I covered my ears and took a hasty step back; my burgeoning tears banished as I looked about me, half expecting to see a police car racing up the drive.

‘You were supposed to call!’ yelled a man’s voice from the veranda a few seconds later. ‘You were supposed to let me know when you were here and I was going to let you in!’

The guy, draped in a bath towel which was far too small for his towering frame, pulled on a pair of work boots and ran over to where I was standing, open mouthed and wide eyed.

He was at least a foot taller than me and thickset, and there was a smattering of freckles covering his broad chest and shoulders. His hair was dark or at least, I assumed it was. It was hard to really tell because he’d clearly just jumped out of the shower and was sopping wet. When he turned around, I noticed that he’d got what looked like a pine tree tattooed down the length of his broad back, but it was difficult to make out the details in the harsh glare of my car lights and already agog, I felt it would be rude to stare.

‘There,’ he said, punching buttons on a keypad and thankfully silencing the noise. ‘That’s better.’

‘Much,’ I nodded in agreement, my ears ringing.

‘You must be Liza Wynter,’ he said, running one hand through his hair, while the other held on to the precariously positioned towel.

‘Yes,’ I nodded. I felt winded by the unexpected drama of my arrival and the proximity of his near nakedness. ‘Yes, I am and I’m sorry about the noise. I hadn’t realised the gate would be alarmed.’

‘Never mind,’ he dithered. ‘No harm done.’

He had started to shiver, which was hardly surprising given that he was sodden and it was the chilliest evening of autumn so far.

‘And I’m guessing you’re Edward?’

‘Yes,’ he nodded, running his hand through his hair again. ‘Sorry, I should have said. I am Edward, although more or less everyone calls me Ned.’

‘Ned,’ I repeated.

He was certainly a good-looking potential proprietor. Not that how he looked mattered. But then again, Wynter’s Trees needed someone physically fit at the helm and this guy fitted that description perfectly. I felt my face start to colour as I imagined him effortlessly hefting trees about.

‘Dad did message you,’ he said, biting his lip to stop his teeth chattering. ‘He sent a text when we realised you were going to be late.’

‘I must have been driving when it came through,’ I said. ‘Although I’m not really late because I never said what time I’d be arriving.’

Ned nodded. ‘Dad also said he’d forgotten to tell you he wouldn’t be around until the weekend now.’

‘Oh,’ I said, feeling disappointed. ‘No, he hadn’t mentioned that.’