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

before the throaty rumble of the Ducati rolled into the market square. It was as if Eliot had his own early warning system and I wasn’t the only person who’d heard it.

He was barely over the threshold before he was besieged. First by a couple of young women who went into full hair tossing and eyelash batting mode and then by a middle-aged woman who, from what I could make out, insisted on buying his drink.

Once he had said a word to practically everyone in the place, he looked around, spotted me, and came over.

‘Hi,’ he said, putting down his drink.

Was it my imagination or did he look as edgy as I felt?

‘Hey,’ I said, budging along the bench to make room for him.

The chairs which went with the table had been carried off to accommodate a large group who were sitting next to the piano, so we had no choice but to squeeze in together. The group were noisily enjoying the end of the working week and no doubt the prospect of the weekend ahead.

‘I’m sorry I’m late,’ Eliot apologised, putting his helmet and gloves on the table before pulling off a leather jacket I hadn’t seen him wearing before.

‘You’re not really,’ I said. It was only a couple of minutes after our designated time. ‘Bec said you would have to be flexible because of your last call, so I knew you might not be here bang on seven.’

He nodded and took a long drink. ‘Crikey, I needed that,’ he said, once he’d finished. ‘It’s still hot out there.’

‘And it must be hot on the bike,’ I said. This wasn’t the way we usually talked to each other, so the situation was clearly getting to both of us. ‘Although you aren’t in your leathers today,’ I inanely added. ‘Apart from the jacket.’

‘These are Draggin jeans,’ he said, slapping the top of his leg.

‘Draggin jeans?’

‘Basically, they look like jeans, but they’re made from Kevlar and as tough as old boots. They cost a fortune, but they’re worth it.’

‘I see,’ I said. ‘Safety first.’

‘Always,’ he smiled back.

Once we’d exhausted the health and safety merits of his outfit, someone else came over, which thankfully ended the small talk. It was a guy this time and he put two drinks on the table.

‘Evelyn said what you were drinking,’ he said to me. ‘Coke, right?’

‘Yes,’ I said. ‘Thanks.’

‘This is just a thank you for sorting Mum out,’ he then nodded at Eliot.

‘Cass has already said thank you,’ said Eliot, holding up his almost empty glass.

‘And I’m saying it again,’ insisted the guy. ‘She’d have been in real trouble if you hadn’t stayed with her.’

Eliot shook his head. ‘It was no bother, John. I was just doing my job, so let’s say no more about it. But thanks for the drinks.’

‘Yes,’ I said. ‘Thanks.’

I emptied my first and picked up the second, taking a sideways glance at Eliot who was looking a bit flushed. Clearly, he’d again gone above and beyond, earning himself the gratitude of yet another local family. Whoever had spread the rumour about him definitely had the wrong Eliot, because the one sitting next to me was much loved and very highly thought of.

I almost wished Anthony was with us to witness it in action. That would have soon crushed his suspicions. Eliot’s only motive was to provide the best possible care for those he looked after, with Grandad being right at the top of the list, not take their life savings.

Along with wishing Anthony had just been within earshot, I also wished I’d known that the Eliot fan club was going to be in such enthusiastic attendance. I would have suggested meeting somewhere else because having his kind, considerate and caring nature highlighted at every turn was doing nothing to help stave off my feelings.

‘A bit weird this, isn’t it?’ he said. ‘Being in the pub rather than at the farm.’

‘Yes,’ I agreed. ‘It is. I was thinking the very same thing before you arrived. This is the first time we’ve been in each other’s company beyond the farm boundary.’

‘Don’t forget the library,’ he reminded me, then turned bright red. ‘Although you probably rather would, wouldn’t you? Sorry.’

‘It’s all right,’ I said, taking another swig from my glass which prompted him to do the same.

‘Bec said you had a favour to ask.’

‘Oh, yes,’ I said, pulling myself together. ‘That’s actually why I wanted us to meet away from the farm.’

‘Well, ask away.’

‘Although it is to do with the farm.’

‘Oh?’

I’d really hoped to keep the planning stage between just me and Grandad but as he was so determined not to let me even give it a try and I was equally determined to give convincing him one last shot, I knew talking to Eliot was my only hope.

‘I’ve had this idea about how to utilise the barn,’ I began.

‘Is that why you were in there on Sunday serving up afternoon tea?’

‘Yes,’ I nodded. ‘I thought if I set it all up, using some of Grandad’s collection, then I might have a better chance of explaining to him what it was that I had in mind.’

‘What collection?’ Eliot frowned.

I was completely taken aback that Eliot didn’t know anything about Grandad’s hobby of collecting anything and everything connected to the history of the Fens. And I was sad too. Mum’s cutting teenage remarks had really left their mark all those years ago if Grandad hadn’t shared his passion with his closest friend. Thank goodness he hadn’t done as Mum suggested and trashed the lot.

I took a deep breath and enlightened Eliot about both the collection and my plans for it and the farm.

‘Crikey,’ he said, once I had shared everything. ‘Wow.’

I gave him a minute to let it all sink in. His initial reaction sounded far more promising than Grandad’s, but I wasn’t counting my chickens.

‘So,’ I said. ‘What do you think?’

‘I think it all sounds amazing,’ he beamed. ‘Definitely a long-term enterprise that will see the farm way into the future.’

‘Well,’ I said,