‘Well, Alfie, what do you think, hey? We’ll be meeting Max again soon.’ She didn’t dare mention the ‘walk’ word, as the poor dog would think it was imminent. She glanced at her watch; crikey, it was only 7.00 a.m., still three hours until they were due to meet at the beach. She might as well go and do some chocolate-making, or maybe make a tray of fudge. It would keep her busy, help allay the sugar-rush feeling of anticipation that was currently racing through her veins.

At a quarter to ten she heard a steady knocking on the shop’s main door. Em headed through, expecting to see some tourist hovering outside who hadn’t spotted the closed sign. But there was Max, looking rather gorgeous, holding a takeaway coffee, and grinning through the glass.

She unlocked the door and let him in. ‘Hi.’

‘Morning. Sorry I’m early, hope that’s okay. But I’ve just been hanging about after breakfast and thought I may as well wander up and meet you here instead.’

‘That’s fine. I was up early too. Come through a sec.’

‘I enjoyed last night.’ He looked serious as he said those words.

‘Me too. The meal was lovely … Well, I just need to grab my coat and get Alfie’s lead, ready for the walk.’ She headed towards the stairs, turning to say, ‘Grab a stool in the kitchen if you like. I won’t be long.’

‘Okay.’

She dashed upstairs, took a quick glance in the mirror, popped on some lip gloss, and flicked her fingers through her long hair. She grabbed her coat and scarf (the very same red tartan one that had started this whole thing off), then called for Alfie and took his lead off the coat peg. Alfie needed no encouragement and was leaping down the stairs ahead of her, tail wagging wildly as he reached the back door.

‘Max, come through,’ she called. ‘Alfie’s banned from the kitchen and shop, so if you can just hang on with him here, I’ll go and quickly lock up out front.’

‘Right.’ Max smiled as he came into the rear hallway. ‘Hey Alfie, good to see you, mate.’ He crouched down to pat the spaniel’s head whose tail wagged even more.

Emma joined them. ‘Ready.’

They set off down the village street, passing the quaint stone cottages that led towards the harbour. Fishing boats rocked on gentle waves within the harbour walls and one or two of the cobles had been pulled up on to the sandy shingle of the small beach. Nets, lobster pots, and colourful floats lay bundled up on the shore.

‘It’s a gorgeous morning,’ Max commented.

‘Beautiful. I love these crisp autumn days.’

‘Hope you didn’t mind me getting to you early?’