‘I’m not sure,’ said Zennor. ‘I wonder if he’s just terrified of me. I think he might see me as sexual predator … I think we’ll just go on being friends until we’re as old as Troy and Evie. We’ll probably be riding to the bingo together in our buggies one day.’

Sam laughed but couldn’t think of a single reply that revealed that yes, actually, Zennor might well be right. Maybe Ben was terrified of Zennor in a sexual way, but if so, there was absolutely nothing she could do about it.

They tucked into their meal. Sam found herself having to force down each morsel even though it was delicious. Despite all her resolutions, she couldn’t stop thinking about her earlier encounter with Gabe. Zennor had asked the wrong question. It hadn’t been the way that Gabe had looked that had disturbed Sam so much. It had been the way he’d made her feel.

Chapter Twelve

‘So, what do you think, Mr Mathias?’

The estate agent’s voice lifted hopefully as Gabe studied the deserted interior of the Net Loft. He’d arranged a viewing of the restaurant. It was a sad sight, with dated pine tables and chairs stacked at one end and fading menus scattered on the cracked tiles. He’d arranged to view the place one afternoon with the same agent who’d rented Clifftop House to him. The agent was younger than him and her accent wasn’t Cornish. She probably had no idea of his history in the town, which was refreshing.

‘It could be an incredible venue,’ she said brightly. ‘And a very lucrative one with your name behind it. You must have already studied the books but, of course, it could be so much more. Porthmellow really is on the way up as a foodie destination, especially since the festival has become nationally known.’

Gabe contented himself with a polite smile and a non-committal ‘mmm’ before returning his attention to the surroundings, trying to see beyond the abandoned fixtures of a failed business. The high-beamed ceiling had a mezzanine at one end. The building had had a variety of purposes over the years and really had once been an old Net Loft. In those days it would have been used for boat building, storing sails and pilchard nets. The stone walls and high-beamed ceiling had immense character and the mezzanine could be a wonderful place for private dining and parties.

The canny agent must have detected a glint in his eye.

‘Any time you want another viewing, just let me know,’ she said. ‘How’s Clifftop House, by the way? Have you settled in? Do you know how long you might be staying? Your PA said you wanted it for three months.’

‘I like to keep my options open,’ said Gabe. ‘I’m not sure.’

The agent looked crestfallen. Maybe she’d hoped he would buy Clifftop House when the lease was up.