Gemma, recovered from the initial shock, squinted up at the man and then grinned. “Oh, it’s you! How are you?” She’d necked a glass of wine, and its warmth had clearly bolstered her bravery; she pointed to the dildo and said: “This is so funny! You’re not going to believe this, but this is John! Perhaps we should call him ‘little John’ to differentiate.”

At that moment Maeve came bowling through the door and knocked the tall, frowning man farther into the café.

“What’s all the bloody noise?” she shouted. “Can’t a woman do her business in peace?” In another moment, recognition lit her face and she strode over to the man and pulled him into a bear hug.

“John, my boy!” she said, clapping him on the back. “Good to see you! You’ve met the others?” she asked, nodding around the room.

“Not officially, no,” said the man through gritted teeth.

Annie imagined her stomach dropping out of the bottom of her jeans and inching away across the floor. Surely not! She thought. Surely this isn’t the first impression I give to the man who could potentially ruin my new business?

“No?” said Maeve, seemingly oblivious to the excruciating scene before them. “Right, then, introductions. John Granger, this is Annie Sharpe; she’s looking after Saltwater Nook for your aunt and doing a damned fine job of it so far too. Obviously you know Gemma already, and then there’s Sally. And together we make up the Victorian Book Club.”

“And what the hell is this to do with a Victorian book club?” asked John, pointing at the phallus table center.

“Oh, that’s just a little something for Annie,” said Maeve, without a hint of embarrassment. “Single girl and all that. Thought it might keep her out of mischief.”

Sally was managing to keep her composure—just. Gemma was snickering like a drunk schoolgirl. And Annie wanted to swallow her own head. She stood, cleared her throat, and held out her hand as though it were perfectly normal to meet one’s landlord’s nephew over a candlelit dildo.

“Hello,” she said. “I’m Annie. It’s lovely to meet you.”

John regarded her for a long moment. In this light, his eyes looked as black as the eyebrows from under which he held her with a stare that could freeze water. His long nose came to a sharp point, as did his chin. His lips were a thin disapproving line.

“I’m afraid I can’t say the same,” he replied.

“That your name is Annie?” she said, attempting to lighten the mood.

“That it’s nice to meet you,” he said without a hint of humor.

“Look, we’ve clearly got off on the wrong foot,” Annie reasoned. “I’ll admit this doesn’t give a glowing impression . . .”

“Oh, you’ve made an impression, all right,” said John.