On Monday morning the small lunch Lena had booked for Wednesday turned out not to be small.
She checked the note she'd made on the phone. Ten people. Sandwiches and cake. The customer now said eighteen, and could they sit in the garden, and hadn't Lena mentioned it was possible to have the tables together?
She had. On the Tuesday when her head had been full of Daniel inviting Nate, she had said possible three times and written down too little.
Jo listened from the kitchen doorway.
“Two thirty,” she said. “At one we're full.”
Lena gave the customer the later time. Eventually she agreed, with a sigh loud enough for both sisters to hear.
Jo took the note when Lena hung up.
“Get the sandwich count confirmed before Wednesday. I'll bring the tables through now.”
Lena followed her into the garden.
Her sister lifted the table end. Lena hurried to take the other. They got it halfway through the door before Jo's shoulder caught the frame. She swore, set her end down and looked past Lena.
Nate was on the other side of the garden gate.
“I can take that,” he said.
“No,” Jo said at once.
He stopped.
Lena turned. He held a small florist's bucket with no flowers in it.
“Bea sent me for the spare one,” he said. “You had two.”
“Under the sink,” Lena said.
He didn't move. Jo was rubbing her shoulder, though she tried to stop when she noticed them looking.
“I can carry a table,” Nate said. “I don't need a conversation in return.”
Jo looked at him for a long moment.
“Take that end. Do not put it down on the cloth.”
He did exactly as she said. Lena got out of their way, feeling useless. They carried the table to the wall without scraping anything. Nate came back for the second, then the chairs.
“That's enough,” Lena said.
Jo turned on her. “I'm deciding.”
She brought Nate a bucket of water and a cloth.
“You can do the tops. Then underneath. They're filthy.”
“All right.”
Lena watched him kneel beside the first table. He wore the dark jacket she'd noticed on the day he came back. He took it off before it got wet and hung it over the wall.
She had expected him to look at her. He didn't. He asked Jo where the clean things should go, then began.
Inside, orders needed taking. Lena made coffee, carried plates and wiped a sauce spill from the counter. Every time she passed the garden door, Nate was still working.
At noon Jo gave him tea in an ordinary mug.
“Lunch?” she asked.
“I'll pay.”
“You'll eat when we've got five minutes. Don't choose anything difficult.”
He smiled a little. “Cheese sandwich.”
“With all its corners this time,” Lena said before she could stop herself.
He glanced at her then. The smile reached his eyes.
She carried the sandwich outside herself. He had finished the tables and was helping an older customer lift a pushchair over the little garden step. The customer thanked him as though he worked here.
“She's the person to ask about everything,” Nate said, nodding toward Lena.
He hadn't made himself important. She liked that more than she wanted to.
When the lunch rush eased, Lena sat on the wall with a glass of water. Nate finished the last half of his sandwich standing beside her. They were not alone; Jo passed with plates twice, and a couple behind them were discussing the weather at length.
“Your sister doesn't trust me with anything breakable,” he said.
“My sister doesn't trust me with anything breakable.”
He looked at the newly clean tables. “I've done worse jobs.”
“I know. You ate our old ham sandwiches.”
He laughed, then caught himself looking at her for too long.
“Are you going soon?” she asked.
“Bea's letting me use her sofa. I've got a job inland on Thursday. Then I'm back at my place next week.”
“Where's your place?”
“Ashford. Four hours if the trains like you.”
She hadn't known where he lived now. It was strange that a man whose taste in sandwiches she remembered had a home she couldn't picture.
“Do you like it?”
“Yes. Most days. It's above a shop that sells records. They don't play them quietly.”
She smiled. “You'd complain if they did.”
“Probably.”
Jo called her name. Lena put her glass down.
Nate stepped back, making room for her to go.
“I'm glad you had a good weekend,” he said.
She looked at him. “Bea?”
“She said you were away. You look less tired.”
“We had a good time.”
He nodded. It didn't make him happy, but he didn't argue with her account of her own weekend.
Before he left he carried the borrowed bucket back to Bea's shop. Jo watched him from the doorway, wiping her hands.
“Does that change anything?” Lena asked.
“He moved tables. It changes where the tables are.”
Lena shook her head, smiling despite herself.
Jo nudged her elbow. “He did what I asked. I'll give him that.”
That evening Lena told Daniel about the booking mistake before she told him Nate had helped. She didn't want to turn the day into a pretty story in which the difficult parts happened to other people.
Daniel listened, then looked at the blue bowl on the kitchen table.
“Nate worked at the café?”
“For a few hours.”
“Was he paid?”
“No. He helped with the tables.”
Daniel moved one tomato into the bowl, then another.
“You used to say he couldn't finish anything.”
“He finished this.”
She heard how quickly she'd defended him.
Daniel heard it too.