Melly spreads out her colouring book and pencils on the counter. There’s a perfectly good table in the kitchen, but she loves the dark leather stool to sit on. I think it’s because she likes climbing up.

“I’ll make you breakfast and get started. You know where I am if you need me.”

She nods.

“If you get bored, let me know. I’ll turn the TV on.”

In the kitchen, I pull everything out that I need, and drop some bread in the toaster for Melly. When it’s done, I grate a little cheese over it and microwave it for a few seconds. She loves it.

I place it in front of her and head back out to the kitchen. Working quickly, I roll out the pastry, pull out the apple pie filling from the fridge and put them all together. Four pies. There’s enough for a fifth, so I make another one to sell in the diner.

I like working by myself sometimes. I can get around the kitchen with ease and move as quickly as I can. It’s all in the preparation.

When I’m done and everything’s in the warmer, I just have the pies to come.

I walk out to check on Melly again, just as she drains her milkshake.

“Nearly done. Now we just have to wait for Dave to come and pick it all up.”

A sharp tap on the door makes me look up.

Josh.

His eyes follow me as I walk to the door and unlock it.

“I saw Amelia through the window. I didn’t think you were open on Sunday.”

I shake my head. “We’re not. I just came in because we’re catering a party today and the food’s being picked up soon.”

He takes a step closer. “I’ve just been for a run. Any chance of a drink?”

I move back to let him in. “Only a cold one. I’m not turning the coffee machine on.”

He nods. “That’d be great.”

“Everything in the fridge is cold.” Oh my God, that is up there with all the dumb things I’ve ever said.

Josh shoots me a little smile, but doesn’t point out that what I’ve said is pretty obvious. Instead, he walks to the fridge and pulls out a bottle of water.

“Take it. The till’s closed and I’m not opening it for one transaction.”

He grins. “Thanks. I’ll come back and pay you. Promise.”

My chest tightens. Last time he made me a promise, he ripped my heart out instead.

I don’t care, but I wish he’d leave with the water.

I hate how good he looks.

I hate that even wearing sweaty clothes, he looks better put together than most people I know.

I hate that perfect hair.

I hate those brown eyes that seem to pierce my soul.