There you are, then, I told myself, settling back down beside Henry on the sofa. I broke up with Adam six months ago. Nothing had changed apart from a few brief interactions to show that nothing had changed. If I’d got the job with BWM Today, would I have really wanted to give things another go?

Did I need to work out the answer to that before giving any more thought to my feelings for Henry, given that it was now irrelevant?

Henry, as if aware that I was thinking about him, glanced up from his historical novel and gave me a smile, the shadows from the log fire dancing across the planes of his face. Our feet, both in matching slipper socks that Nana Joy had given us, were only inches apart where we’d each propped them on the coffee table. I could sense the electrical sparks zapping between our toes as my heart started to thump.

Apart from the fire, the only light was the moon shimmering through the window and a soft lamp by Henry’s side of the sofa. The dogs were curled up in a furry pile beneath the tree, and the room was scattered with the detritus of the day. I took a slow breath, unable to focus on anything except for one coherent thought:

I think this is what I want.

Like this.

No more waiting around for someone who’s off chasing impossible dreams. A man who cares about what matters to me.

The past couple of days I had felt part of a team, not a cheery-faced appendage.

Henry might not be the man for me. I certainly might not be the woman for him.

But maybe I was starting to realise that I didn’t want to settle for the kind of relationship I’d had in the past. It was time to move on, focus on the future. Consider whether it was an accident that Henry’s toes had crossed the two-inch gulf to mine and now rested gently against the side of my foot.

Only then the doorbell rang, and all the mights and maybes vanished the second I opened the door.

21

‘Hey.’ Adam, despite being several inches taller, managed to somehow look up at me through his thick, dark blond lashes in an expression that conveyed a paradoxical combination of nerves and utter confidence at how well he’d be received on the Coach House doorstep.

‘What are you doing here?’

‘Freezing to death. The taxi insisted on dropping me at the end of the drive.’

I took in his ripped jeans, battered leather jacket, and sopping-wet trainers and stepped back to let him inside. Before I had a chance to catch my breath or clasp onto the whirling swarm of emotions, he wrapped his arms around me and pulled me tight against his chest.

‘I’ve missed you so much,’ he breathed against the side of my head.