Sweetly Isolated (The Swallow Barn Cottage Series, Book 1)

Flipping Out

Tina sat on the chair, watching his muscles move under his tee when he was flipping his pancakes. Seven bestselling novels, featuring a rather fit DI. Years of research into male physique. Hundreds of romance novels read. And you didn't know a man can have a sexy back? Daft, daft Tina.

"You'll be cutting fruit," he said, and she jumped up.

"Sorry, what?"

"For the pancakes." He threw her a look over his shoulder, smirking lopsidedly. Cocky bastard. "These are American. No sugar, no lemon juice. Fruit and maple syrup."

"And do we have all that?" she asked.

And then the doorbell rang.

"Now we do," he said and put the pan aside, next to a plate with an already rather tall stack of pancakes. On his way out of the kitchen, he gave her another of his grins. "Don't eat all of it without me"

Tina bristled. Who takes the piss of a woman's eating habits? Maybe, some travel bloggers were confident enough to not take it personally - but no normal woman could.

"Mr. Tate will have a field day with all these groceries you're buying," she said waspishly.

"Your grocer's name is Mr. Tate?" His whole body shook in suppressed laughter.

"Sure, sure, get all your chips and mash jokes out of your system," she grumbled. "Also, you don't put maple syrup on American pancakes. It's sugar syrup and whipped cream that goes under the fruit."

"How do you know?" he asked.

Tina bit her tongue. 'My protagonist's estranged wife is American, and I always do my research' probably wasn't the cleverest answer in this situation.

"Must have read it somewhere," she said. She pointed at the door. "Mr. Tate awaits."

He shook his head in amusement and left. Tina threw a side glance at the pancakes. Honestly, Tina, you need to run. Every minute she spent in his company was another chance for her to slip and say too much. Are all these sweeties he's feeding you worth it? No, of course not, but if she's chewing, she can't say too much, right? She was brought up to chew with her mouth closed after all.

"Clementine, could you give me a hand, please?" he called from the hall.

Here was really no point in hiding from Mr. Tate and his helpers. Everyone in the village already knew about Holyoake lodging with her, she had no doubts about it. If not for the quarantine, it would have taken Mrs. Tiddles up to three days to 'accidentally' run into every person in Lower Woulds and share the information. These days she'd probably send out a group email - fast and efficient.

Tina grudgingly slid off the chair and plodded towards his voice.

"Morning, Mr. Tate," she muttered, giving in to her fate.

"Morning, Ms. Popplewell! Oh, good morning!" The jolly round shop owner was grinning from ear to ear, his gaze jumping from Tina to Holyoake - both dressed in their pyjamas. "How are you these days?" he asked, all of his face expressing that he thought she must be doing very well - and having much more fun than Tina did in reality.

He'd stepped back onto the pavement, while Holyoake was picking up three large bags from the threshold. One paper bag remained, and Tina stepped to it assuming it was for her.

The happy tune of John London's cover of Bring Me Love came from Holyoake's pocket. He put the bags down, and stuck his hand in the pocket of his bottoms.

"Here, could you pay please?" he muttered, swiping the screen with his thumb, while stretching his other hand with a card to Tina.

"I'll pay myself," Tina protested, but he wasn't listening and shoved it in her hand.