Heather always did this when she was bored, looked out the window for suitable men for me.

‘Not interested. I bet he’s young enough to be our grandson.’

‘No seriously, he’s about our age. George Clooney, eat your heart out. Come, come and look.’

‘I am not going to gawp out the window at some stranger.’

‘Bea, Bea, he’s looking in the window. Come down NOW.’

‘He probably wants to buy a gift for his beautiful young Swedish wife.’

‘Who cares? Eye candy like this doesn’t come this way that often. Come on. You have to see him. Oh … I think he’s going to come in.’

I sighed, saved the file I was working on, and went down to the shop, if only to shut Heather up. A tall man with cropped grey hair had just come in; his face was turned away from us. He was wearing jeans, denim blue Converse sneakers, and a navy Aran sweater. I glanced over at Heather. She grinned at me and indicated the man with a flick of her head then made the heart sign with her fingers. I rolled my eyes.

‘Can I help you with anything?’ I asked as the man closed the door and turned to face us. Heather was right. He was drop-dead gorgeous with truly beautiful sapphire blue eyes.

‘Michael!’

‘Bea Brooks,’ he said as he strode over and gave me a bear hug. ‘How the hell are you?’

21

‘I told you I’d come back,’ he said once we’d settled at a table in the Coffee Cup along the High Street. It was my favourite café in the area, a cosy 1960s-style place with wood-panelled walls, floors and tables.

I laughed and glanced at my watch. ‘Thirty years later.’

‘I know. Where has all that time gone? So tell me everything. You look great. I like the short hair. How are you? What’s happening? Where are you going? Goals, dreams, aspirations?’

I was still in shock, to be sitting opposite him, gazing into those oh-so-familiar eyes that were looking back at me with such intensity. I was back at twenty years old, high to be in his company, happy to see him again, conscious of the admiring looks he was getting from other women in the café. He’d aged well, a suntanned face with a neatly trimmed grey beard, laughter lines around his eyes, slightly broadened but still fit looking.

‘I’m good, sort of at a turning point.’

‘Crossroad in life?’

I nodded.

‘Me too. Tell me all about it. Your shop? Looks good and you design jewellery?’

‘I’m letting go of the shop and not sure what I’m going to do next. That’s the turning point, that and I’m selling my house – moving on but not sure where to.’

‘Great timing, then. Come to Thailand. Have a holiday.’