Anna had just put the phone down and was contemplating swapping her next mug of tea for a glass of white wine and wondering what to make herself for supper when there was a hard knock at the door. She struggled out from beneath the blanket and went to open it, expecting to find Pat or Frank coming to check on her in the storm. Instead she was faced with a drenched Liam Harper.

‘Liam!’ she exclaimed, pulling him in over the threshold, where he promptly started dripping onto the floor. ‘What on earth are you doing out in this? What are you doing here?’

He held up both wet fists. In one was a bottle of wine, in the other was a carton of eggs. ‘The boat’s stuck in dock,’ he said, as rivulets of water ran down his face. ‘So I thought I’d come and see about that omelette.’

Anna stared at him. ‘How did you get here? You didn’t bring the skiff?’

Liam shook his head, showering the walls – and her – with spray. ‘Not likely. I walked. It was quite… bracing.’

‘Kiwi, you’re an idiot.’

‘You know, it’s not the first time someone’s suggested that.’

‘You surprise me. And it wasn’t a suggestion. You’d better come in. Take your coat off first or you’ll flood the place. I’ll stoke up the fire.’

She gave him a towel and a glass of the wine and then went into the kitchen to make them both dinner as Liam dried himself off in front of the wood burner. His hardy fisherman’s coat had kept his core dry, but his legs were soaked. His cargo pants were the sort that turned into long shorts and so he zipped off the legs and laid them on the hearth. Anna watched out of the corner of her eye as he scrubbed the towel over his dark hair and tried not to notice quite how tanned and muscular his bare calves were. She told herself she should probably be annoyed that he’d put her in a position that meant she couldn’t in all conscience turn him away.

But she wasn’t.

‘It’s not that I don’t love New Zealand, or my parents, or even the farm,’ Liam said. He was sitting on the floor, his back against one of the armchairs, one leg bent at the knee, one elbow resting on it as he stared at the flames dancing in the wood burner. ‘But I’m not sure I’m ready to be a farmer for the rest of my life. Our place – it’s big, and it’s remote. There won’t be much “popping to the pub for a quick half” once I’m back there.’

‘Is it North or South Island?’

‘South, in Central Otago.’

‘I bet it’s beautiful.’

‘It is. Have you been?’