He seemed to look at her then, taking in the whole of her … more than just her features, and it claimed a part of her heart she didn’t know she had.

‘Auburn.’

Lily nodded, suddenly feeling self-conscious, but ridiculously pleased. She wasn’t sure he was thinking of the colour of her hair, but that he could be was enough. For now.

‘What did you want to be when you were kid?’

‘Get the hell out of the Cove,’ he replied in the space of a heartbeat.

‘That’s not a thing,’ she chided.

‘OK.’ He seemed to give it some thought, as if he had to work hard to remember. ‘I … A fireman.’

Lily suddenly had an image of Henry as a child, playing with toys and full of innocent concentration and contentment. It felt so real for a moment she was completely lost.

‘And you?’ he asked.

She paused, just for a moment remembering something before wanting to be a chef, but discarded the half-formed memory before it could take hold.

‘A chef, clearly.’

‘Mmm, not sure about that.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘You thought of something else first.’

‘How do you—’

‘Lily Atwell, I hate to break it to you, but your face gives away almost every single thought you have.’

‘No it does not,’ she said, blushing furiously and hoping beyond all hope that it wasn’t true. Otherwise, he’d know … know everything.

‘My point exactly,’ he said, his eyes firmly on cheeks that she realized must have been bright red.

She looked up at his teasing, the sparkle in his eyes, the confident quirk to his lips and just for a moment, they both breathed in, held onto the moment stretching between them, before once again, she felt the wall come down and she, too, took a step back.

‘A mum.’

‘What?’ he asked, frowning.

‘I wanted to be a mum. I wanted a husband and children and the white picket fence around a beautiful house overlooking the sea. It’s not cool to admit that, though, is it?’

‘Why not?’ he asked, seemingly genuinely intrigued.

Lily sighed. ‘Because we’re supposed to have it all. The high-flying career, the family, the independence and the dependence all wrapped up into one.’

‘Well, according to my very wise – and very wonderful – mother, bras weren’t burned to break the glass ceiling but to give women the choice over what they wanted, whether that be a high-flying career or not. So I’d imagine it’s more than OK for you to choose to be a mother if you want to.’

Oh God. He loved his mum. The feelings building between them were too much. She had to cling to the memory of when he had accused her of trespassing. Of when he had lied to her.

Ask me anything.

She shook the thoughts away from her head, Henry clearly misinterpreting her reaction.

‘Or not,’ he said, holding his hands up in surrender.