all was well and, for now, that was the impression I was keen to convey. They didn’t need to know about the muddle I’d made of my arrival.

When we arrived back at the farm, Louise had gone home and Eliot was washing up. I wanted to ask him what his mum had said to make him change his mind about me staying at the farm, but he seemed a bit distracted and I hoped they hadn’t had words. The last thing I wanted was to be a burden.

‘I thought we were having fish and chips,’ he commented, as Bec and I finished decanting the contents of the bags on to the kitchen table.

‘Fliss’s going to cook for us instead,’ Bec told him. ‘That’s why she picked up all this lot.’

‘Oh,’ he said. ‘Right.’

‘And this wasn’t the only thing you picked up, was it Fliss?’ she said with a much-exaggerated wink.

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ I tutted as I carefully set the bottle of olive oil Mr Helpful had left behind to one side.

‘Yes, you do,’ she persisted. ‘A side order of handsome and helpful isn’t forgotten that quickly.’

I shook my head, hoping she’d shut up because I was pretty certain the spark I’d felt when I first set eyes on Eliot was mutual and, even if nothing was going to come of it, I didn’t want him thinking that I went through life flirting with every man who crossed my path. Mr Helpful might have been attractive but in a completely different way to Eliot.

‘So,’ said Eliot, thankfully ignoring his sister’s silliness. ‘What are you going to make?’

I reeled off the evening’s menu, embellishing with a few words of Italian. Saying it out loud made my tummy rumble and even just the thought of time spent stirring the creamy risotto soothed my soul.

‘But Bill won’t eat any of that,’ was Eliot’s reaction and it well and truly burst my bubble.

‘Oh,’ I swallowed, my face flushed with embarrassment.

So keen to comfort myself, I’d got carried away and only factored my tastes and preferences into the evening’s dishes.

‘I didn’t think,’ I apologised. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘Don’t get me wrong,’ said Eliot. ‘It all sounds great, but your grandfather has a rather less sophisticated palate. He’s more a meat and two veg kind of guy.’

I felt a total fool.

‘Which is why,’ said Bec, coming to my rescue and shooting her brother an accusatory look. ‘I picked up some eggs and Skylark Farm bacon from the butcher. Bill will be happy with that.’

‘Yes, that’s more like it,’ Eliot agreed. ‘Though he’s not got much of an appetite and the meds are making him drowsy, so he probably won’t want to eat anything anyway.’

‘So why make me feel bad about