Rachel Dove - The Chic Boutique On Baker Street

Ben slid into his leather seat at the side of her and started the engine. ‘So, I thought we could maybe have a picnic on the fell? I just need to call at my place first, to make lunch. That OK with you?’

Her head whipped around in suspicion. ‘A picnic? Just us?’

Ben kept his eyes on the road, his cheeks colouring. ‘Yes, well, Agatha thought it might be a good idea.’

She nodded slowly. She felt a pang of embarrassment. This was like a pity date, she realised. Take the poor lonely girl out and feed her. She folded her arms tight across her chest. Fine, she would play along. It was just one afternoon, then he was out of her life. She could avoid him easily enough.

Thank the Lord for the nice weather, Amanda thought to herself. It was slightly cold, but the sun was warm and the sky clear. ‘Sounds lovely,’ she said, throwing him an over-the-top smile. ‘Do we need to shop first? I didn’t bring any food.’

Ben shook his head, pulling away from Baker Street in one smooth movement of the wheel. ‘No, I have that covered.’

A short drive later and they pulled into the drive of a large house. The shopfront next door said Evans Animal Practice, and was painted in green and white. After flicking a button on the dashboard, an impressive wrought iron set of gates slowly rumbled closed behind them.

Amanda looked around. Was this his parents’ house? An arranged date and meeting the parents? What was next? Shotgun wedding?

Ben got out and dashed to her door before she could even reach for the door handle. Giving her his hand, he helped her out and then led her down the cobbled driveway. Amanda tried not to notice the jolt she felt when his fingers once again wrapped around hers momentarily. After opening the front door, he led her through to a large farmhouse kitchen. An Aga gave the room a nice warmth, and Amanda was immediately drawn to the huge pile of food amassed on the wooden table, and the small woman cutting doorstop slices of bread on a wooden chopping board. She looked like Ma Larkin, complete with pinny and ruddy cheeks. Ben dropped a kiss onto the woman’s cheek and motioned for Amanda to take a seat at the table. Was this his mother? Did he live with his parents?

Amanda sat down and smiled at the lady, who was quite possibly the happiest woman she had ever seen.

‘Amanda Perry, this is Dotty. Dotty, Amanda Perry.’

Dotty wiped her hands on her apron and held one out to Amanda. ‘Pleased to meet you, dear, I work with Ben. I’m just here to give him a hand with lunch. Do you have any preferences for sandwich fillings? Ben said you might like sushi, but we don’t get much call for that around here. Pickled herring is probably the best you will get,’ she chuckled, her belly rocking with mirth.

Amanda laughed too, throwing a quick dirty look Ben’s way. His eyebrows shot up in surprise, but he said nothing. ‘Oh thanks, but I am not one for sushi anyway. I’m not fussy with sandwiches, this all looks lovely though.’ The table was groaning with bread, cheeses, fruits, a potato salad and a huge pork pie. Amanda’s stomach rumbled, and she put a hand on her tummy, embarrassed.

Dotty smiled at her. ‘Did you not have any breakfast, dear? I can make you some toast if you like?’

Amanda opened her mouth to say no, but Dotty had already picked up some bread slices and moved over to the toaster on the worktop. Amanda looked at Ben, who was staring out of the kitchen window. He looked back at her, a funny look on his face.

‘So, you never answered my question, about liking chickens?’

Amanda looked at Ben. ‘To eat?’

Dotty laughed, setting a kettle of water onto the stove.

‘Show her, Ben, go on, I’ll put the coffee on.’

Ben grinned and, motioning for Amanda to follow him, moved to the back door. He clicked the stable doors together and opened the door to the outside. Birdsong and sunlight infiltrated the kitchen. Amanda stood up and walked out to the garden. ‘Garden’ was an understatement of course. Beyond Ben’s back door was a huge field, complete with patio and garden furniture. A large gas barbecue stood covered in one corner, and one side of the garden was home to a huge hen house. Ben opened the door to the house, and Amanda gasped as four chickens tentatively popped their heads out. He stifled a chuckle. He had a feeling that coming face to face with some animals would freak her out.

‘Wow, you meant real chickens then, huh?’

Ben sat down on the grass. ‘Yep, not had them long. They were going to lose their home, so I took them in. Come, sit. They are quite friendly.’ He tapped the ground beside him, challenging her.

Amanda, well aware of what he was doing, defiantly strode over and took a seat next to Ben, careful to sit far enough apart from him to feel comfortable, and to resist the urge to jump into his lap. What was it about this man that made her want to run her fingers through his hair? Why were the wrong ones always so cute? The chickens strode over to them, pecking at the green grass around them.

‘So, do they have names?’

Ben shook his head. ‘No. They were kept for their eggs, not as pets, so the owner never got around to naming them. I have three hens and a cockerel. Here he is, look.’

Amanda looked to the hen house and saw a larger, brighter chicken strut his stuff on the lawn. The hens ignored him for the most part, and he snuck the occasional glance at them before sticking his beak back high in the air. He reminded her of something, and she laughed out loud. Ben smiled, curiosity written all over his face.

‘What? You thought of a name?’

Amanda giggled. ‘Darcy. He reminds me of Mr Darcy, all haughty and proud. It’s daft.’ She shook her head, embarrassed that she had shown herself in all her book geekiness. Ben chuckled, stroking the head of one hen that came to him, looking for food.

‘Darcy, I like it. It suits him. So that would make the hens what? Jane, Lizzie and Lydia?’

Amanda’s jaw dropped. ‘You know Austen?’

Ben nodded, standing up to grab a bucket of corn from the back door.

‘My mum did,’ he said, stroking the back of his neck with his free hand. ‘I am afraid to say, I was pretty much force-fed it when I was a kid.’ Smooth, Ben, smooth! Why don’t you just don a cardi and recite Keats to her! You are not here to impress her, you donkey. ‘Er, I guess some of it stuck.’

Amanda smiled broadly. ‘Smart woman.’ For a second her mind flashed to an image of Marcus. His idea of reading had been perusing the sports pages on the toilet. With the door open. Yuk. He had always mocked her for her love of reading, berated her for her flat full of books. She looked again at Ben, who was now talking to the hens, feeding them from his hand.

‘You want to give it a try? I think Lydia is getting impatient.’

Amanda stood up and scooped a handful of yellow corn from the bucket.

‘You’re not really going to call them that, are you?’

Ben looked down at her. ‘Yes, why not? I think that they suit them, don’t you?’

Amanda nodded happily, and for a moment their eyes locked on to each other.

Ben looked like he was going to speak, and Amanda found herself willing those lips to move, but the moment was broken when the back door opened. They jumped apart from each other.

‘Coffee and toast is ready, my dears. I have packed your lunch too.’

They both looked to Dotty, and then back to each other. After dispersing the rest of the corn, they walked back to the house, a sizeable gap between them.

The toast was the best that Amanda had ever tasted. The bread was thick and crunchy, and the butter was melting into the slices. It was heaven. She devoured the contents of her plate, resisting the urge to lick her fingers clean. Dotty smiled, passing her a napkin. Ben had excused himself to pack up the car.