The Windmill Café. Poppy Blake

in his eyes. ‘If you’re interested, perhaps you can let Freddie take you on a guided walk through the grounds of Ultimate Adventures. There’s lots of flora and fauna, but I don’t think you’ll find anything suitable for your table decorations, though.’

      ‘Sounds like a great idea,’ said Rosie, thinking it was a much better proposition than going all Tarzanesque on a zip wire through the treetop canopy. ‘I might take you up on that, Freddie.’

      ‘No problem. You might be the go-to girl for upmarket bridal flowers, but I’m your man when it comes to wild flowers. Wild flowers can be just as beautiful as any other, but you need to be careful what you touch. Some are toxic, not just to animals, but to humans, too. Laburnum, foxgloves, oleander, belladonna, ingesting just a small amount could kill you.’

      ‘Is that true?’ Mia’s eyes widened and she ran her palms up and down her forearms to eradicate the goose bumps that had appeared.

      ‘Deadly!’

      Unlike Matt who had stuck to his work attire of figure-hugging black jeans and matching Ultimate Adventures logo-ed T-shirt, Freddie looked positively jaunty sporting a pair of smart navy trousers and a lime green polo shirt which accentuated the colour of his eyes – a prophetic choice as it did not clash with his hair, the colour of a fox’s tail. He looked like he had just stepped from the deck of his luxury yacht.

      ‘Gosh, I had no idea you could die from touching flowers! Rosie, what if I’ve inadvertently put one of those wild flowers in our table arrangements? Oh my God, our garden party guests are going to die in agony and it’ll be all my fault!’

      Rosie laughed. ‘Don’t worry, I think we’re safe, Mia.’

      ‘God, where’s the prosecco? I need a top-up!’

      Mia rushed off to the makeshift wine bar, with a chuckling Freddie lolloping in her wake, and Rosie and Matt sauntered after them. Suki was there too, ordering another bottle of chilled champagne.

      ‘Rosie, my sister Jess has suggested I perform a few songs later. Do you mind?’

      ‘Wow, awesome!’ declared Freddie, nodding emphatically in Rosie’s direction.

      ‘That would be wonderful, Suki, but do you really want to sing? I thought you were here to relax?’

      ‘I am, but it’s been such a beautiful afternoon, I thought I’d practise a couple of the songs I’m a bit rusty on before I go into the recording studio next week. Do you mind if I use the terrace outside the café?’

      ‘Of course not. Do you need me to do anything?’

      ‘Actually, yes. I don’t suppose you have any honey in the café kitchen, do you?’

      ‘Honey? Yes, I think so. Why?’

      ‘I use it to make my throat spray with a few drops of peppermint oil. I can’t sing without it and I seem to have run out.’

      ‘No problem at all.’

      Rosie led Suki to the Windmill Café and through the French doors into the kitchen. She was proud that she had directed the whole operation of hosting and catering for a part of over forty ravenous villagers with flawless efficiency. She cast a quick glance around the room and, as she had expected, the place was pristine. She heaved a sigh of relief. The marble countertops had been cleared of all culinary debris, polished until they sparkled, and the sharp bite of ammonia stung her nostrils. Mia had accused her of practically bathing in the stuff but ever since she had been forced to leave her beloved little flower shop in London, she knew she had reverted to the strange kind of comfort and calm she had always found in scrupulous, obsessive hygiene standards.

      ‘Ergh, what’s with the intense chlorine smell?’

      Suki’s exclamation took Rosie by surprise and a surge of warmth travelled from her chest up into her neck and glowed at her cheeks. However, the last thing she wanted to do was talk to Suki about her painful past and the cause of her resumed struggle with cleanliness, how making sure that everything was so clean it squeaked was the only thing that gave her the peace of mind she craved. To cover her embarrassment, she strode quickly to the cupboard above the fridge and removed a jar of Jarrah honey.

      ‘Is this what you’re looking for?’

      ‘Perfect! Thank you, Rosie, you’re an absolute life-saver. My throat is so sore from all the talking I’ve done this afternoon. I take a lot of stick from Felix and Nadia, but I can’t even think about singing without a bottle of my spray in my pocket. It’s sort of like my good luck charm. See you later. Eight o’clock on the terrace. Don’t be late!’

      Rosie watched Suki flick her hair over her shoulder and meander back towards her friends, clutching the jar of honey as if it contained the elixir of youth. For some unfathomable reason, a spasm of sympathy shot into Rosie’s heart and she took a moment to contemplate the five people who had taken over the luxury lodges at the Windmill Café’s holiday site.

      Felix, Suki’s boyfriend, was still conspicuous by his absence despite being expected for the ribbon-cutting ceremony, and whilst the others were certainly all fascinating characters, she had little in common with any of them. Suki and her friend Nadia clearly had more of an affinity with the contents of a drinks cabinet than an interest in either floristry or baking and she made a mental note to hide her emergency bottle of Gordon’s just in case.

      She liked Jess, Suki’s younger sister, but despite being twenty-one, she acted like an immature teenager rather than an independent adult. She seemed to float along in a world of her own, happy to follow in her boyfriend Lucas’s wake like an excitable puppy on its first walk on the beach.

      Rosie had already had to fight to keep Lucas out of the café kitchen. The first thing he had told her when they’d checked in at the lodges was that one day he hoped to be the proud owner of a Michelin star. The guy seemed to have modelled his entire life, as well as his physical appearance, on becoming the next version of the Naked Chef, right down to his accent – strange, because Lucas had also told her he was from Cornwall, not Essex.

      Finally, her eyes came to rest on William, Suki’s tall, dark and handsome music manager, who also happened to be Nadia’s boyfriend. He stood a little apart from the group, as if watching a bunch of toddlers enjoying an afternoon cavorting in the playground. Rosie was grateful that there was at least one sensible person in their group otherwise she suspected the whole party could quite easily descend into disarray – something she wasn’t good at coping with.

       Chapter 3

      After saying her goodbyes to everyone who had attended the very first Windmill Café garden party, Rosie grabbed a roll of black bin bags, handed one each to Matt, Freddie and Mia and they began to stuff them with litter. With the extra help, the tidying up didn’t take long and by six o’clock a casual onlooker would never have known there had been a party at the Windmill Café that afternoon. She made a pitcher of homemade lemonade and slumped down next to Mia at one of the tables on the terrace for a well-deserved rest, whilst Freddie went off in search of a bucket of ice in which to store his beers.

      ‘So, are you pleased to be back from your trek around the world?’ Rosie asked Mia, enjoying the sensation of the cold, sharp, citrusy nectar trickling down her throat.

      ‘Having a gap year is an awesome experience. I’ve seen some amazing sights, but there is nothing quite like being at home. Mum and Dad are ecstatic that I made it back in one piece. Mum’s got me helping with the flowers in the church, as well as baking all this stuff for the Rev’s homeless charity, and Dad’s roped me in with the gardening and tending the greenhouse. I don’t mind, though. I’m still writing my travel blog and, of course, I’m loving working with you here in the café over the summer. Did Matt tell you he’s offered me a part-time job as a zip wire instructor when the season ends in October – can’t wait to start the training with our very own answer to Bear Grylls. And Freddie’s promised