Breakfast Under A Cornish Sun: The perfect romantic comedy for summer. Samantha Tonge

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      I couldn’t help grinning at the memory of my sixty-seven-year-old grandma on her Big Day. Cupid had unexpectedly shot his arrow at her, during a bowling match, when her friend Bill had brought his friend, Geoff, visiting from the South-west. All of a sudden stubborn techno-phobe Guvnah learnt to text and Skype. She even bought a selfie stick. It gave me faith that it would never be too late to find my soul mate.

      I gave the wind spinner one last glance, before prising open my laptop. If only Guvnah lived nearer or I had more paid days off work to go visit. Scrub that. I couldn’t even afford the petrol to get there. Money was tight. That’s why I’d offered to work a double shift today, because Suze, the afternoon waitress, had fallen ill. Mind you, Izzy’s requests were hard to resist when she shook a plate of fresh Oreo-inspired doughnuts under your nose.

      Clothes feeling sticky and feet swollen, I yawned. Nothing beat waking up to summer blue skies but a warm café-bar wasn’t the best place to work when temperatures tipped into the mid-twenties Celsius. Not that industrious wasps seemed to agree, having spent the afternoon mounting a well-thought-out campaign against customers and their sweet guilty pleasures. I kicked off my shoes and stared at the screen. Spiteful Saffron. Wedding. Plus-one. This was an emergency situation. I had four weeks to find a partner who looked exactly like a brooding mine owner. So that meant emergency chocolate, right? With an evening ahead of me, registering with as many dating sites as possible, cooking wouldn’t feature on the agenda. Not that it often did, what with me living above the Egg and Whistle, a cheap and cheerful café. Izzy despaired and occasionally forced me to eat an apple during my tea break. I know. How paradoxical—her running a fast-food diner yet obsessing with fresh foods and vitamin C.

      Having said that, she prided herself on baking with the freshest, best quality ingredients. And stewed fruit often bubbled away in the kitchen, to make fillings, plus her savoury doughnuts often required chopped veg. I slipped a hand under one of the faded blue cushions and pulled out a huge bar of fruit and nut chocolate. I stashed it there, kidding myself it was hidden and not offering temptation.

      Mouth watering, I slipped my fingers along the wrapper. The rectangle looked misshapen, due to melting in the summer heat—not a problem us English chocolate-lovers often suffered from. I went to tug it open when the doorbell rang. At half past eight? Who could that be? Perhaps some local incarnation of Poldark, complete with eighteenth-century tricorn hat, frock coat and roguish smile, offering to escort me to Saffron’s Big Day. I slipped the chocolate back under the cushion and headed to the window, stuck my head out into the muggy evening air and stared down at the pavement.

      ‘Who’s there?’

      ‘The most considerate boss you’ll ever have the honour of meeting,’ called a voice.

      ‘Izzy,’ I said in a faux bored voice. ‘What do you want? Isn’t it enough that you listen to my erudite conversation all day, every day?’

      She stepped backwards, into view, and we grinned at each other, although my chest squeezed. I’d avoided her after Saffron’s phone call, not wanting to answer embarrassing questions about my fictional boyfriend, Ross. I headed over to the front door and pressed the button to let her in. Eventually, footsteps sounded in the hallway and I opened the door.

      Izzy walked in, carrying a large plastic bag and humming, headed straight for the kitchen. With her yellow shorts and strawberry-red T-shirt, she reminded me of a garnished Pina Colada cocktail.

      ‘Make yourself at home,’ I said and she caught my eye. We chuckled and I shut the front door.

      ‘Thanks for working that double shift,’ she said. ‘Figured I owed you a decent dinner as it was so busy. When I left, a group of eighteen-year-olds came in … or at least said they were. I prompted James to check their ID and, as a result, most had to order mocktails instead. So I think he’s having a quiet night.’

      ‘I’m surprised you didn’t stay to help your newest employee,’ I said, airily.

      Izzy swung around.

      ‘Goodness, how flushed your cheeks look, must be the heat.’ I grinned. ‘Or the thought of how his muscles show through a tight T-shirt. That man must live in the gym.’

      ‘You know me, Kate—ever the professional. I would never have a relationship with someone I’d hired …’ She cleared her throat. ‘So if I have to fire him for not thinking to check those girls’ IDs on his own, well, so be it.’

      ‘Izzy!’

      Her shoulders moved up and down as she laughed. ‘Only joking. Sure, he’s cute, but a bit young for me.’ With a flourish she pulled out a bottle of Prosecco.

      ‘Ooh. What are we celebrating?’

      She shrugged. ‘There’s no law against fizz on a week night, is there—especially if you’ve had a challenging day?’

      My throat went tight.

      ‘I saw your face after that phone call,’ she said softly. ‘No need to explain if you don’t want to. I just thought your evening might benefit from a bit of sparkle. But Auntie Izzy is here if you need a chat.’

      My mouth quirked up—‘Auntie’ indeed. Izzy was only a couple of years older than me, although to be fair, she fussed over all her employees, apart from the ones she sacked for turning up late or helping themselves to too many doughnuts. Gooey as her heart was, like unfried batter, kind Izzy was no pushover.

      My throat tightened further as, for a few seconds, I relived the teenage feelings of inadequacy, embarrassment, self-hatred—feelings belonging to Katie Golightly, the round peg in a square hole girl.

      ‘Oh, Izzy. What have I got myself into?’ I slumped onto the sofa.

      She came over and sat next to me. ‘So, when were you going to introduce me to this Ross?’ Her eyes twinkled.

      Now my cheeks burned.

      ‘Some friend has asked you to their wedding and you decided to make up that you had a plus-one?’

      Avoiding her eye, I nodded.

      ‘Kate! It’s not like you to lie! And there are thousands of people every year who go to events on their own. You’d be viewed as a confident, strong woman.’

      ‘Or as a wallflower wimp,’ I said. Izzy already knew bits—about the teasing; me not fitting in with the popular crowd. However I’d never really talked about what exactly had happened between me and Saffron and how she’d ditched me as soon as we left primary school. How we’d once been friends but then, for no apparent reason … I cleared my throat and again tapped on my laptop. ‘Sorry for going on,’ I mumbled and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. ‘I know I should be over the whole high school thing by now.’

      ‘I don’t think people ever get over that teenage stuff, Kate. It’s fifteen years ago for me and I still remember the knots in the pit of my stomach when the older girls used to corner me in the toilets. I’ve always loved cooking and used to hang out in the food technology department at lunchtime and read up on new recipes with my favourite teacher. I didn’t smoke, drink or snog … guess I was an easy target.’ She shrugged. ‘But those experiences don’t need to define our whole life, right?’

      I nodded.

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