He kissed her on the cheek. ‘Forget Bryony and start living your own life. I’ll see you next weekend. I’m sorry for all the trouble I’ve caused you. I love you, Sam.’

Sam gave him a little push. ‘Go on. Get to work.’ She called after him, ‘Love you too!’

He climbed in the car and tooted his horn, before driving off, leaving Sam alone, wondering what else she didn’t know and how to solve her biggest dilemma of all: Gabe.

The next day, Wednesday, the harbour was eerily quiet. Everyone was partied out and Stargazey was closed too, but it had been a bumper weekend of business so they all deserved a break. Sam had spent the time after Ryan had left helping to clear up and soon almost every trace of the festival had been removed during the mammoth clear-up. Now, basically, it was all over for another year.

Sam had heard nothing from Gabe since Sunday evening. No questions, or apologies. No pressure on her. That in itself was unsettling … but if she contacted him again, she needed to be absolutely sure of what she wanted and in her present state of mind, that wasn’t easy to work out.

It was late afternoon when she climbed down from the stepladder after removing the last of the posters from around the harbour. She folded up the ladder and lugged it towards Festival HQ, or the Institute, as it was now back to being. Without its bunting and banners, or risqué announcements – it had changed back from fairy-tale coach to pumpkin again.

In fact, there was virtually no sign of the momentous events that had taken place over the weekend at all. Apart from the ache in her heart and the constant turning over of thoughts about Gabe. They came over and over like the waves rolling up the beach.

The ladder was heavy and she had to rest in front of the Net Loft. Its windows were empty and the original sign was still up. There was no evidence of work starting … as if Gabe were waiting for something.

He might be in as much agony as she was, she thought.

Ryan was right. She had to start trusting someone and there was no one more rock solid than Gabe. No one had ever remotely made her feel the way he did.

‘Hello, my maid!’ Evie emerged from the travel agents, closely followed by Troy, whose arm was out of its sling now.

‘How are you?’ Evie asked. ‘You must be worn out, I know Troy is; he slept until ten o’clock this morning.’

‘I’ve been working hard!’ Troy protested.

‘You both have,’ Sam said. ‘Thanks for everything you’ve done.’ She noted the stack of brochures Evie had in the pocket of her roller. ‘Planning a trip?’