Forty Things to Do Before You're Forty (7 page)

Still, one of her many endearing qualities he acknowledged, as he pictured her with that squashed cupcake on her foot, was that she made him smile. And smiling was something Jake had not done a lot of over the last five years.

‘So how are things in Utterly Buttersley?' asked Portia a couple of days later. She'd called Annie at the shop from somewhere war-torn, thousands of miles away, ending in –astan.

‘Oh, you know,' said Annie, ever conscious that, compared to Portia's world, anything that happened in Buttersley seemed trivial in the extreme. ‘The usual round of wife-swapping parties and drunken street brawls. And we very nearly had a riot on our hands the other day. The florist sold out of lilies and Mrs Coombes was not best pleased.'

Portia giggled. ‘Life on the edge as usual, then. And talking about life on the edge … how you getting on with that list of things to do before you're forty?'

‘What list?' asked Annie innocently.

‘The one I stuck on your fridge door so you couldn't possibly forget about it. I take it from that response that you haven't dyed your hair purple and put the bin out in your undies yet?'

‘Maybe next week,' said Annie. ‘But I am training for the 10k race.'

‘Boring. What about the exciting stuff? The stuff involving those creatures from the other side?'

‘Aliens?'

‘Men! Anything happening there?'

‘Absolutely nothing,' replied Annie.

Five more minutes of goading from Portia and the call ended. Annie hung up, silently congratulating herself on saying nothing about Jake. If Portia got so much as a sniff of her fancying him, she would be unbearable. Not, of course, that she did fancy him – much. She'd simply been over-tired on Saturday which was why the sight of him in that towel had triggered her imagination to such a ludicrous extent. And why was she analysing the whole thing – again? She really didn't have time for such trivia because today she was about to embark on her most ambitious project yet – the wedding cake for the demanding bride. Not only would it test every one of her technical skills, but the timescale was incredibly tight. Annie had thought long and hard before accepting the order, researching exactly what was required before she committed herself. And she wouldn't have committed herself, had she thought it beyond her capabilities. Still, though, she had to admit that her excitement was tempered with a dash of nerves. Nerves she needed to quash. She had to think positively, feel confident. Which was why, in between serving customers, she attempted to set out a detailed plan of action, working back from the date of the wedding.

As the day progressed, the task was proving more and more difficult, which she suspected had something to do with every female customer from eighteen to eighty wanting to gossip about Jake Sinclair. Annie quickly mastered the art of changing the subject. She didn't want to gossip about Jake Sinclair. And she certainly didn't want to see him. The more she thought about it, the more convinced she became that Jake was to blame for her nerves. Since his arrival in the village her confidence had taken a severe battering. Every time he was around she seemed to make a fool of herself. And she'd spent enough time in the past feeling a fool – thanks to Lance. It had taken her years to rebuild her confidence and she had no intention of having it shattered by another man.

In his writing room at Buttersley Manor, Jake O'Donnell leaned back in his chair and stretched his arms over his head. He stared at the clock on the desk. It must be wrong. It couldn't be six-thirty already. He reached for his mobile to double-check. The same time beamed back at him. Which meant, with a brief interlude to sleep last night, he'd been writing solidly all day, for the second day in a row. Great for the book. Not so great for the body. He'd scarcely moved for hours and he hadn't eaten a thing. He could murder a decent meal and a pint. The memory of the fish and chips he'd enjoyed at the village pub a few days ago floated into his head, causing his stomach to rumble. Right, that was decided. He'd have a quick wash, change his T-shirt, and wander down to the village. The walk and fresh air would do him good. Come to think of it, he really should build more exercise into his day, get his heart pumping, burn some fat. It was a wonder he hadn't developed DVT sitting still for so long. And then there was the unavoidable fact that middle age would soon be upon him. A milestone he had no intention of welcoming with flaccid open arms and an expanding paunch. Maybe he should take up running again. He'd always enjoyed it in the past and he could easily fit it around his writing. He could even use it as thinking time, to work through sticking points in his plot. An image of another runner suddenly leaped into his head - a runner with long, tanned legs and a pink baseball cap. How Annie found time to fit running around the other million things she seemed to do, amazed him.

