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

Having promised to talk to Grandad about the harvest, I left them dreaming about exclusive evening eateries. Jemma had refused to let me pay for either the pastries or the coffee.

‘Consider it an incentive,’ she had winked. ‘A little sweetener.’

I thanked her, and feeling comfortably full, headed to the supermarket to stock up on essentials and to the market for everything else. Just as had happened the weekend before, I was soon weighed down with bags and couldn’t help wishing I had transport of my own.

There was no sign of the taxi in the designated bay and even though Bec had generously offered to run me home when she finished her shift, I didn’t really want to have to wait that long. I had just decided to go back to the café and see if anyone had a number for the cab firm, when I felt a light tap on my shoulder.

‘You’re either running like the wind, or crawling at a glacial pace because you’re weighed down with bags,’ laughed Mr Helpful. ‘I never know which version of you I’m going to run into. You’re a woman of extremes.’

‘What can I say,’ I told him. ‘At least I’m not predictable.’

‘You’re certainly not that. I don’t suppose you fancy a drink?’ he offered, nodding over to the pub.

‘It’s a bit early, isn’t it?’

‘A bite of lunch in the café then?’

‘All right,’ I said, resigned to the fact that I wasn’t getting back to the farm anytime soon. ‘Thank you. I was actually just heading over there to see my friend.’

‘Yet again our planets seem to have aligned,’ he said, flashing me a smile before taking some of the bags.

I didn’t point out that he had suggested the pub, while I had been aiming for the café.

‘Back again so soon,’ Jemma said to me. ‘There’s a table just about to clear in the far corner, if you don’t mind waiting.’

The place was still so busy, I thought we were lucky to get seated at all.

‘Everything all right?’ asked Bec as she rushed over. She was talking to me but very definitely looking at my companion. ‘Do you want me to put your bags in the car?’ she offered when she finally dragged her gaze back to me.

‘I’ve got fridge stuff in this one,’ I said, holding it up.

‘I’ll ask Jemma if there’s room in the storeroom fridge. It isn’t used for business supplies, so it should be all right.’

She disappeared with all of the bags and the guy I still only knew as Mr Helpful, and I, squeezed around the tiny table.

‘I take it you’ve already been in here today?’ he asked. ‘Jemma obviously knows you.’

‘I popped in earlier,’ I told him. ‘But I’m happy to be back again. The food was amazing.’

‘It always is,’ he said, handing me a lunch menu.

‘You know, I still don’t know your name,’ I said, feeling suddenly self-conscious.

‘It’s Anthony,’ he grinned. ‘Anthony Judd.’

‘Anthony,’ I repeated. ‘I’m pleased to meet you, properly at last, and I’m…’

‘Fliss,’ he interrupted. ‘Felicity Brown.’

I couldn’t ask immediately how he’d found that out, because an older lady, wearing a cupcake patterned apron, came over to take our order.

‘So, how do you know my name?’ I asked, the second she’d gone. ‘I’ve hardly announced myself to the town. Was it Bec?’

I hardly thought it would have come from Grandad’s friend at the library or the doctor or Vicky, and Eliot and Louise certainly wouldn’t have said anything. Bec however, did have something of a track record now.

‘You needn’t sound so put out,’ he laughed. ‘There aren’t any secrets around here and no, it wasn’t your friend.’

I wondered if he’d heard anything else about me other than my name from whoever he’d talked to. With Grandad still coming to terms with what had happened to Mum, I didn’t like the thought of her demise being town gossip. She might have left a long time ago, but there were bound to be people around who still remembered her as well as her dramatic exit.

‘And you aren’t squatting at Fenview Farm,’ Anthony carried on. ‘You’re staying there with your grandfather, who you’ve only just met.’

I was flabbergasted.

‘How do you know that?’ I demanded, frustrated with trying to puzzle it out.

‘I never reveal my sources,’ he whispered, flashing me what he no doubt thought was another winning smile.

But it didn’t win me.

‘Oh dear,’ he said, the smile vanishing, when he realised, I wasn’t impressed. ‘I’ve upset you.’

‘No, you haven’t,’ I said. ‘It’s fine. I just don’t like being the subject of gossip.’

‘I didn’t mean to speak out of turn,’ he quickly said. ‘And there was no gossiping. You are Fliss Brown, aren’t you?’

‘Yes.’

‘So why the cloak and dagger? Don’t you want anyone to know?’

‘No,’ I said. ‘Not yet. As you pointed out, I’ve only just arrived and I was hoping to settle in and get to know Grandad and the farm before I was subjected to local scrutiny.’

As he hadn’t mentioned Mum, I didn’t either.

‘In that case,’ he said, ‘I’m very sorry.’

‘I don’t suppose it really matters,’ I told him, doing my best not to sound upset. ‘You just took me by surprise, that’s all.’

With a farm to run I knew it would have been impossible to stay under the radar and keep my identity a secret for long, and therefore there didn’t seem to be much point in staying cross with Anthony, even though he had caught me off guard.

It had been just the same in the small town closest to the farm in Puglia. No one passed through there without being noticed and I guessed it was the same in Wynbridge. It wasn’t necessarily a bad thing but it did make me feel a bit exposed, sitting in the busy café, eating lunch with a handsome stranger.

‘Sure?’ he asked, sounding genuinely concerned.

‘Yes,’ I sighed. ‘I’m sure. Word was bound to get around, wasn’t it?’

‘Afraid so,’ he agreed. ‘But I won’t tell anyone.’

‘We’ll just leave it to the Wynbridge