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

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.

      ‘Your favourite red?’ said Marco.

      Zak nodded and ran a hand through his unusually messy hair. ‘And breadsticks. Please.’ He loosened his scarlet tie. That was his signature fashion statement – a bright strip of colour against the understated grey and navy suits. Zak slipped off his jacket, which showed off his slim-fit shirt and the platinum golf-ball cufflinks I’d bought for his fortieth birthday. My husband was heading for middle age. How was that possible? When had I become so grown-up?

      ‘You look great,’ he said and then bit his top lip. ‘I haven’t always told you that. It’s just that recently … Elite Eleganz …’

      ‘You don’t look so bad yourself,’ I interrupted and wished I was close enough to kiss his dangerously seductive mouth. ‘So. Tell me all about this deal. Did you clinch it in the end?’ Admittedly, the financial minutiae of the business didn’t always grab my interest, but I’d made an effort over the years to quiz Zak and understand as much as I could. After all, he was the man I loved. The man I cared for. As his partner, it was my job to show him support.

      Zak waited whilst the waiter poured our drinks and then left. He nodded and raised a glass. They clinked. The breadsticks arrived and he munched one down straightaway. Odd that he didn’t want to tell me about it, although he often said I served as a great distraction to business concerns.

      I grinned. ‘Goodness, you have built up an appetite. So, what did you want to discuss?’ He could go first and then, totally relaxed, listen to my plans to take up my studies again. Whoop! Me designing again? Perhaps, one day, I’d develop my own range within Elite Eleganz or –

      Ignoring my question, Zak cleared his throat. ‘Oh, I forgot to tell you. Chanelle rang. April left her cardigan behind.’

      My brow knotted. ‘When did she call? You went out before me.’

      He loosened his tie further. ‘She rang my mobile, to pick my brains about some bookkeeping course she’s thinking of doing.’

      I grinned again. Zak couldn’t usually stomach much more than five minutes of her chat about fish pedicures or the Kardashians – although he and Chanelle did share a love of travel. Before meeting me, Zak had skied, sunbathed, and eaten his way around most of Europe.

      I sat more upright. A bookkeeping course? Why didn’t that surprise me? Glamorous Chanelle was an odd mix. On the surface, she was your stereotypical trophy wife, loving the high life, the lunches, the spa trips, and manicures. Yet simmering beneath was a dogged determination to be more than arm candy – to make her own mark.

      And perhaps this information was a perfect cue from the universe to talk about my prospective studies. Not that Zak would stop me. There’d been a shift in our relationship over the last few years. I’d matured. No longer saw him as the wise old man. Still loved and respected him, but was no longer so much … in awe.

      ‘I don’t know how Chanelle balances work with looking after the kids. I count my blessings that I’ve been able to be a stay-at-home mum,’ I said. ‘A choice that I’ve loved – looking after you two and running Elite Eleganz’s charity projects. But now April’s older, I was –’

      ‘Yes, and it’s made my work life easy,’ interrupted Zak, ‘us not having to both juggle professional commitments.’

      I brushed the tip of my shoe up his muscular leg, under the table. ‘I’m so proud of how you’ve built up your parents’ business.’

      He moved his leg away and shrugged again, before sipping his wine. Hmm. It wasn’t like Zak to play down a compliment.

      ‘So, Chanelle wants to do a course as well as working and looking after Skye? She’s superwoman. Although I was thinking –’

      ‘It’s strange that you two are such good friends. In some ways you’re so different.’ He stared at me for a moment and then studied the menu.

      This was true. I gazed at him across the flickering candle. ‘I’ve changed since you and me first met though, don’t you think?’ I thought back to the younger me. ‘But then I was