‘How are you feeling?’
His laugh is a low snort. ‘Like I’ve been for a spin in a tumble dryer on the highest heat setting. But other than that, great. Peachy. Fit as a candlestick maker’s dog.’
‘Then you shouldn’t be in wo—’
‘You want me to feel better and seeing you makes me feel better.’
I roll my eyes. ‘Very funny.’
‘Look, I had another nap after you left this morning. I took a long bath, and then I wandered around the house going stir crazy and missing you. Thought I’d poke my head in and see if there was anything I could do without actually working.’ He strains his neck and looks around the doorway to the back room and lets out a low whistle. ‘And judging by that heap of washing up, there definitely is. I’m not customer-facing today, but I can tackle that.’ He rolls his sleeves up. ‘If that gets any higher, we’re going to have to fill in a shedload of paperwork to have it declared a new mountain, so let me help. Okay?’
It’s like he’s waiting for permission, although if I said no, there’s no way he’d listen.
‘O-Okay.’ The word stutters as it comes out because it’s hard to concentrate on anything apart from the look in his dark eyes, the effervescent scent of his aftershave, and the heat of his body where he’s standing closer than he was moments ago…
…until the father who is still waiting for his tea and his daughter’s bread-and-butterflies and squash clears his throat and we both jump.
‘Sorry, sir, Alice is just sorting out some gremlins.’ Bram nods towards them. ‘My fault entirely. We won’t keep you a second.’
He touches his hand to my hip, and in one swift movement, lifts the peak of his cap so he can lean down and kiss my cheek. It’s the briefest peck, but it makes my head spin like the black and white spirals so associated with Wonderland. He’s usually cleanshaven but he’s got a couple of days’ worth of stubble now, and it makes him go from sexy to hot. Very, very hot.
He’s got the sense to step into the back room and put some space between us, and I give myself a shake and go back to the bread-and-butterflies, tea, and squash order.
‘He’s a breath of fresh air, isn’t he?’ Mrs Moreno says when I’ve delivered it to the waiting table.
At first I think she means the father who’s jabbing angrily at his phone, but my eyes follow hers to the clink of china from the back room and the whistling that’s started up. ‘That he is.’
He’s a breath of something, all right. And the relief I feel just from seeing him is astounding. I love how simple he makes everything, even the washing up. Usually, between us, we manage to keep on top of it, but that hasn’t been an option today, and I was dreading tackling that later.
And along he comes and simply takes care of it without question or complaint. And it makes me think again about what happens if I get this tearoom. What if I get to work with this spectacular nut for longer… and what if I don’t?
The tearoom isn’t closed yet, but it’s mercifully quiet enough to catch my breath and appreciate the constant out-of-tune singing from the back room.
I know he knows I’m there, but I lean my head against the doorframe and watch Bram for a few minutes before speaking. ‘How are you so happy?’
‘Why shouldn’t I be happy?’ He’s got bright pink rubber gloves on, and he glances up at me with a smile. ‘I’m alive. I have a roof over my head and a job I love, and I feel well enough to come in. What do I have to complain about?’
‘If only more people saw the world the way you do.’ I can’t get my head around his attitude sometimes, and yet, I love it. He’s so positive about everything, and it rubs off on others, whether they want it to or not.
‘Happiness is a choice. If you’ve got two sinks full of washing up to do, eleven piles of laundry to iron, hoovering to do and a lawn to mow, you can sing and dance your way through it and enjoy yourself, or you can grunt and groan and moan all the way through, and neither way makes it go any faster, but one is infinitely more enjoyable than the other. No one’s life is perfect. Everyone is unhappy in some way. In fact, the only thing that makes some people happy is complaining about it and dragging others down too. I don’t ever want to be that person. It’s a privilege to be able to do chores. Some people can’t. Some people would kill to feel well enough to run the hoover through the house. If we have a roof over our heads and food in our bellies, we have it better than most. Some of us are even lucky enough to have people who care about us…’ He looks up and meets my eyes. ‘And that makes us extraordinarily fortunate. People get so caught up in little niggles and forget the bigger picture. Many of us don’t realise how lucky we are just to live. And sometimes the most powerful thing anyone can do is realise that.’
The bell above the door tinkles as a customer comes in, but I turn back to Bram quickly before I go to greet them. ‘You know what I said last night about you being either one of the greatest philosophers of our time or a complete nuthatch? It’s the first one.’
He lets out a loud laugh. ‘I’m still fine with it being both.’
‘You wouldn’t be you if you weren’t a bit bonkers too.’ I bite my lip as I consider it. ‘And that would be unthinkable.’
The width of his smile makes my knees feel weak. I don’t think he expected me to say that, and it’s probably a good thing there’s a customer, because otherwise, I wouldn’t be able to stop myself going over to hug him.
I never realised just how much I needed someone like him in my life. After the past couple of years of hiding away, being alone and ensconced in a ball of grief, regret, and injustice, growing lonelier and more bitter, resenting the world, and hating myself for the mistakes I made when it came to my mum and the trust I put in my ex, what I needed more than anything was a different perspective, and I never thought the barmy Mad Hatter who knocked on the door all those weeks ago would give me that, but he makes me feel glad to be alive again.
What I needed was someone who, by the sheer size of their presence, doesn’t let you dwell on negativity, who is so bright that it’s impossible to feel dark in their company, and Bram is that in spades. More than anything, he makes me want to give this tearoom everything I’ve got and remain a part of this special street full of wonderful people.
The customer orders tea and tuna and cucumber sandwiches and then there’s a rush as Marnie’s after-school reading group leaves A Tale As Old As Time and parents bring children in for an evening treat in the twenty minutes before closing time, and I feel like I’m herding sheep as I shuffle after them to shut the door and turn the sign over to closed. It has been a long day.
I tidy up the tearoom and take the next batch of washing up out to the back, where Bram is still in his pink Marigolds, waiting for it, and no matter how much I try to tell him he doesn’t need to, he grins and ignores me. By the time I’ve wiped down all the tables, mopped the floor, and cashed-up for the night, he’s washed every dish, as well as dried it and put it away, cleaned every countertop, and now he’s sitting on the unit, his head leaning against one of the cabinet doors, looking half-asleep.
‘What are you doing here, huh?’ I say gently. ‘You should be at home.’
‘I don’t know. Just wanted to see you. Spend time with you.’
I love how he wears his heart on his sleeve. He says things aloud that other people wouldn’t dare to vocalise. It doesn’t seem to cross his mind to be dishonest about anything.
‘How are you feeling?’ I go over to stand in front of him and reach up to fit my hand against his forehead. He takes his cap off and ducks his head to give me better access. I’m no longer worried about his temperature, it’s just an excuse to touch him, and I’m sure he knows that.
‘I’m fine. Just tired, and really, really hungry, but my twenty-four hours before eating again isn’t up until tonight.’
I can’t feasibly get away with holding my hand to his forehead for any longer, but as I reluctantly drop my arm, he reaches out and catches hold of my hand, his fingers folding around mine and squeezing. ‘Thank you for last night.’
‘Bram, I gave you food poisoning!’ I don’t know how many times I’ve repeated that, but he doesn’t seem to have understood it. ‘It’s not something people usually express gratitude for.’
‘Well, thank you for making last night better than it would have been if you weren’t there. I felt pretty rough and you made me feel better than I would have otherwise, and that was no easy feat. No girl wants to see a guy like that, so thank you.’
He jiggles my hand and then lets go to run a hand through his hair and tug awkwardly at the back of his neck. ‘I need to say something else as well.’
There’s a serious tone to his voice that makes me take a step back and look up at him.
