‘I met someone when I first arrived,’ I told him, ‘who said that you have to have lived in the village for endless generations before you’re considered a bone fide citizen.’

‘That’s true enough,’ he smiled, pushing his damp, dark curls away from his forehead. ‘And nothing much changes around here, whether you’re talking about the place or the people.’

Personally, I thought that was no bad thing. Wynmouth as it was, was still perfect in my opinion, but perhaps he didn’t agree. Distractingly, before I had a chance to ask, my brain fell to wondering if the feel of his lips was something else that hadn’t changed. If I leant across and pressed mine against his would they still feel the same? I quickly gave myself a little shake and drained my sweetened cup.

‘I’m Joe, by the way,’ he said.

It didn’t occur to me that we hadn’t bothered with introductions because I already knew who he was. By which I meant I knew his name. I didn’t know anything about him personally, besides the fact that he was a knockout kisser. Which, I suppose, was pretty personal when you thought about it.

‘Pleased to meet you, Joe,’ I said, trying to get a grip. ‘I’m Tess.’

‘Tess,’ he repeated.

I thought he was going to say ‘I knew a Tess once . . .’ but he didn’t.

‘You were mad to be out in this weather, Tess,’ he said instead, ‘you do know that, don’t you?’

‘Well, you were out in it too,’ I pointed out, unable to stop myself feeling a little miffed that he hadn’t recognized me.

For years I had put our kiss on a pedestal, the benchmark by which all subsequent snogs were gauged and it would have been nice to have it at least remembered.

‘Yes, but I have to be,’ he said, ‘whereas you, I would imagine are here on holiday. You could have been cosied up in some cottage somewhere, next to a warm fire with a jigsaw puzzle.’

I couldn’t fail to be amused by that. Crow’s Nest Cottage did have an impressive puzzle collection.

‘I take it I’m right?’ he said, flashing me a smile which made the lines around the sides of his deliciously dark eyes crinkle.

He had certainly aged well.

‘Yes,’ I conceded, ‘you’re right, but you know what they say, what’s life without a little danger?’

‘I’m not sure that’s a saying I adhere to personally,’ he said, leaning over to refill my cup. ‘So, where are you staying?’

‘Crow’s Nest Cottage. It’s next to the pub, the Smuggler’s. Do you know it?’

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I know it.’

‘The landlord owns both,’ I said, blowing my coffee. ‘Do you know him too?’