Chloe reached up and kissed him impulsively, aiming for his cheek but he moved at the last moment and the kiss ended up on his lips. He kissed her back – or she thought he was kissing her back, and she threw her arms around him before suddenly coming to her senses.

She wanted the floor to open up and swallow her when she realised she’d smacked him full on the lips with a definitely-not-platonic kiss.

‘My God. Fuck. I’m sorry. Sorry for saying fuck and sorry for that … it … the thing happening.’

He was gracious enough to smile. ‘Don’t be. It … the thing was lovely but this really isn’t the greatest idea. I like you, Chloe. I really like you, but now’s not the best time for either of us, is it? From any point of view.’

‘No, don’t go any further. I’ve made such a fool of myself. I have to go.’ It was terrible. Not the kiss, but the fact he might have a girlfriend, not to mention the fact that he was over a decade younger than she was … both of which somehow had conveniently escaped her notice while she’d been kissing him. Damn, she’d have been at college and partying when Drew hadn’t even left Porthmellow Primary School. How would he feel if he knew that?

Well, she certainly wasn’t going to tell him now. There’d been enough confessions for one night.

‘You don’t have to run off now. Why don’t I make you a coffee?’ he said.

‘I’m not drunk,’ she blurted out.

‘I didn’t say you were, I only meant, don’t leave like this. Please.’

‘I do really need to get home. Look at the time.’ She pointed at the clock in the hall. and reached for the door lock.

‘What? Half past nine?’ Drew said.

‘Late enough,’ Chloe muttered, fumbling with the top lock and wrenching the handle. It rattled loudly. Shit, why were other people’s doors always so difficult to open? Especially when you were desperate to get away.

Drew reached in front of her and twisted the knob. ‘You have to turn the Yale at the same time.’

He had a half-smile on his face but her cheeks burned. ‘Thanks.’

‘You’re welcome.’

‘Right.’

Chloe burbled something as she exited the house but it definitely wasn’t ‘bye’. She didn’t actually run away; she had the presence of mind to realise that hurtling out of Drew Yelland’s house, with tears running down her face, at nine thirty on a Tuesday evening might possibly arouse suspicion – especially with the town band emerging from the Dame Doris Thurlow Memorial Centre and the ladies’ rowing gig returning from practice on the corner of the road.