We stumbled into the snug, both of us fumbling with the other’s clothing. Jack hoisted me up, and I wrapped my legs around his waist as he made short work of the buttons on my dress and pushed it back off my shoulders, letting it fall to the floor, his mouth lowered, and my mind went blank of everything but Jack’s hard body pressed against me and his gentle but confident movements as he laid me down on the soft rug and began to remove the rest of my clothes, each movement followed by a trail of butterfly kisses as he did so. All I could see was Jack. All I could think of was Jack, and all I could feel was Jack.

‘We should have got Jack to come home a lot sooner if we’d known this was going to happen. Look at you, you’re positively glowing!’ Poppy laughed, giving Clive a head scratch after I’d made him sit and wait patiently for a square of cheese.

‘I am not glowing,’ I said, laughing. But I did feel different and not just because muscles I’d forgotten I even had now ached from the past month spent with Jack. I felt different inside – stronger, somehow. Jack and I had been out to a few places, and he was always encouraging but would never push me to do anything I wasn’t ready for yet. Then again, I never thought I’d be ready to take another man to my bed and yet I had. It had felt right, just as everything felt right with Jack. This revelation had surprised me more than anyone. I knew I’d been blessed to have found a wonderful man in Mike who loved me and, when our time together had been so cruelly cut short, I’d never imagined I’d be so lucky as to find another with whom I felt so comfortable and cared for. But here I was, waking up each day next to a man who loved me entirely, a love that was so easy and natural to return.

Sundays had become a particular highlight, as Jack woke early, kissing me softly before he left the bed to take Clive out for a walk into the village to collect the papers while I snuggled back down in the warmth of the bed and dozed until they returned. As Clive ate his breakfast, Jack would prepare ours and bring it to the bedroom before hopping back into the bed I’d kept warm for him. Clive would trot in and settle himself in his upstairs bed as we read – Jack catching up on the news and me diving back into my latest book or occasionally a magazine. I’d move my legs so that they were against his, loving the feel of having his solid body next to me, each absorbed in our own things, but entirely together. It was blissful.

This morning, I’d spent a peaceful couple of minutes just watching him sleep, the dark lashes resting on his cheeks, his face tanned from the summer sun, and then he’d spoken, telling me with that hot, sleep-roughened voice I loved so much not to watch him. I’d stayed where I was and told him he’d have to make me stop.