She had living quarters upstairs for her and Alfie, using the kitchen downstairs as her chocolate creating zone. Life had got better. Time had softened the blow, if not healed it. She wasn’t sure she wanted to heal, really; she certainly didn’t want to forget. Why would she ever want to forget someone so special? Anyhow, her new life was fine, and she had made some lovely friends in the area.

A movement up in the dunes caught her eye. Someone in a dark jacket, a man; he seemed to be alone. He was up early. So, it was just the two of them on the beach now. She felt a little irked that someone else had invaded her space. Okay, so there was about a mile of beach here, she admitted to herself, and it was a public space.

She strolled on, playing with Alfie and relaunching the seaweed stick. The dog looked up, alert, ears pricked, as he saw the man too. Emma took a brief glance along the beach. Damn, the guy was heading her way, walking behind her at a reasonable pace. Why couldn’t he have gone the other bloody way?

A sudden gust of wind blew up. As she bent low to pick up the stick for Alfie, it somehow peeled off her scarf, unravelling it and sending it twirling down the sands. She started to run after it, had nearly got to it, when another gust took it from her reach and away. The scarf then cartwheeled down the beach and she gave chase. She really liked that scarf; it was fine wool, cosy, she’d had it for years … Luke had given it to her on their first Christmas together. But as soon as she got anywhere near it, the damn wind whipped it up again and it would relaunch.

The man on the beach must have spotted her dilemma and started jogging towards the errant item. He diverted, made a quick dash, and soon had it trapped under his boot.

He grinned across at Emma as he picked it up, shaking it a little to loosen the sand from it. She waited as he caught up with her. He was tall, and broad-shouldered under his coat with a friendly face, dark hair, and a nice smile.

‘Thank you.’

‘You’re welcome. It’s a bit blustery, isn’t it?’

‘Just a bit.’ Her tone was ironic. ‘So, you’re out early too.’

‘Yes.’

‘We must be mad.’ It wasn’t yet 8.00 a.m. and had only just got light.

‘Probably.’ He smiled softly.

Or sad … or lonely, Emma mused.

They began to fall into pace beside each other.

Alfie then nudged in between then, wanting his share of the limelight.

‘And who’s this, then?’ The guy rubbed the spaniel’s head, making the dog’s tail wag even more.