He shook his head.
‘But why did you buy the shop?’
‘I like it.’
She narrowed her eyes again. ‘You...like it?’
‘It’s unique.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I like the idea of a traditional tearoom. It’s classy. It makes a nice change from the somewhat impersonal and boring coffee chains.’
A little pleat of scepticism appeared between her eyes. ‘You don’t even drink tea.’
‘That’s true, but maybe I haven’t tasted the perfect cup. A cheap, dusty tea bag jiggled in a Styrofoam cup is probably nothing like the real deal. Maybe you could educate me in the art of drinking proper, high-quality leaf tea.’
She was still looking at him in suspicion. ‘Why do I get the feeling you’re not really talking about tea?’
Rafe gave her a lazy smile. ‘What else could I be talking about?’
Her cheeks went a deep shade of rose and her soft mouth flattened primly. ‘If you want to taste proper tea, then come to the tearoom four o’clock this afternoon.’
He held her gaze in a smouldering little lockdown. ‘I’d prefer a private lesson. I don’t want to be distracted by other customers. It might ruin the experience for me.’
She gave him a flinty ‘I know what you’re up to’ look. ‘All right,’ she said. ‘Come at five-thirty. I’ll put the closed sign on the door.’
‘It’s a date.’
Rafe watched as she turned on her heel and stomped back to her car. He gave her a wave as she drove away but she didn’t return it. With a toss of that fiery head, she put her car into gear and rattled off down the drive, leaving a billowing cloud of dust in her wake.
CHAPTER FIVE
CHLOE UNTIED HER apron at five o’clock. ‘I just got a call from my mum. She wants me to pick up some of her asthma medication at the pharmacy on my way home. Do you mind if I leave now?’
Poppy tried to ignore the little flutter of alarm in her belly. She didn’t mind giving Rafe Caffarelli a private lesson in the art of tea drinking, but she hadn’t planned on it being that private. She had banked on Chloe being in the background in case he wanted to have his cake and eat it too, so to speak. ‘No, you go,’ she said, releasing a little breath of resignation. ‘Say hi to your mum from me. Take her some of that double-chocolate slice she likes so much.’
Chloe’s smile was teasing. ‘Will you be all right entertaining the deliciously ruthless, rich and racy Rafe Caffarelli on your little ownsome?’
Poppy put on a confident smile that in no way reflected how she was feeling. ‘Of course.’
The door chime sounded at five-thirty-five. Poppy had been watching the clock ever since Chloe had left. As each minute had crawled by, her heart rate had gone up. She came out of the kitchen as casually as she could even though her stomach was pitching and falling like a paperboat in a jacuzzi.
Rafe stooped as he came in the door. He was dressed a little more formally this time in charcoal-grey trousers and a crisp white shirt teamed with a dark-blue blazer and a silver-grey tie. He had shaved since she had seen him earlier that day. He had showered too, as his hair was still damp and had the groove marks in it from a brush or comb.
‘I’m sorry I’m late.’
Poppy couldn’t read his expression, but she knew one thing for certain—he wasn’t one bit sorry. ‘I’ve set up the table by the window. Take a seat while I put the kettle on.’
‘Can’t I watch?’
She pursed her lips at him. His dark eyes were pools of black ink but there was a hint of amusement lurking there; she was sure of it. ‘I can assure you there’s nothing remotely interesting in watching a kettle come to the boil.’
‘There is if you’re the one boiling it.’
She gave him a schoolmarmish look. ‘Are you flirting with me, Mr Caffarelli?’
‘Call me Rafe.’