“You love the people who stay with you, with the exception of the moody thriller writer.”

“He’s appalling,” she agreed. “Nightmare guest.”

“You could do away with him.”

“Generally we find that murdering our guests doesn’t have a positive impact on customer reviews, but I suppose we might risk it if it was truly warranted.” She stared at him. “Why are you laughing?”

“Because you’re funny. You’re good company. Here, try this.” He speared a piece of meat and handed it to her. “But brace yourself. Because it’s going to be the best thing you’ve ever tasted.”

“This whole meal is the best thing I’ve ever tasted.” She ate the meat and made an appreciative sound. “You’re right. That’s good.”

“Isn’t it? Have another piece.”

“I’d better not. I don’t want to think about how many calories are in that.”

“Why would you even care? We’re eating out somewhere special. We can worry about calories tomorrow. Or not.”

And it was such a change from Richard, who on more than one occasion had said, “Are you sure you want that slice of toast, Milly?” that she took another bite of his food and offered him some of hers, and in that moment she didn’t feel like someone’s wife or even their ex-wife. She didn’t feel like Zoe’s mother or the boss of Forest Nest. She felt like herself. Milly.

They ate and talked, and talked some more until eventually the people around them melted away, and they were the last people left on the candlelit terrace.

When they finally walked back to his car she had a powerful urge to take his hand, but she resisted, afraid that she might do or say something she’d later regret, but then he pulled her into his arms and kissed her, and she kissed him back, feeling the hard pressure of his body against hers, the flat of his hand on the small of her back urging her closer, and the warmth and skill of his mouth on hers. The kiss came with a promise of something more, something she hadn’t imagined for herself, hadn’t even known she needed. She wanted the moment to last forever, and when she finally eased away from him, dizzy and happy, she discovered that she regretted nothing.

They drove home, and he had one hand on the wheel and the other on her leg.

She covered his hand with hers.

Neither of them said anything until they pulled up outside the boathouse, and then he turned to her, cupped her face in his hands and kissed her again.

“Milly, Milly,” he murmured the words against her mouth, “I don’t want tonight to end.”

“Neither do I.”

His lips traced a path from her mouth to her jaw. “My cabin is just down the track.”