Duelling Scones
Freshly showered, hair still a wet slick to corral the uncontrollable curls, John tried to slow his approach to the cottage. Just the thought of being in such close proximity to Ava tripped some kind of eagerness switch in him and he didn’t want to end up on the porch panting, like a dog on heat. The new cook was way too classy.
He tiptoed up the three sandstone steps and stood slightly to one side of the screen door hoping to observe, to prepare, to still the buzz in his stomach that had started the day Ava arrived. Staying undetected wasn’t difficult with all the clattering and banging inside. When the hissed cursing started John made his presence known.
‘Er, ahem, hello there, inside.’
‘Oh, ah, hello there, outside.’ She stood at the kitchen bench as stiff as a stop sign. ‘Sorry if you heard me. The battle of the baking trays, and they win.’ She surrendered, fell back against the kitchen sink, slipped both hands into the front pockets of tight jeans and smiled, like she was already comfortable in his company. More than likely, John told himself, she was relieved it wasn’t his mother who’d witnessed the 1985 Swearword Olympics front-runner in action. ‘I’d give anything for a tray that isn’t rusted or warped.’ She held up a crusty black pan and John screwed up his nose.
‘Anything? Well, allow me to work out my price.’ He stepped outside to pick up the box he’d left on the porch. ‘I was meant to bring some replacement bits and pieces down from the house after I tidied up. No idea what Quentin did with the baking trays you’ve got there but I suspect drying out cannabis may have been involved.’
Ava’s smile engaged her whole face, and when she sniffed the trays, her eyes lit up even brighter. ‘You may be right.’
‘When I heard you were baking scones I figured I’d better rush these over. Sorry it wasn’t earlier.’ He set the box on the bench and took two trays from the top. ‘These will be much better.’
‘You knew I was making scones.’
He didn’t say yes or no as it hadn’t really sounded like a question. ‘Most everything that happens in a small town needs just the tiniest puff of wind to get around.’
Ava chuckled. ‘I’ll remember that.’
‘I am curious, though,’ he said. ‘Why are you baking down here? The kitchen in Ivy-May has everything you need.’
‘Your mother asked me to prepare something with the other shoulder of beef for tonight’s guests, plus I’m slow-roasting trays of Roma tomatoes. That leaves this oven, but as it’s old I needed to test it and scones are perfect. A batch is the first thing I do when I start in a new place and I’m unsure about the oven keeping temperature.’ She eyed him, a smile turning one corner of her mouth up. ‘I’m warned you’re the scone master of Ivy-May.’
‘Ooh, wow, that breeze has been busy.’
Ava grinned. ‘Katie was protecting her man’s honour.’
‘Ah, no, I’m not her man. Katie is just being Katie, and as she fancies herself a mini Marjorie, that would be like me dating my mother.’ John faked a shiver, pleased it elicited more of her honeyed laugh. ‘You’ll get used to her – Katie and my mother. Katie and I have been best mates since we were little, even sharing a cot once or twice, but that’s the only bed.’ John made himself at home, straddling one of the two dining chairs backwards to rest his chin on folded arms. ‘Hey, I’ve got an idea. How about a challenge to see which of us takes out the title of Ivy-May Scone Master?’
‘You’re challenging me?’
‘Yep, to a scone duel,’ he said. ‘I have two trays here, and in an hour from now Mum and Dad will be ready for afternoon tea.’
‘What are you suggesting?’
As usual, when he was thinking, John’s hand went to the dent in his cheek. ‘A blind tasting. We’ll give them one of yours and one of mine on a plate.’
Ava cocked an eyebrow. ‘How will we know which one they’re eating?’
He tapped the dimple a few times. ‘A paper napkin. I’ll present mine on the same plate, but mine will be on a folded napkin. What do you say? You up for it?’
John already knew her answer. She had the most expressive face he’d ever seen: the tiny twist in her lips, her head tilted to the point of cute, and the way her eyes opened from half closed to two full blue circles, the same colour as the shirt she wore.
‘I’ll mix my secret ingredients in the house, but I’ll bring them back to set out and bake in the same oven as yours. Fair?’ he asked.
‘And the loser?’
‘Gets another chance to impress by whipping up a surprise dish for the winner.’
Her eyebrows shot up in a game-on kind of way.
*
‘These scones are scrumptious, Ava,’ Marjorie Tate announced. ‘And a delightful treat. Very thoughtful.’
‘Yeah, not bad, although you clearly cooked two batches, Ava.’ John played his role well. ‘Why is that?’
‘I did, yes. The first was to test the oven, John.’
‘Is that so?’ He lifted the plate to scrutinize the remaining morsel. ‘Hmm, well, thinking about it, one batch did seem lighter and fluffier. Do you agree, Mum?’
Marjorie considered her answer. ‘I suppose, if I was to be picky, this one here,’ she lifted the remaining scone half from the folded napkin and poked at it with a finger, ‘is a little denser.’
‘Denser!’ John startled his mother, and Ava bit back a grin.
‘Yes. I’d say whichever batch this one came from is not the better one. Now, I’d best walk these off by delivering some to your father in the office where he’s slaving over the books as usual.’ She brushed crumbs from her lap as she stood. ‘Again, well done, Ava. Anytime you need someone to sample your efforts you’ll know where to find me. What are you looking so miserable about, John?’
‘Nothing,’ he mumbled.
‘Well, we have a family of four due any minute and I believe they’ll want a tour of the property. Make sure the children know to close the gates behind them. You do know there’s four guests for dinner, Ava?’
‘Yes, Mrs Tate. I’ll be serving pumpkin soup with sourdough, then slow-cooked beef with tomatoes, followed by a lemon frangipane tart. Your orchard is wonderful.’
‘Good-oh, I’ll leave you with it.’ Marjorie stopped in the doorway, her ample hips taking up most of it. ‘Oh, and it’s Marjorie, dear. You’re far too old to be calling me Mrs Tate. See you at dinner.’
His mother’s footsteps had faded away but Ava still whispered, ‘Too old?’
‘My mum tends to call a shovel a shovel. She doesn’t mean to be rude. If it helps, I don’t think you’re that old.’
‘Gee, thanks.’
‘I’d better get ready to play host.’
‘Aren’t you forgetting something?’ she asked. ‘I’ll need to know the date so I can clear my diary for that special winner’s dish.’
‘Hmm, right. How about I get back to you on that?’
Ava’s laugh landed on John like a sprinkling of rain at the end of a dry summer. ‘I’m teasing, John. The challenge was a bit of fun. I never expected anything.’
‘Except to win,’ he grumbled.
‘Let’s call it even. Besides, I’m the treat-maker around here now.’
‘No way. I’m no piker and I don’t welsh on a bet. You’re due a special treat and I’ve got just the thing in mind,’ he said. ‘Prepare to be delighted.’