‘Ah, when you put it like that, I much prefer that version of events.’ Hannah tucked her towel in at the front and gave him a quick peck on the cheek, ducking out of his reach with a laugh as he tried to pull her in for a kiss. ‘If we start all that again, we’ll never get out of here.’

‘Spoilsport.’ Conor pouted and Hannah very nearly succumbed, charmed by his naughty wink.

Sharing a room now seemed like second nature as they got dressed around each other with unconscious ease, although Hannah still took advantage of the dressing-table mirror to ogle Conor’s rather fine backside. It was a sight that she thought might never quite get used to, and she had to store them up since this wasn’t forever.

The bar was just as she remembered; even the barman was the same. He gave Conor a friendly greeting as they walked in.

‘I’ve got your table reserved for you,’ he said and waved to the two armchairs in front of the fireplace where two glasses of red wine awaited them.

Hannah turned to Connor in surprise. This felt like a celebration, almost an anniversary or a proper date.

His mouth quirked in a shy smile. ‘I thought it would be nice to remember how we met.’

Lovely, thought Hannah, her heart doing a salmon leap of surprised delight, trying to decide if this was part of his natural charm or genuine thoughtfulness.

They took their seats and Conor raised his glass. ‘Hello, I’m Conor.’

‘Hannah, nice to meet you.’

They chinked the glasses together and Hannah grew warm as Conor stared at her. ‘You’re a strange mix, Hannah Campbell. In some ways nothing like I thought you were that night – a bit wild and impetuous – and then in other ways you are. It’s almost as if you don’t know either.’

Hannah forced a smile, cringing inside as he’d summed her up perfectly. She started things but never let herself go all the way. When it came to it, she couldn’t take that final leap of faith.

‘Common sense kicks in every now and then,’ she said.

‘At least it keeps me on my toes,’ said Conor. ‘You’re not predictable, that’s for—’

‘Conor, darling,’ a fruity voice burst between them, exploding like a ripe peach.

They both looked up, having been so absorbed in their conversation that neither of them had noticed this panther of a woman slinking towards them. That was Hannah’s first impression: feline and sleek with her glossy black hair that hung in stylish curls tumbling across one shoulder. A slick of pale, glossy lipstick emphasised a wide mouth stretched to full capacity in delight at seeing Conor.

‘What on earth are you doing here? What’s dragged you away from the back of beyond?’

‘You liked it well enough when you were sucking up to my mother.’