“The meat and two veg brigade, eh?”
I sniggered. “Something like that.”
As Fin got back to work, it began to feel a bit strange just sitting there. Aside from twiddling my thumbs, I didn’t know what to do with myself while he flitted around sorting dinner. Not used to being waited on, especially in my own kitchen, it was as if I was a guest in my own home. “Anything I can do to help?” I asked, straightening myself up, hopeful.
“No, everything’s in hand.”
I slumped down in my seat again and glancing around, looked for a distraction. Noticing my bag hanging over the back of my chair, I remembered Annie’s gift and thought I may as well open it. Pulling it out, I knew my present was a book before I’d started unwrapping. However, tearing at the paper, I was surprised to see the back of a cookbook. It was a strange present considering I’d never shown the slightest interest in developing my epicurean ability. It must be Annie’s idea of a joke, I thought, remembering the breakfast conversation we’d had at lunch. Flipping it over to look at the at the front, I froze, before putting a hand up to my mouth to stop a squeal from escaping. I looked from the book to Fin, glad he was too busy making dinner to clock my horror. It can’t be.
I hadn’t been that shocked by a piece of reading material since I picked up a newspaper a few years prior, only to find Mum and Dad plastered all over the front page. There they were, staring back at me, looking like a pair of glum Santa’s little helpers after being threatened by the local council.
Having decided the time had come to hold their own Christmas light switch-on, it seemed Mum and Dad had opted for the same date that the local council had organised theirs; a double booking that probably wouldn’t have been a problem had the Noelle family home not attracted more visitors. To be fair to Mum and Dad, their offering did outdo the tree and three or four lines of brightly lit streamers the authority had put up in town and under those circumstances, it shouldn’t have come as any great surprise to find certain numbers lacking. As a result, it seemed the local council felt they had no choice but to slap an injunction on Mum and Dad, thus preventing them from hosting any such events in the future. Hence, the reason for the newspaper article. Of course, Mum and Dad relished in the public outpouring of support. However, for me personally, such civic backing was more of a curse than a blessing, on account of it cementing my parents’ reputation as number one on the eccentricity scale.
Returning my attention from Fin to the book, it was clear the image I stared at had been photoshopped. The laughter lines evident on Fin’s actual face had been smoothed out and the golden glow to his skin lightened. There was no hint at his confident, cheeky manner; in the picture, stood there with his arms folded and wearing chef whites, Fin appeared the consummate professional.
My heart raced as I flipped the cookbook back over and scanned through the blurb, reading about how Fin had cooked for royalty, both regal and Hollywood alike. I saw words like world-class and renowned followed by a whole list of appearances on American TV shows. Oh, Lordy. There was even a mention of a recent stint as a judge on a top UK cookery programme. I swallowed. Why did it have to be that programme? The show might have been new, but from the very first episode it had taken the nation’s cooking aspirations by storm; everyone, bar me, seemed to watch it. I recalled all the conversations I hadn’t been able to join in with. The themes of the week, the food combinations, the gorgeously handsome judge. Oh, bugger. He was only stood in my kitchen.
“What have you got there?” Fin asked, glancing over from the stove.
I stuffed the book back into my bag before he could see it. “A gift from Annie,” I replied, trying to keep calm. “A book she thought I’d be interested in.”
“That’s kind of her,” he replied with a smile.
“Isn’t it?” I said, imagining her sat at home laughing to herself, at the same time knowing I’d be freaking out.
I told myself to calm down and carry on as normal. Although as I watched him get back to his cooking, I had to wonder why he’d kept quiet on the career front. I began to feel affronted, all the while insisting it didn’t matter to me what Fin did for a living, so what if he happened to be the most famous judge on UK television? Did he think I’d play fangirl just because he was on the telly? Did he think I’d throw myself at him? Like that was ever going to happen. I silently scoffed. It just went to show how little the man knew me.
I struggled to maintain my indignance, unable to reconcile the man I’d just described with the man I was observing. The Fin in front of me had shown no signs of being egotistical or superior; he’d been nothing but generous. The man had run me a bath for goodness’ sake.
I glanced at my bag, wishing I hadn’t stowed his book away like that. Not facing him with it meant I had to keep his secret too; something I wasn’t sure I could manage.
“The shop owner seemed a nice woman,” Fin said.
My pulsed quickened. Shop owner, Karen, the woman who watched every cookery programme going. Karen, one of the nosiest people in the village. I began to panic. “So you spoke to her then,” I asked.
“Not really. She just seemed very polite.”
Oh, Lordy. Not usually one for good manners, the woman had clearly recognised him.
I knew Fin’s presence would be all around the village. Between Karen and Roberta… Oh, no, I thought, suddenly recalling Roberta’s weird response to Fin. That’s why she was staring. She knew who he was. Looking back the clues kept coming. And the sunglasses he wore. They were obviously a disguise. A bad move on his part, I realised. Shades in the middle of a depressing Yorkshire Dales winter didn’t exactly render the wearer inconspicuous. I began to freak even more, picturing desperate housewives and cookery wannabees queuing down the street.
12
“Voilà!” Fin said, laying a plate in front of me. “Shepherd’s pie.”
I tried to show some appreciation as I looked from my dinner to him, but the shock of finding out Fin was the nation’s current TV darling was still affecting me. I took in the creamy mashed potato, browned to perfection; the bed of minced beef, covered in a rich mouth-watering onion gravy; and the heap of puréed carrots that brought the dish a bit of colour. “Perfect,” I said, mustering a smile even if my usual healthy appetite had all but gone. “Although I really wish you hadn’t,” I added, thinking about Fin’s trip to the shop. “We could have ordered something in.”
“I wanted to. My way of saying thank you. It can’t be easy having your space invaded like this.”
If I’d thought having an unexpected house guest was bad before, it suddenly seemed a whole lot worse. “Don’t be silly,” I said. “It’s fine.”
Picking up my fork, I thought about the breakfast Fin had made, the bath he’d just treated me to, and the dinner I was trying to eat. I knew I’d said I wanted some excitement in my life, but having a famous chef running around after me wasn’t quite what I’d meant. “You do know they’ll have you down as my live-in lover? And by now, the news will be all around the village.”
“I’m okay with that if you are?” Fin replied, accompanying his words with a great big smile.