“She’s great,” said John. “Up to her eyes in mud and newts most of the time, but that’s how she likes it.”

“She’s helping to preserve the planet,” said Gemma with her sweet smile. “Thank goodness for people like Celeste. So, how come you’re staying up at the pub?”

“Because I didn’t think Annie would appreciate me sleeping in her living room on the air bed.”

Gemma laughed.

“Oh, of course, I forgot, you always stay here, don’t you? Poor John, you’ve been evicted.”

“Poor John nothing!” Annie called over; she slipped the piece of paper containing her offer for Saltwater Nook under the cup and slid the cup and saucer along the counter for Gemma to pass to him. “He’d evict me given half the chance.”

“There’s still time,” said John.

“On what grounds?” Annie asked, mock affronted.

“Property destruction,” said John.

“Fair point,” said Annie. “When are you going to paint my ceiling anyway?”

John smiled.

“I can come down early next week if you’d like; I’m pretty booked up with work for the next few days.”

“Well, it’ll just have to do, won’t it,” said Annie. “Don’t you just hate dodgy landlords?” she said to Gemma, who rolled her eyes.

Annie’s heart was in her mouth as she saw John clock the piece of paper, watched his expression change. He didn’t open it but tucked it into the pocket of his jeans and settled down to read the paper. The tension was infuriating, exciting, and terrifying. Annie hadn’t felt this nervous since picking up her A-level results. You’ll just have to wait, she told her wildly beating heart as she busied herself and tried to act like her hopes for the future weren’t nestling in a sexy architect’s jeans.

Chapter 65

It was November 24 and early enough that the promenade was still sparkling with frost when Annie took her walk that morning. The air smelled crisp, and the sea looked sluggish with cold. She felt buoyant as she walked. Today she and Gemma were going to decorate the café for Christmas, and Annie couldn’t wait to get started.

Max was waiting on the porch when she got back. The spring in her step suffered a puncture.

“You didn’t answer my calls,” Annie said, walking straight past him to the front of the café.

“My phone wasn’t working.”

“Bullshit.”

“I’ve unlocked the accounts.”

Annie felt a sudden rush of relief. The hundred and fifty pounds it had cost her to have her solicitor send Max a letter was worth every penny.

“About bloody time,” she said. He would be expecting a thank-you, but she wasn’t going to give him one.

Her relief was leapfrogged by worry that Max might have emptied the accounts.

“I take it you haven’t removed all the funds?” she asked.