A shadow fell across them. Geoffrey looked up, panting, his whole body wagging now. A man stood framed in the doorway, a disheveled tawny-haired giant wearing nothing more than a bath towel about the waist. His hair was wet and droplets clung to his broad shoulders. His narrowed hazel gaze scanned Lucy with incredulity before moving to the bag and violin case at her side. He frowned ferociously.

“Who are you?” he said.

It was not the warmest of welcomes and it was not what Lucy needed right now. She kept her gaze firmly fixed on his face despite an instinct to look lower.

“Lucy Brown.” She considered extending a hand to shake and decided against it. Who knew what would happen to that towel if he took it? “My aunt Verity owns Gunpowder Cottage and has leased it to me for a few weeks—this cottage,” she added in case he was particularly dense, or didn’t know the name of the house he was squatting in. “So perhaps I should be asking who you are?”

Surprisingly, his expression lightened at that. In fact he almost smiled. It was disarming. “My name’s Finn MacIntyre,” he said. The faint Scottish burr Lucy had detected when he first spoke was more pronounced now. “I’m the gardener. I’m also at a profound disadvantage.” He gestured to the towel. “Would you like to come inside whilst I get dressed?”

“I don’t think so,” Lucy said pointedly. “You say you’re the gardener but you could be anyone.”

Finn acknowledged that with an inclination of the head. “Fair enough. Give me a moment, then, and I’ll put some clothes on so we can talk out here. You could call your sister though,” he added. “She’ll vouch for me.”

He disappeared inside leaving Lucy and Geoffrey on the doorstep. The dog gave a little yip and took a few steps into the hall as though trying to invite her to follow him inside. Lucy smiled at him, but the smile faded as she took out her phone.

Cleo had told her that the cottage was free and yet here was Finn MacIntyre not only in residence but saying that Cleo would vouch for him. And Verity, whom Lucy had spoken to the week before, had also neglected to mention that there was a lodger at Gunpowder Cottage. She wondered what the hell was going on. She paused on the verge of pressing Cleo’s number. Her sister had mentioned a big garden project taking place at the cottage, which was why it hadn’t been let for the summer as usual. Presumably this Finn MacIntyre had some role in that. He certainly wasn’t being employed for his charm.

With a sharp, vicious stab at the contacts list she called Cleo.

“Hi!” her sister answered at the first ring. There was music playing in the background, Taylor Swift, Lucy thought, although her taste had always run more on the classical side of music. Chalk and cheese, she and Cleo, though they could not have been closer as sisters and friends. Even now, when Lucy was reeling from the sudden changes in her life and Cleo was trying to organize her, she felt an overwhelming affection for her little sister.