Samantha Tonge - The New Beginnings Coffee Club - The feel-good, heartwarming read from bestselling author Samantha Tonge

Whilst Zak was right – kids did grow up quickly nowadays – when it came to social media, I’d always been firm. ‘You know the rules – if you have to lie about your age to join, it’s a no-no.’

‘But it has amazing filters that make you look better and all my friends –’

I folded my arms.

‘Fine,’ she mumbled and scooped up all the items. She headed out of the room and pulled the door behind her.

I stood up and stared at the door. ‘You don’t think she’s getting a bit … thin, do you?’ I asked.

Zak looked up. ‘This again? Stop stressing, baby. She’s just aware of healthy eating. They teach it nowadays at school.’

His eyes crinkled deeply at the corners, hardly surprising with all the hours he was putting in. I’d keep my concerns to myself for the moment. He clearly had enough to worry about. I didn’t want to burden him. I dealt with our domestic life. He ran the business. Team work at its best, I’d always thought. Despite the age gap, we seemed remarkably well suited.

Business must have really been booming. Mind you, even if Zak had more time to think about anything but profit margins and chasing the edgiest designs, it would take a lot for him to admit April had a problem. Despite his modern appearance, my husband had some hardened, old-fashioned views – and not taking mental health issues seriously was one of them.

I sighed but quickly plastered a bright smile on my face. Zak got to his feet. Strode over to me. Took my hands. Gently his thumbs circled my palms. I looked up into his face. Wow, he’d aged well. At forty-three my husband looked hotter than ever and not much older than me at thirty-two.

His athletic body moved forwards and I breathed in his musky scent. It prompted images of us making love to fill my mind. How his strong frame would hold me prisoner in a sensual jail I never wanted to escape. How he’d become my world after making love to me for my very first time. My heart squeezed. He looked worn down. I’d hated the distance between us lately.

‘Let’s go out to dinner, tonight,’ he said. ‘How about The Rose Garden? I’ll book a table for eight o’clock. There’s … something we need to discuss.’

‘Are you sure you feel like it, darling?’ Please say yes!

My heart leapt. If our favourite Italian restaurant couldn’t relax him enough to enjoy a night of carnal pleasures, then nothing could. Also, time alone together would give me a chance to broach the subject of my return to college. He was right. We hadn’t talked properly for a while. His voice sounded flat but I ignored that. He was making an effort and perhaps it was time I made more of an effort too. I … I could book us a relaxing weekend away with restorative treatments galore and –

‘I’m fine. But first I’ve got some business associates to meet …’

‘On a Saturday? Zak! You deserve more rest. Cancel it.’ I stood on tiptoe and kissed him softly on the lips but he pulled back and I sensed an air of tension. It was weeks since we’d last made love. Zak always came home shattered and went straight to sleep. Then when we did get close – like right now – he found it difficult to unwind. Good red wine and a bowl of the finest pasta would serve as the perfect aphrodisiac. My pulse quickened.

At least, I hoped it would. This feeling of a gap between us had appeared once before – when his mum got cancer. She told him first and he kept it to himself. Shut off. Avoided my company. Became irritable. More often than usual, he lost his temper. He said afterwards it was because he couldn’t face talking about it. So was Zak hiding something this time around? Only yesterday he’d been sitting in the lounge and had suddenly thrown his pen to the floor. Frustration over work, he’d said. It just wasn’t like him at all.

‘No can do. I’ll shower and change before meeting them and see you there. Get a taxi,’ he said, brow knotted.

‘You really can’t put them off? It’s the weekend. I worry about you; I wish I could help ease the pressure.’

His face flushed. ‘They head back to France tonight. I need to get them to sign on the dotted line before they catch their plane home. I’ll get a lie-in tomorrow.’

He ran a hand across his forehead and I didn’t push further. I kissed him again and one of his hands slid up, underneath my blouse at the back. My pulse broke all speed limits as I waited for him to become more daring with his fingers and move forwards, impatiently exploring my skin. But instead, he let go and simply kissed me on the cheek. My heart eventually slowed to its usual rhythm, as regular as a clock’s tick.

I bit my lip with frustration, wanting to feel his body against mine; wanting to satisfy the knot of desire in my belly that only Zak could unravel. My stomach tingled at the thought of us sharing food and an early bedtime together, tonight – at the thought of my showing him exactly how much he meant to me. A warmth rose through my body, up my thighs, and into my neck. For the hundredth time I ordered myself to count my blessings. I had more than some people could ever hope for. What had I done to deserve such a perfect existence?

Chapter Two

Little black dress. Up-do hair. Diamond earrings. Seeing as this was effectively a date, I’d made extra effort. My stomach tingled again, as the taxi pulled up outside The Rose Garden. I fumbled with my purse and recalled the steamy nights of our first years together. Limbs entwined, urgent kisses, Zak playing my body expertly as if he were its maestro. Yet for several weeks no music had been made between us and my perfect world had seemed a little less shiny. Tonight I was hoping for an orchestral performance that would infuse my life with atomic brightness.

Moustached Marco, The Rose Garden’s owner, opened the glass door on cue, just as I approached. Glad to remove my faux-fur coat, I went in. The May evening was surprisingly warm.

‘Buonasera, la signora Masters, come stai?’

‘Bene, grazie,’ I replied, voicing the extent of my Italian.

‘You meet Mr Masters?’

I nodded.

‘He no here yet. Perhaps you like a cocktail, first. Your usual?’

I beamed and followed him over to the gilt bar, put my handbag on it, and sat on one of the ornate gold and mahogany swings. I know – it was pure decadence, me hanging by two golden chains from the ceiling. This was the Great Gatsby lifestyle I’d become accustomed to.

I breathed in the aroma of tomato and basil and gazed around the restaurant, loving the red and cream walls and decorative, wicker wine-bottle holders. Each table bore a candle and a single red rose. Very gently, I swung to and fro as, over the next half an hour, the laughter and chat got louder.

I texted Zak for the second time as the hands on my Rolex showed half past eight and wished I’d brought my e-reader. I blamed Zak’s long hours and his empty side of the bed for my latest obsession with quality erotica. The fluttery lightness in my chest subsided a little and I was just about to press dial when a firm hand clasped my shoulder.

I glanced up. Eyes the exact colour of Marco’s amaretto brownies stared back. I scanned the decisive jawline and strong nose. Zak gave a half-smile, revealing bright white teeth that contrasted with golden tanned skin. I swallowed, half tempted to suggest we skip the meal and head straight back home, to our bedroom.

‘Sorry I’m not on time. I just needed thirty minutes extra to clinch the deal.’

I slipped my hand into his and squeezed his fingers as Marco escorted us to our favourite table, guaranteed by the large tip we always left. It was in the corner, away from the kitchens and intrusive windows. He pulled out the chairs and after we’d sat down, placed napkins on our laps. I squirmed, having never quite got used to such attention. My discomfort often made Zak laugh. Not tonight.