I cannot explain the physical reaction I have when I see him. My chest feels hollowed out, my hands begin to tingle, and heat rushes to my face. It’s all the feelings I’d expect when seeing someone I have strong feelings for, only I don’t know him. And I’ve never had this feeling. Not ever.

“Hi, Cillian,” I say.

He nods, his lips forming a straight line. “I need some of those crisps everyone’s obsessed with.”

“Speaking of the crisps in question,” she says to me, then reaches for a bag on the shelf. They look expensive, with soft matte turmeric-colored packaging and a single graphic of a potato. Beneath the image, it says Butter Cheddar Thyme & Sea Salt.

“Is it for you?” asks Kiera, standing up.

“No.”

“Who’s it for then?”

At first I think it’s a silly question, but then remember this is a small village, and she probably does know whoever it’s for.

“Doesn’t matter,” he says. “I also need something to drink. Something with bubbles, I guess. Round thirty quid.”

“Oh, big spender, suddenly,” says Kiera.

She would die if she knew how much Grayson Gamble spends on bottles of wine. He doesn’t even really like it, and yet he has a fully stocked, climatized wine cellar.

Kiera goes over to the sparkling wine section and grabs something, bringing it over to the register. Then, comprehension seems to dawn on her. “Tell me you don’t have a date, Cillian.”

He sighs. “Can you ring me out please?”

Her mouth falls open and she scoffs before saying, “That’ll be fifty-five.”

“I said thirty for the bottle—how much are those crisps?”

“Five.”

“So…”

“Yeah, I’m putting on an arsehole tax.”

“You’re going to buy a bottle with my money later, aren’t you?”

“Well, that’s what you get, coming in here buying snacks for your date with someone else in front of our Meggie!”

He shakes his head. “There’s nothing going on, Kiera. Not that it’s any of your business.” He glances furtively at me.

“None of my business.” She shakes her head. “Would you be wanting a bag then?”

“Yes, please.”

“Wasteful,” she says, shaking her head again before handing it over to him.

“Thanks a million, Kiera.” He looks at me, only briefly letting his eyes catch mine. “Meg.”

“Cillian,” I say, barely audible.

On the way out the door he stops and says to Kiera, “Last time I get you cheese after the kitchen closes.”

And then he’s gone.

“Miserable little pox,” she says.

“You’re a good friend.”

“I know. It’s hard because he’s such a good man, but it’s my duty as your friend to hate him.”

“A great friend.” I look in the direction Cillian went. “Poor guy. Can you tell me what happened between us? Cillian and me?”

I could do with a break from mentally obsessing about Aimee.