‘Yes … do.’ And as he closed the gate behind him, she realised she was missing him a little bit already. She hadn’t felt like that in a very long time.

22

‘So, who is he then?’

‘Who?’

‘The hot guy you were spotted with last night? And, how come you haven’t mentioned a word of this, you dark horse, you?’

‘Hi, Bev. Right, well it all happened kind of fast!’

‘So, tell all.’ Bev sounded animated down the phone. ‘In fact, I’m coming around. Put the kettle on, hun.’

‘What? I’m in the middle of making salted caramels, and it’s only eight-thirty in the morning.’ News did travel fast around here and Emma wasn’t sure she wanted to talk about it at all. It had been preying on her mind all night. All she could do once she was back on her own was think of Luke. Surely, it was his touch, his kiss she was really missing, not this other guy’s? It was all so damned confusing.

‘Well, I’ll give you ten minutes to get them sorted, and you’ll probably be needing a breakfast break. Knowing you, you’ve been up since six and haven’t eaten a thing yet.’

She had been up early, and no she hadn’t eaten. Her mind had been spinning, and to top it all there hadn’t been a text or anything from Max as yet. The main part of her thoughts was it might be better if that never came, as it would save a lot of complications and stem this feeling of guilt, but the other crazy bit was frantically wanting to check her phone. He’d have got back to the B&B, gone straight to bed no doubt and been up for an early start to get to work, but she couldn’t help checking her phone, could she?

There was no saying no when Bev was in this kind of mood. ‘Fifteen minutes then – and how do you know he was hot anyway?’ That wasn’t the kind of word she could picture landlord Dave using.

‘My mum’s been into the café at Beadnell this morning for a coffee and toasted teacake. The woman behind the counter – Barbara, I think it is – spotted the pair of you last night.’

Ah, the woman at the bar. She’d thought she’d recognised her. No bloody secrets here, then. It was like living with the mafia. Mind you, she should have known better than to have arranged their first meet-up at the village pub. She might as well have strung Max up on a maypole in the centre of the village green, or a mast in the harbour.

‘Max. He’s called Max. I met him really briefly on the beach last Boxing Day when we were both out walking. Didn’t really expect to see him again. Then he just popped up at the shop, on Friday afternoon.’

‘And?’