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Sterling’s eyes widen.

“Do you know what this man wants to do with it?”

I slather jam and then cream onto my scone. Sterling does it the opposite way around, his cream going first. I should tell him that’s not the right way to do it, but Kiernan always says I sound like a scone snob when I do that.

“No. My dad introduced this developer to me at Pops’ funeral. I think maybe he wants to build a holiday park down here, but I don’t know and I don’t care because I’m not selling. Ever.”

“Hmm,” Sterling muses. He takes a bite of his scone, and I hold my breath, waiting for his reaction. Unlike with the French toast, there is no hint of revulsion on his face. Instead, he looks impressed, and that has warmth spreading in my chest. “This is very pleasing.”

His response is very…him.

“Thanks,” I reply, then take a bite of my scone. “How were the sea lions today? Have you learned anything new?”

Sterling wipes his mouth with a napkin before he answers. “No. But I have some suspicions as to why they’re here.”

“Any plans to share those with me?”

He smirks. “Maybe. Perhaps another time. Right now, I want to know more about you, Caspian-like-the-sea.”

“Like what?”

“Have you always lived in Newbridge? Your accent tells me no, but one must not presume.”

“Ah. No.” I shake my head. “I was born and raised in London.”

“The big city,” Sterling muses.

“You ever been?”

“No, it’s too far inland for me, though I have been to the coast not too far from it. I like to stick near the sea.” He pushes his half eaten scone to the side and crosses his arms on the table. “So, City Boy, what brought you to this little village?”

I don’t want to give this man my entire backstory. Don’t want him to know how living in a city made me feel like I was constantly on the verge of a panic attack. How my parents treated me like I couldn’t take care of myself. How I needed to be with my grandparents, who actually understood me.

“I like the quiet. And my grandparents were here. My parents would send me to Newbridge in the holidays and I never wanted to leave. So one day when I was old enough, I came and never returned. My parents haven’t accepted it, though.”

“They’re not proud of you?” He looks around the bakery and then at me. “Of this? What you’ve created.”

I laugh, but it’s without humour. “My dad said I lack the people skills to run a bakery and -” I shrug. “They never believed in me. Still don’t, really. Now that Pops is gone, they’re biding their time until I fail and come crawling back to London.”

Sterling leans forward and settles one large hand on the table next to mine. He doesn’t touch me, just leaves his finger close enough that I could touch him if I wanted to.

I do want to.

I inch my hand to the left and our fingers brush. My heart skips a beat and I move my gaze from our hands to meet his eyes.

“You won’t,” Sterling says, so matter of fact.

“I won’t what?”

“You won’t fail. You don’t need people to believe in you. The world is full of things no one believes in. Doesn’t mean they don’t exist. Doesn’t mean you can’t do everything you set your heart on.”

“My Pops would have liked you.”

“I am very likeable,” Sterling replies, a smirk playing on his lips. Feeling brave, I slip my pinky finger under his. He dips his eyes to the place we’re touching before his full attention is on me again. “As are you.”

I don’t know how to respond to his comment. Sterling makes me feel both confident and way out of my depth all at once.

“Thanks.” I know I’m blushing, because that’s all I seem to do around this man and the heat in my cheeks is a sure sign.