‘Not sure, maybe fortyish. Hard to say, he didn’t really look old, but then his face was a bit lived-in.’

‘Hah, tell me about it. And forty is not in any way old!’ Emma laughed. Or maybe it was when you were only seventeen.

‘Umm, brown hair, built. Stubbly beard. Attractive.’

OMG – it sounded so like him. Mr Kiss. The one and only time he turns up at the shop, and she wasn’t bloody here!

‘Did he say anything about calling back, or leave a number or anything?’

‘Nope.’

Bugger.

Holly must have spotted the disappointment in her face. ‘I did try.’

‘Ah, it’s okay.’ Emma tried to sound less anxious. It might have been anyone, after all. She was probably getting worked up over nothing. ‘But when was this?’

‘About a half-hour ago.’

He might still be here in Warkton. He might have gone to the beach, looked for her there, or just gone for a stroll like last time. Dammit, should she try and look for him, just in case? She could take Alfie out for a quick walk, check out the village and the beach, look in the dune car park for his vehicle? Some kind of jeep thing. She might never see him again otherwise.

She stopped herself. What on earth was the matter with her? It was probably just some customer who sounded a bit like someone she had met once for a few minutes, over nine months ago. What she needed to do was to get on with her work here, not go mooning about after some bloke. She was acting like Holly might, all seventeen-year-old angst. And, surely if he’d liked her enough, he’d have come back sooner than nine bloody months.

Emma headed to the kitchen to take out her misplaced energy on a batch of cappuccino truffles. At least she could always count on her chocolate.

The shop had just closed, Holly had gone home, and it – or more to the point, he – was preying on her mind. Curiosity needled at her – could that guy still be in the village? Should she at least try and look? She’d need to walk Alfie now, anyhow. With that, Emma was up the stairs, two at a time, grabbing Alfie’s lead – he needed no encouragement – and was bounding back down by her side within seconds.

Emma scanned the street, the parked cars. Would she even remember what model of car it was from Boxing Day? She thought the colour had been grey …

What if it was him? And he was here, walking down the street or on the beach? She didn’t even know what she would do if she did see him. Walk up and say, ‘Hi, I’m that girl from nine months ago’, or might she just hide in the dunes, take a sneaky look, chicken out and that would be it?