Ruby hadn't been inside the bakery since she'd taken away the last box of workshop tools.
At the counter she stopped to let someone pass. The narrow path to the back room was still familiar. She used to carry chairs down it sideways while Dan told her she could fit them straight if she trusted him. He'd been wrong about that for three years.
He was at the far end, shifting a stack of clean trays. When he saw her, he set them down and came through the swinging half-door.
‘Hi. Come in.’
She followed him, turning her bag sideways out of habit.
The back room smelt of flour and warm metal. Her workshop cupboard was still against the wall. The paint on one handle was chipped where she'd once dropped a bowl against it. Someone had filled the shelves with paper bags.
Dan pulled out a chair for her. She sat. He sat opposite, rather than beside her, which she appreciated.
‘The risers work,’ she said. ‘And the cover fits. I just want to be certain how we're doing this.’
‘What's happened?’
‘A misunderstanding about someone else's stall. I'm sorting it. I want mine clear.’
‘Mae mentioned you were stressed.’
Ruby looked at him. ‘Did she?’
‘Only that you're worrying about it.’
She had been worrying about it. That wasn't private knowledge in itself. Anyone looking at her could probably tell.
‘You leave the equipment with Bev,’ she said. ‘I use it on the day. I get it back to you afterwards.’
‘Yes.’
‘My sign.’
‘You said.’
‘I've had to say a few things twice recently.’
Dan leaned back in his chair. For a moment she saw him deciding whether to be annoyed. Then he opened a slim folder on the table.
‘I did put something together,’ he said. ‘Before you decide I haven't listened, look at it.’
Ruby didn't reach for the folder.
He turned it so she could read. At the top of the page were her name and the bakery's, separated by a red line. Beneath them were photographs of her pottery from the old workshops, a suggested class night and a tidy paragraph about local makers working together.
It was polished. It was attractive. It was exactly the thing she'd said she didn't want.
‘Dan.’
‘It's an option.’
‘I said no joint launch.’
‘And you can still put your sign up. This could be beside it. I haven't booked anything.’
He had laid out a plan for two classes a month, a display at the bakery and photographs for their accounts. The costs were sensible. He'd allowed for her materials instead of assuming her time was free. It would make money if half the places sold.
Ruby looked at the figures. Then she looked back at the names.
‘You're asking me to come back.’
‘I'm asking you to look at something that could work.’
‘It worked before.’
His hand flattened against the page. ‘Most of it did.’
They were both quiet. Through the door Ruby heard someone ask for a loaf sliced. The ordinary request hurt; she'd heard thousands of them while she mixed clay at this table.
Dan looked at her with the expression he used when he wanted to stop circling something.
‘I miss you,’ he said. ‘I'm not going to pretend I don't. I hate that I've made it awkward for you to be here. But you don't have to lose all of this as well.’
‘I chose to stop coming here.’
‘You chose to leave me. You didn't choose to sit on your own with a box and wonder whether anybody will want what you're doing.’
Ruby looked up. ‘I didn't say that to you.’
‘I know you're frightened. I know you hate pity purchases. You won't have to put yourself through this again to prove you can. You won't have to tell a waitress someone's parking so you can bear to sit in a café.’
Ruby stopped moving.
Dan was still speaking. Something about the workshop nights, the people who already liked her. She heard the words without fitting them together.
The Sea Glass café had been three afternoons ago. She and Dan were already apart; Mae was living in the spare room. This wasn't an old story he might have forgotten hearing.
Nobody had been there with her.
‘How do you know that?’ she asked.
Dan paused. ‘What?’
‘The waitress. Someone parking. How do you know I said that?’
‘Mae told me.’
There it was, quick and simple. Ruby looked at the folder, then at him.
‘Why was she telling you?’
He frowned, puzzled rather than caught. ‘Because we're trying to help.’
‘I told her that two days ago. In my flat. I didn't ask her to pass it on.’
Dan sat forward. ‘She thought you needed more people round you. That this would make things easier.’
Ruby picked up the page. The plan no longer looked like something he'd come up with because he knew her well. The careful words about new confidence looked like somebody had been handing him pieces of her since she stopped handing them over herself.
‘What else has she told you?’
‘Ruby—’
‘Answer me.’
He rubbed his hand across his mouth. ‘I thought you knew about it.’
‘Knew about what?’
‘Me helping her. The money.’
Ruby set the page down.
‘What money?’