Alicia Martinez is determined to keep a low profile. After a tough year, she deletes all of her social media and retreats to the small coastal town of St Andrews in the hopes of starting over - and avoiding her tumultuous past.
Oliver Hogarth is a...
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Hattie frowned. "You can't put peanut butter on a scone; that's criminal."
Across the table, Brooks grinned. She wrinkled her nose as he applied a lethal dose of the salted nut butter, smearing it all over his perfectly nice scone. He didn't say anything as he did it, but then again, Brooks rarely did; he was a man of few words. And many smug facial expressions, as she was beginning to find out.
"Disgusting." Hattie shook her head. "Butter and clotted cream are the only acceptable toppings. And jam, obviously."
"Wrong."
"I can't believe I've agreed to be seen with you in public."
He shrugged. "I'm just here for the scones."
They were sitting at a small café at the end of North Street, a plate of scones and a pot of English breakfast tea set on the scrubbed table. Students sipped Nutella lattes, frantically writing essays that they had put off over the weekend. Outside, a banner cheerfully advertised the café as the place where Prince William and Kate once met for coffee.
Hattie smirked. "Oh, I'm just here for the romance novels." She held out a hand. "Let's see which one you're working on today."
"Are you mad?" Brooks looked alarmed. "There are people about."
"Still."
"And this cover is really very bad."
"Well," Hattie said, "now I really have to see it."
Reluctantly, Brooks brought the novel out of his bag. Hattie snorted. He hadn't been joking; this week's Harlequin romance really was very bad. A damsel in a pink gown was fleeing a castle, her face twisted into an expression of terror. Her bodice, Hattie noted with a critical eye, was also ripped in half, although it had some wonderful herringbone needlework down the side. Very Gothic chic.
"I still can't believe you read these," Hattie mused, flipping it open at random. "I feel like they get worse every day." She cleared her throat. "Belinda watched in terror as the Count drew closer, his muscular arms pushing her back on to the bed. His dark eyes crackled with a wild, animalistic electricity—" She paused, smirking. "Really? An animalistic electricity? What is he, a dolphin?"
"Alright!" Brooks snatched it back. "That's enough."
His cheeks had gone a brilliant red. Her smile widened. This was her favourite part of every day: teasing Brooks. Not that Hattie got to actually see him every day. He was often very furtive about his life, especially about why he could only see her once a week. They were friends now, though; they texted almost every moment of every day. And if Hattie was honest with herself...
Well, she could see being more than friends.
So long as Brooks felt the same.
"How are your studies going?" She added a touch of butter to her scone. "You said you had a lab this week, right?"
