‘You looked to be having a high time earlier.’

‘Earlier?’ She frowned, peering to try to see him better, but he was largely in shadow. ‘Sorry, do I know you?’

There was a hesitation and then he slowly swung himself up to sitting. She felt herself take a shallow breath as the borrowed light from the other boats revealed his face. His bone structure spoke to a type – finely carved, well bred, privileged – but there was something particularly singular about his gaze. His eyes were a thick, almost creamy, pale green, circled with a darker ring and fringed with thick lashes. The effect was startling.

‘I don’t think we’ve –’ she murmured, knowing she would have remembered that face. In fact, it would be a problem to forget it. He was mesmerizing to look at.

He reached to his side and held up a battered, sun-bleached baseball cap.

‘Oh.’ Oh no.

‘Yes,’ he said after a moment. ‘Hello again.’

‘I . . . I’m sorry, I didn’t recognize you without the cap.’

‘Generally I prefer it when people don’t recognize me with the cap.’

She smiled politely. It was clearly a joke, although she didn’t quite get it, unless he fancied himself as a bit of celebrity (which, given those looks, was fair enough really).

‘I almost didn’t recognize you with your hair down. I wasn’t sure. I saw you earlier at the maypole.’

‘That’s right. You were with your family.’

‘Yes, it was fun.’

‘Yes.’ Confirmation he was married then. In spite of the fact that she disliked him on a personal level, the reflexive twinge of disappointment in her gut told her she’d still been rather hoping he was single. She didn’t need to like the guy; one night staring into those eyes would have been just the kind of comfort she needed. ‘Midsommar’s for families really, isn’t it?’

He paused. ‘Yes, I suppose it is.’

‘If ever there’s a time to be with the ones you love, it’s tonight,’ she murmured, feeling her loneliness wash over her again, taking her away from him, here . . .

He was quiet for a moment. ‘So, do you want that beer?’

She looked back to find him holding out a bottle for her. ‘Oh, I should probably be getting back . . .’ But her gaze met those eyes again. Even if she could only look at him . . . ‘But I don’t suppose one would hurt.’

She took it, and self-consciously adjusted her floral crown. Suddenly it seemed a ridiculous thing to wear, even though she’d had it on all day with no embarrassment at all.

‘Are those the flowers you had in the basket yesterday? They look good.’

She touched the crown uncertainly again. ‘Oh, well . . . it all seems a bit silly when you’re nowhere near the maypole.’ She swigged the beer and felt him watch her.

‘I’m Emil, by the way.’

‘Oh. Bell.’

He arched an eyebrow. ‘As in . . . ding-dong?’