As much as he willed it not to, Jake's gaze meandered over the lawn to the gatehouse. Annie was in the garden, wearing denim shorts and unpegging washing from the line. She bent down to put something in the laundry basket. Jake gulped and dragged his attention back to the computer screen.

Monday night was quiz night at the village pub. It was also Annie's one – much looked forward to – night out of the week. Of course, she was aware that a few drinks and a natter with cake-making friends wasn't exactly a riot, but then Annie no longer did ‘riot'. It was yet another word that belonged in her ever diminishing past. Thankfully. Even thinking about how much she used to drink made her queasy. And the notion of staying out after eleven brought on a mild panic attack. No, the weekly quiz served her well enough and was always good for a giggle.

Fresh from the shower, she rummaged through – what she acknowledged to be – the pitiful contents of her wardrobe. She pulled out a pretty floral shift dress she'd bought pre-motherhood. She hadn't worn it for ages but it was a lovely sunny evening and somehow she didn't feel like pulling on her usual jeans and T-shirt. She held her breath as she slipped the dress over her head, praying it would fit. It did. And, what was more, she actually felt nice in it. She brushed a little mascara onto her lashes, swiped a coat of gloss over her lips, then clipped up her hair in a loose knot, before slipping on a pair of ballet pumps and heading downstairs.

‘You look nice, dear,' remarked Mrs Mackenzie, sitting at the garden table on which lay a piece of paper and a snoozing Pip.

‘Thanks,' said Annie. ‘Now, are you three going to be okay without me?'

In her crab position on the lawn, a leotard-clad Sophie piped up, ‘Of course we are. I'm practising for the Olympics and when I've finished, Mrs Mackenzie is going to hold up a mark.'

‘I see.' Annie turned over the paper on the table. ‘But there's only one mark here and it's a ten.'

‘Of course,' replied Sophie matter-of-factly.

Still smiling at her daughter's unabashed confidence, Annie drank in every detail of her surroundings during her walk to the pub. Every season highlighted something wonderful about Buttersley, but none more so than spring with its sweep of new life.

The Duck Inn had pride of place on the village green. Built as a coaching inn during the eighteenth century, it had been extended, upgraded and refurbished over the ensuing centuries, its most recent addition being a spacious conservatory. The pub was abuzz with chatter and laughter when Annie arrived, with lots of patrons making the most of its gastro-delights.

Annie spotted Harriet and Jenny at a table at the far end of the room and was about to walk over to them when she froze. At the next table was a man. She could only see the back of his head but it was enough to know that it was Jake Sinclair – deep in conversation with her friends. Resentment rapidly elbowed aside an initial blast of panic. After listening to what seemed like every female in the village raving about him all day, there was evidently to be no escape this evening. Her one and only night out of the week and Jake Sinclair had ruined it before she'd even sat down. In fact, now she didn't want to sit down. She wanted to turn around and run straight back home. Which, if she was quick, she might just get away with. She could slip outside, call Jenny on her mobile, and invent a little white lie – like she'd remembered she'd left a cake in the oven, or she'd been abducted by aliens, or –

‘Annie. Over here,' called Jenny, waving furiously.

Too late. Annie's stomach lurched at exactly the same moment Jake whipped round his head to her. Their gazes fused and Annie's legs turned to cotton wool as she watched his mouth stretch into a smile, even more devastating set against the background of dark stubble. Lust roared through her as she imagined what the stubble would feel like against her skin as he –

A cackle of laughter from the group next to her broke her daydream. She attempted to pull herself together and consider how best to handle the situation. With her preferred choice of disappearing now past its sell by date, she had precisely … no other option. She'd have to brave it out. Which she could do. Of course she could. She'd handled much more difficult situations in her life. And hadn't she resolved that very morning not to let Jake Sinclair affect her? Drawing in a deep breath, she averted her eyes from the man in question, and raised her hand to wave back to Jenny, accidentally slapping an old man in the face as she did so.

Annie's hand flew to her mouth. ‘Oh, I'm so sorry,' she gasped, every one of her other emotions swept aside by a tsunami of mortification.

