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

‘And he’s definitely coming to set my laptop up tomorrow night and he’s offered to cook dinner too, if that’s all right with you.’

‘That’s fine by me,’ I said, ‘but I won’t be there, I’m afraid.’

‘Won’t be there?’

‘No,’ I said. ‘I’m going out for dinner.’

‘Oh,’ said Grandad, sounding shocked. ‘Anywhere nice?’

‘I have no idea,’ I told him. ‘It’s a surprise.’

‘Who are you going with? Is it Bec?’

‘No,’ I secretively said. ‘It’s a chap I met in town the day I arrived. He’s very nice and don’t worry, he’ll have me home before his car turns into a pumpkin.’

‘I see,’ said Grandad, looking slightly perplexed. ‘I didn’t realise you knew anyone here other than the Randalls and Somervilles.’

‘And the Cherry Tree ladies,’ I reminded him. ‘But he’s nothing to do with them either.’

‘Right.’

‘Now,’ I said, thinking I’d given him more than enough intriguing information to let Eliot know I had intentions elsewhere, ‘do you want to go to the pub?’

‘Not now,’ he said, wincing as he eased himself up and into the Land Rover. ‘I just want to get home, if that’s all right.’

He did look tired.

‘Of course,’ I said, picking up the crate. ‘You sit tight while I run over to the Cherry Tree. Jemma’s promised us something sweet for the weekend.’

‘How did she like the strawberries?’

‘She was thrilled with them,’ I told him, with another grin. ‘But then she would be, wouldn’t she? You can’t beat any of the fruit from Fenview Farm.’

‘That you can’t!’ he smiled back.

Chapter 16

True to her word, Jemma sent Grandad and I back to the farm with the most delicious treat – a full afternoon tea for two, complete with local cream, some of our very own strawberries transformed by her meringues and a delectable array of both sweet and savoury treats.

We ate it all as soon as we got back, and as a result neither of us were good for any further activity and spent a lazy few hours under the apple tree in the garden. Unbidden, my mind kept wandering back to the almost kiss with Eliot in the library, but I determinedly swapped it out for thoughts of the beautiful dress hanging in my room. I was tempted to try the whole outfit on again, but didn’t dare risk it with a belly full of carbs!

I woke early on Saturday and felt jittery all day. It had been a long time since I had been on a date, and never a faux one, and the fact that this one required a certain amount of preparation and smart new clothes made it all the more nerve-wracking.

I had a long run early in the day, followed by a shower and then another trip to Wynbridge where I stocked up on groceries and a new nail polish. Once back at the farm, I calmed my nerves the only way I knew how – in the kitchen.

‘Is all of this for just the two of us?’ asked Grandad, when he came in from cleaning out the hens.

‘Pretty much,’ I said, looking at the very British selection of savoury flans, sausage rolls, cheese scones and straws filling the table.

‘I’ll be the size of the barn by the time I’ve eaten my way through this lot,’ he commented, pinching a still warm cheese straw. ‘And the doc will be moaning about my weight again.’

He chewed for a few seconds and nodded appreciatively. ‘But never mind,’ he smiled. ‘These are a bit different. What’s in them?’

‘Smoked bacon, cheddar and a little paprika,’ I reeled off.

‘Very moreish,’ he said, leaning in for another, but I batted his hand away.

‘They’re supposed to be for the freezer,’ I told him. ‘All of it is really.’

Fresh homemade desserts were my real passion, but there was more to my current cooking marathon than taking my mind off my dinner date and satisfying my sweet tooth.

‘Well,’ said Grandad. ‘I did wonder. Not that we couldn’t eat our way through this lot in one sitting, but for a minute there I thought you’d forgotten Eliot was cooking tonight.’

How could I possibly have forgotten that?

‘No,’ I said, ‘I haven’t forgotten. This is all for when the harvest is properly in full swing. The last thing either of us will want to do then is too much cooking. This will be ready and waiting when we want it and it will fill us up too.’

‘That’s a very good idea,’ Grandad nodded. ‘In the past, it was always the wives who came out to feed the troops at mealtimes during harvest, especially on the arable farms. I suppose times have changed a bit now and the women are as likely to be driving the machines as slaving over the stove.’

‘That’s true,’ I agreed. ‘I know Mum never used to help out here, but what about Nana?’

‘Oh yes, Felicity did,’ said Grandad, sneaking another straw. ‘We always worked together. We were equals in the farm and in the house. She used to work on the market in town during the winter months while I was here and then it was my responsibility to have dinner on the table and run the vacuum about.’

I was impressed.

‘Although, I never got the hang of ironing,’ he reminisced. ‘I could do everything else, but not that. I did try many times, but I was never any good at it.’

‘Me neither,’ I laughed.

While I bagged and labelled everything for the freezer, cutting the flans into meal size portions so we wouldn’t be defrosting them whole and then eating them for days on end, Grandad sought out the photo albums he had mentioned the day before.

By the time I needed to start getting ready, I felt as though I had been whizzed through an emotional spin cycle. There were albums going as far back as my great-grandparents and it was wonderful to have the visual blanks finally filled in.

‘You’re right, Grandad,’ I said, picking out a photo of my namesake. ‘Even I can see it, in spite of my different colouring.