She was about to tell Libby that she was so nervous she was barely keeping it together when the bell above the door tinkled, announcing the arrival of none other than Ewan McLachlan. Jo and Libby both turned to look at him at the same time. Jo felt Libby’s hand on her arm, squeezing tightly. Jo was worried her own jaw may have dropped, cartoon-character style, to the floor.

Ewan McLachlan in his publicity photos was one level of handsome and suave. In the flesh – all his gorgeous, tanned, muscly flesh – he was positively gorgeous. His dark hair, with just a few silver strands, was perfectly quiffed. His jaw perfectly squared. His muscles perfectly rippled. Even his crow’s feet and weather-beaten face gave him a rugged intensity that made Jo wonder if it was actually possible to lose the power of speech.

That he had a Scottish accent only added to his appeal. That and, of course, the fact he was a good writer, and a successful one. When he smiled at them, he oozed an air of charm and confidence – which thankfully didn’t go as far as being overconfident.

‘Libby?’ he said, and Jo watched her friend blink, take a deep breath and pull herself together.

Back in professional mode, Libby reached her hand out to shake Ewan’s and smiled brightly. ‘Ewan! It’s so lovely to have you here. We’ve had so much interest in this event, and we’re delighted that you could make it.’

‘Well, I made a promise to myself that I’d do more to support independent bookstores, so I’m happy to be here. And, besides, I’m setting part of my next book in Donegal, so this was quite a good stopover point during a research trip. Your invite gave me the perfect kick up the bum to get on with my research. My editor thanks you,’ he said with a smile that showcased his adorable dimpled chin and did nothing to stimulate Jo’s power of speech.

‘Oh, you’ll have to tell me more about the new book,’ Libby said. ‘I’m sure your readers will be dying to know more too.’

‘It’s still early days, so I won’t be giving too much away. Maybe just one or two clues,’ he said with a mischievous twinkle in his eye, before he looked at Jo. ‘And you? Are you Jo by any chance?’

‘I am,’ she said, and noticed her voice sounded funny – a little squeaky. She cleared her throat and reached her hand out to shake his because it seemed like the professional thing to do. It didn’t matter that she suspected that feeling the warmth of his skin on hers would make her go a little weak at the knees.

‘I thought it was you. If this doesn’t sound too creepy, I looked you up on Facebook. Typical author behaviour, I’m afraid. To do your research.’