‘Goodnight, Max.’ She felt a little sad. A part of her would have loved to just walk across and give him a goodnight kiss and a hug. The room was smelling rather lovely of his aftershave with a hint of underlying manly work-sweat. Instead, she just waved from the door. ‘Thanks so much for coming up like this, for helping out.’ She still couldn’t quite believe he’d really turned up and done all this work. But best to stay as distant friends. And meddling Bev was going to get a stern call in the morning.

‘You’re welcome, Emma.’ He looked at her tenderly.

She headed for her own room, feeling confused and yet aware of a little glow she couldn’t help but feel inside. She lay down on her double bed, remembering kisses in car parks, Max’s smile, then memories with Luke, but despite the jumble of thoughts, she was soon out like a light.

Emma came to in the middle of the night in need of a wee. She got out of bed quietly, aware that Max was there just down the hallway in the front room. It was strange to think of someone else here in her little cottage. Even stranger to think it was a man – and, she still had to admit, a rather gorgeous one at that.

She had a quick pee, wondering whether to flush or not, not wanting to wake him, yet equally not wanting him to find it lingering embarrassingly in the morning. She went for the not waking him theory, hoping to be the first to hit the bathroom in the morning.

She stepped back into the hallway … and felt drawn to go and take a quick peek at the man lying there so near her in her front room, wondering what he would look like whilst he slept. As she approached she could see that the door was left ajar. She could hear his heavy, sleeping breaths. She crept along the hallway in her bare feet and held her breath as she gazed in through the doorway, opening the crack a little wider.

He hadn’t closed the curtains, so she could make out his features in the soft orange glow of the street light outside – his tousled hair, defined cheekbone, stubbled jawline, the thick lashes on his closed lids, his lips.

Without realising it, she let out a soft, slow sigh.

Ping, his eyes opened. Eek. She’d been caught acting like a stalker. How embarrassing.

‘You okay?’ he asked a little warily.

‘Yeah, sorry, just woke up.’ She didn’t mention the need to pee.

‘Looking for something?’ She could hear the irony in his voice, and saw a half-smile across his lips.

‘Maybe.’

‘You’ll be getting chilly out there. Want to come in?’ he lifted the duvet cheekily.

Emma stayed silent. Could she, should she? Wouldn’t she just be heading back into a whole heap of trouble?