“Ah, but she’ll be off to university before too much longer,” he pointed out, “so maybe you’ll get your studio.” He took a sip of wine and spoke curiously as he went on, “I hope you don’t mind me saying, but you remind me of my wife with your passion for creating things. She was much the same, although she couldn’t quite get along with a sewing machine, she was more into jewelry and greeting cards.”

“Did she do it for a living?” Claudia asked, liking the way he sounded when he talked about his wife.

“No, she was a PE teacher at a primary school, so the other things were more of a hobby. She had a market stall now and again near where we lived, and her creations used to sell pretty well. Do you ever do markets, or sell through shops?”

Feeling his words pushing her into the more recent past, she avoided his eyes and struggled to block Marcus’s mocking voice in her head. “I had a shop myself before I came here,” she said, “but I haven’t ever braved a market stall. I think I’d like to, at Christmas. It could be fun.”

At that moment their food arrived and they continued to talk as easily as if there were no secrets between them, discussing how he’d got into law, what had prompted him to come to Kesterly, their favorite movies, music, and books, the holidays they’d enjoyed the most and other places in the world they’d like to visit.

It wasn’t until Misty, the landlady, delivered the bill with an interested smile that they realized how late it had become. Dan paid, because he insisted, but he agreed that Claudia could treat him the next time.

“I’m sorry,” she said, reddening, “I’m presuming you want there to be a next time.”

“I do,” he assured her, “and I’m hoping that you do too.”

She nodded, and looked down at her empty glass. “It’s been lovely,” she said softly.

“For me too,” and reaching across the table he covered her hand with his. It was the kind of gesture Marcus had often made before they were married, a touch of her hand, gentle words, a fake but convincing interest in everything she did—and because of that she stiffened.

“Come on, I’ll walk you to your car,” he said, getting up from the table. “And maybe you’d like to take the rest of the wine home to share with Marcy?”

Retrieving their coats from the rail inside the door, they wrapped up warmly and went out into the night. The scent of sea air was so pungent that it felt tangible, and the roar of the waves as they crashed up against the nearby cliffs was almost deafening.

“Are you missing being by the sea?” he asked as they walked around to the car park.