Straightening his spectacles, the old man chuckled. ‘It's all right, dear. I've had much worse from the wife.' He gave her a reassuring pat on the arm before scuttling off.

Annie held her breath for a few seconds, not daring to look across the room. With a bit of luck, no one had seen. But luck of any proportion had evidently by-passed her. Everyone at the tables opposite was in hysterics, including Jake. Well, great start to the evening, Annie. Brilliant. There was only one thing to do now and that was to pretend to laugh it off. The last thing she felt like doing. She willed her legs to move across the room. They responded – albeit shakily.

‘Woops,' she said, grimacing as she reached her destination. ‘Slight incident there.'

‘Beating up men again,' chuckled Jenny. ‘They're not all bad you know.'

‘Just ninety-nine point nine per cent of them,' chipped in Harriet, whose bitterness was justified – and unwavering. Her husband had flitted off with his secretary ten years ago, leaving her with four young children to bring up.

‘Well, remind me not to upset you,' said Jake, his dark eyes twinkling. ‘Looks like you've a mean left punch there.'

Annie opened her mouth hoping desperately that something clever and witty would spout forth. It didn't.

‘You look lovely, Annie,' remarked Harriet. ‘Is that a new dress?'

Annie tore her gaze away from Jake. ‘Um, no,' she muttered, aware of a flush settling over her cheeks. ‘I've had it ages.'

‘It really suits you. You should wear it more often. But come on. Sit down and tell us the news. Did you get that order for the amazing wedding cake you were talking about last week?'

Relieved to be on slightly more neutral ground – and off her shaking legs – Annie slipped into the seat next to Harriet, which also happened to be directly opposite Jake. Hastily gathering her wits, she determined to act normally. Not only to prove to Jake that she
was
normal but, more importantly, to avoid arousing the suspicions of her friends. Portia's teasing would be bad enough. Harriet and Jenny would be double the trouble. She drew in a deep breath and forced her lips into a smile. ‘I got the order,' she confirmed.

‘Well done,' they chimed.

‘Thanks,' she muttered, wishing Jake wasn't looking at her quite so intently. ‘It's going to be a lot of work but I'm looking forward to starting it.'

‘I take it this is quite a prestigious order, then,' he said.

Annie nodded. ‘It could be,' she confirmed, addressing her reply to the table. ‘If I do a good job, it will hopefully lead to lots of new commissions.'

‘Sounds exciting,' he said, still looking at her in that way that made her heart beat just a tad quicker. ‘How long have you had the shop?'

Annie lifted her head, her gaze immediately colliding with his. For a few seconds, lost in the dark hidden depths of his eyes, Annie had no idea how long she'd had the shop. ‘Oh, um, five years,' she stammered, quickly pulling herself together. ‘I bought it just after I moved to Buttersley.'

‘And in that time has built up a very successful business,' chipped in Harriet. ‘Annie gets orders from all over the country.'

Annie was aware of her flush deepening. Wasn't it about time someone changed the subject? Please. ‘Not quite all over the country,' she corrected her friend. ‘But word is certainly spreading.'

‘What do you do, Jake?' asked Jenny, much to Annie's relief.

‘This and that,' he replied, sounding more than a little vague. ‘I'm working on a … project at the moment.'

Annie resisted rolling her eyes. How many times had she heard Jasper say he was ‘working on a project'? Obviously a standard phrase for that set. Harriet and Jenny, though, seemed enthralled.

‘That sound intriguing,' said Harriet. ‘Tell us more.'

Jake shrugged. ‘Not much more to tell. And it's far from intriguing. Now. What about you ladies? I'm sure you get up to all sorts of interesting things.'

Jenny tittered. ‘I wish. No. We're just boring old housewives. Although we do dabble in a bit of cake-making. That's where we met Annie actually. At an evening class learning to pipe. Annie, needless to say, was top of the class.'

Jake turned to Annie and fixed her with another penetrative gaze. ‘Now why does that not surprise me?' he said, his tone so soft and sincere that goose bumps erupted all over Annie's body. The moment was broken by a shrill: