The estate agent raised his eyebrows and we followed his gaze towards the back of the pub where Bob Jameson was giving his wife a kiss, at least I assumed the blonde was his wife. It seemed to go on forever and when they finally came up for air, he began rubbing her hair while he chatted to the others at the table.

Maeve smirked. “Looks as if he’s grooming a horse.”

Phyllis nudged me. “Speaking of love’s young dream …”

Molloy was standing at the edge of our table with a soft smile etched on his face.

My stomach turned over. In a good way, a very good way. I stood up and he reached for me and gave me a hug. I was stunned. Normal affectionate behavior from Molloy! Had someone been giving him lessons?

He offered me a drink, which I turned down since I was starting to line them up; I’d been left two by clients while I’d been fetching Maeve’s 7Up. And when he returned from the bar with a beer, Phyllis shunted over to make space for him beside me in a way which wasn’t obvious in the slightest.

He clinked my glass. “I’m glad you’re back. I was afraid you wouldn’t be,” he said in a low voice.

“Really?” I took a sip from my drink. “It was only ever for six months.”

But I didn’t meet his eye. I was being disingenuous; the truth was that when I’d left, I hadn’t been sure. And while Molloy and I had stayed in touch with texts and phone calls, we hadn’t discussed anything directly. Nothing was resolved. His proposal hung there like a bare lightbulb between us, demanding an answer.

But this wasn’t the time for questions or answers. I was back with my friends and it felt good. With a surge of unexpected contentment, I realized that’s what the people around the table had become, almost without my noticing, friends. Although Maeve, as predicted, had to get up and go to a calving about half an hour later, the evening was fun. Phyllis provided the food she’d promised, hugely welcome when it arrived. And when the party broke up, Liam stayed for a last pint while Phyllis departed discreetly, leaving Molloy and I standing alone on the doorstep of the pub.

I brushed some non-existent lint from my jeans. “I need to get a taxi.”

Molloy looked at me, hands in the pockets of his coat. “I could give you a lift. I haven’t been drinking.”

“I thought you had a beer?”

“Non-alcoholic. Tony’s got a new range in.” He smiled. “They’re not bad.”

“Okay.” I hesitated. Maybe it was the fact that I had been drinking, but I asked, “Will you stay?”

He arched an eyebrow. “If you want me to.”