Read Online That Girl From Nowhere by Dorothy Koomson - Free Book Online
Authors: Dorothy Koomson
Tags: USA
Ads: Link
jewellery into pieces you won’t want to take off.
Call 07760104876 for a free, no-obligation quote or visit www.smittsondesigns.co.uk for more details.
Original commissions also undertaken including wedding rings, engagement rings, special birthday gifts and more.
10% off if you mention this advert.
Redesigned. Remade. Reloved.
----
9
Smitty
‘One coffee for the lady with the notebook and camera.’ Tyler, the barista from Beached Heads, my favourite coffee shop in the whole of Brighton, places the coffee cup – the one decorated with yellow and white daisies that I love most – in front of me without so much as a rattle of the cup on its matching saucer. I’ve been in here a lot, have managed to grab the more private sofa at the back like I planned, and have basically been able to drink my body weight in coffee every working day without ever having to make it. Win-win-win.
‘Thank you,’ I reply. I have to keep my eyes on the coffee cup and not raise them anywhere in his direction because I’ve developed the most embarrassing crush on him. After my late-teenage Dylan crush I didn’t think I could be like this about someone – no matter how good-looking he was. I thought age, experience, plus a long-term relationship, had acted like weedkiller on that particular type of emotion. However, that weed was clearly lying dormant, waiting for the right combination of circumstance and person to fertilise it and make it shoot up. Tyler, the apron-wearing, sous-chef-hat-donning owner of Beached Heads, is my new crush.
With horror I realise he has pulled out the chair opposite me and is sitting himself down. When it isn’t seven in the morning, the place is usually busy, alive with the hum and thrum of people who have stopped off for a drink and a stare at the sea. ‘I’ve got to ask, what is it that you do exactly?’ he asks me.
‘Exactly?’
‘Or even vaguely,’ he says. ‘You’ve been coming in here for nearly two weeks now, meeting different people, taking photos of their jewellery, of them, making notes. What is it that you do?’
‘Isn’t it obvious?’
‘If it was, I wouldn’t be asking. Also, I need to get confirmation before I decide whether or not I’m going to turf you out for conducting business on my premises.’
‘I’m a jewellery maker.’
‘Right. Right.’ He nods slowly. ‘How come you don’t actually make jewellery, then? Why are you always hanging around my place?’
I look up at him. He’s sitting back in the circular, leather armchair, his arms folded across his chest and his head on one side. He waits for my answer with an affected puzzled look. I have to smile. I just have to. ‘I like it here,’ I say.
‘More than you like making enough money to pay your mortgage?’
‘I don’t have a mortgage. I have a flat I rent with my mother. And a shop that I haven’t quite got around to opening yet. My, erm, landlord is not going to be happy with me, but in between meeting clients here and making the pieces they commission, the shop has taken a bit of a back seat.’
‘What’s your name, Nowhere Girl?’
‘Clemency Smittson. My friends call me Smitty.’
‘Do you want me to help you set up your shop?’
‘Why would you do that?’
‘Because I want to.’
‘Fair enough. I’d love you to help, but I’m not going to let you.’
‘Pray tell why not?’
‘Because the real reason why I haven’t done it is I’m not ready to. With most things, if I don’t do them even when I should, it’s because I’m not ready to or it’s because I really don’t want to. I can’t see how it’s going to look up here yet.’ I tap my right temple with my right index finger. ‘Until I can see it, there’s no point in trying to make it a reality.’
‘I do that,’ he says. Another grin. This one would quicken even the most uninterested person’s heart. ‘I’m not sure I approve of you taking advantage of my good nature by using my shop
Call 07760104876 for a free, no-obligation quote or visit www.smittsondesigns.co.uk for more details.
Original commissions also undertaken including wedding rings, engagement rings, special birthday gifts and more.
10% off if you mention this advert.
Redesigned. Remade. Reloved.
----
9
Smitty
‘One coffee for the lady with the notebook and camera.’ Tyler, the barista from Beached Heads, my favourite coffee shop in the whole of Brighton, places the coffee cup – the one decorated with yellow and white daisies that I love most – in front of me without so much as a rattle of the cup on its matching saucer. I’ve been in here a lot, have managed to grab the more private sofa at the back like I planned, and have basically been able to drink my body weight in coffee every working day without ever having to make it. Win-win-win.
‘Thank you,’ I reply. I have to keep my eyes on the coffee cup and not raise them anywhere in his direction because I’ve developed the most embarrassing crush on him. After my late-teenage Dylan crush I didn’t think I could be like this about someone – no matter how good-looking he was. I thought age, experience, plus a long-term relationship, had acted like weedkiller on that particular type of emotion. However, that weed was clearly lying dormant, waiting for the right combination of circumstance and person to fertilise it and make it shoot up. Tyler, the apron-wearing, sous-chef-hat-donning owner of Beached Heads, is my new crush.
With horror I realise he has pulled out the chair opposite me and is sitting himself down. When it isn’t seven in the morning, the place is usually busy, alive with the hum and thrum of people who have stopped off for a drink and a stare at the sea. ‘I’ve got to ask, what is it that you do exactly?’ he asks me.
‘Exactly?’
‘Or even vaguely,’ he says. ‘You’ve been coming in here for nearly two weeks now, meeting different people, taking photos of their jewellery, of them, making notes. What is it that you do?’
‘Isn’t it obvious?’
‘If it was, I wouldn’t be asking. Also, I need to get confirmation before I decide whether or not I’m going to turf you out for conducting business on my premises.’
‘I’m a jewellery maker.’
‘Right. Right.’ He nods slowly. ‘How come you don’t actually make jewellery, then? Why are you always hanging around my place?’
I look up at him. He’s sitting back in the circular, leather armchair, his arms folded across his chest and his head on one side. He waits for my answer with an affected puzzled look. I have to smile. I just have to. ‘I like it here,’ I say.
‘More than you like making enough money to pay your mortgage?’
‘I don’t have a mortgage. I have a flat I rent with my mother. And a shop that I haven’t quite got around to opening yet. My, erm, landlord is not going to be happy with me, but in between meeting clients here and making the pieces they commission, the shop has taken a bit of a back seat.’
‘What’s your name, Nowhere Girl?’
‘Clemency Smittson. My friends call me Smitty.’
‘Do you want me to help you set up your shop?’
‘Why would you do that?’
‘Because I want to.’
‘Fair enough. I’d love you to help, but I’m not going to let you.’
‘Pray tell why not?’
‘Because the real reason why I haven’t done it is I’m not ready to. With most things, if I don’t do them even when I should, it’s because I’m not ready to or it’s because I really don’t want to. I can’t see how it’s going to look up here yet.’ I tap my right temple with my right index finger. ‘Until I can see it, there’s no point in trying to make it a reality.’
‘I do that,’ he says. Another grin. This one would quicken even the most uninterested person’s heart. ‘I’m not sure I approve of you taking advantage of my good nature by using my shop
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