She ended the call and gripped her phone. Guilt edged her thoughts as she pictured the heart-holding rabbit on the front of the crappy card she had left propped up in front of Miguel’s computer on his desk earlier.

Clearly he was looking out for her, as the French doors flew open as she approached. He had showered and looked devastatingly handsome in his jeans and a denim shirt. She always found him most attractive with the curls of his short, dark hair damp against his neck and his beautiful face glowing.

‘Welcome home!’ He ushered her in and helped remove her suit jacket, before pushing her shoulders until she sat in the soft armchair located just inside the door, next to the large plant he had installed. Miguel dropped to his knees and reached for a large fluffy towel in which he wrapped first one foot and then the other, gently wiping her damp, cold feet on the soft fabric. The perfect welcome home for a barefoot enthusiast such as her.

‘Oh, my goodness! That feels so lovely. Thank you.’ It took a while for her to take it all in. In addition to the many candles that were on the floor, the bookshelf and the TV unit, there was a generous spread of rose petals on the bed cover and the room was scented with lavender oil. A fancy silver ice bucket, purloined no doubt from the restaurant, sat brimming with ice and the foil-wrapped neck of a bottle of bubbly poked from the top.

‘Miguel! This is all very posh!’ She felt a little overwhelmed, knowing how hard his shift would have been today and still he had found the time for this. ‘Thank you.’

‘You’re welcome.’ He placed her feet on the floor still wrapped in the warm towel and reached for a large, flat, red box, tied with a red ribbon.

‘Chocolates! Well, now you’re talking. Forget the petals – give me the candy! Do I have to share them?’ She laughed, trying to lighten the atmosphere, to make it funny, to hide the painful recollection of having seen Digby and the barrage of uncomfortable memories that he had awoken.

Again he sank down on to the floor and held the box in his hands; the candlelight lit up his handsome face.

‘It’s not chocolates,’ he began. His fingers pulled on the red bow and she silently hoped it wasn’t lingerie, knowing that tonight she was running on empty, tired from running around all day, and the encounter with Digby had been more than a little draining. Their exchange and the shock of it all had taken its toll. All she longed for was sleep. The thought of having to slip into something slinky when what she really wanted was the feel of her fleecy pj’s against her skin and to put her head on her pillow . . .

‘I love you, Merrin.’