‘Oh,’ was all she manged to say. The wind had been knocked out of her sails by the tumble, but more so by the fact that this gorgeous man was now up close and very personal. She was so aware of his body weight on hers, in just the right position, his hazel-green eyes fixing her own intensely, their lips mere centimetres apart. And it felt, scarily, just right. She could just go ahead and bury herself in his kiss, and they might just carry this on back at her cottage …

Some deep, sensual instinct was flaring within her, but she also had in mind her recent fears, and then she remembered the young family who were most likely watching their antics from halfway up the beach.

‘Max – the family.’ And she made a gesture back towards the shore.

‘Ah, yes. Of course.’ And he rolled off her, with a cheeky grin plastered on his face that left her smiling too.

Dammit, she wished she’d gone ahead and kissed him! Last night in the jeep had been almost too polite, had left her wanting so much more. They sat side by side at the base of the dunes. The family had wandered away and were walking with their backs to them, swinging the little boy between them; they wouldn’t have even seen.

Emma leaned across, brushed Max’s cheek with a gentle fingertip, and moved in slowly for the kiss that she didn’t want to miss. It was tender and passionate, and seemed so very heartfelt for them both. It left her with butterflies in her stomach, a feeling of happiness, yet also vulnerability. It also left her with the sense that life had so much more to give to her. A feeling that was both scary and beautiful.

26

She felt a bit odd watching Max head off back to his B&B after their walk. He’d called in and taken a few measurements for the window-seat dimensions, and then he’d had to get back. She needed to get to work and open up The Chocolate Shop like every other Sunday afternoon, but now she was back in her safe haven, she wasn’t sure about all this romance stuff – it left you feeling edgy, nervous about whether you’d ever get to see the guy again. And she was also still feeling a little guilty.

She focussed her excess energy into the shop. Luckily it was a busy afternoon, and in between serving customers she spent her time planning exactly how she might proceed with the café idea. She had a notepad next to her on the countertop, and was jotting things down like: ‘Carpenter for window seats’, ‘Coffee machine/expense?’, ‘Soft furnishings – seat pads, cushions’, ‘Colours? Paint the walls’. And her mind went off in a spin. What kind of food would she serve? Would it be chocolate-based only? Brownies, choc-chip shortbread, chocolate cake? How would she make it Christmassy?