Page 13 of My Summer of Magic Moments

‘Typical English summer, hey,’ she quipped.

‘Yes. I’d much rather a good soaking than sitting in the garden with a glass of chilled Sauvignon,’ he answered.

She glanced across. He might be the weird type who would actually enjoy this. But there was a stray smile across his lips, which were actually rather luscious. He looked so much nicer when he smiled.

‘You should do that more often.’ Shit, the words were out before she’d had time to think.

‘What?’ He stared across at her.

She might as well carry it through now. ‘Smile. It suits you.’

‘Ah.’ He was silent for a few seconds.

Oops, that would teach her. Engage brain before mouth. ‘Um, do you … run a lot?’ she asked, trying to get the conversation back on track, though it was getting hard to speak and run at the same time. And the rain was actually pounding them now: there were little trickles streaming off her hair, running into her eyes and down the bridge of her nose.

It wasn’t the best conversation starter, but running was a better subject than swimming. Now why did she have to go and think of that? The image of him naked was making her feel all hot – she’d be blushing, for sure, though the rain would hopefully hide it.

A crack and a boom shook the air around them. She felt the vibration through her body. Wow! Lightning flashed across the sky out at sea. A sheet of solid rain shifted across the waves. A summer storm. She was absolutely soaked to the skin now. She looked across at him, his damp curly hair now scattering drips as he moved, his running top wet and tight to the muscles on his chest. It made her laugh out loud, how drenched they were. How small they seemed against the power of the elements.

‘Like this, do you?’ He had a quizzical look on his face.

‘Yeah, I think I do. Like I’m really alive.’

A frown creased his brow; she saw him take a sharp breath.

He ran a little faster, moving ahead of her.

The cottages were in sight now. She finally caught up with him at her garden gate. ‘You okay?’

‘Yeah … I’m fine … if wet.’ He managed a wry, somewhat enigmatic smile.

‘Do you want to come in?’ Whoa, she hadn’t planned to ask him in. The words had just come out. Yet again. Oh well, in for a penny, in for a pound. ‘You could warm up with a cup of coffee or something. I have dry towels.’

He stood looking thoughtful. They were getting wetter by the second.

‘Sometime today might be nice,’ Claire prompted.

‘Ah, yes, okay. Thanks.’

She unbolted the door. A cold draught hit her.

‘God, it’s freezing in here,’ he said. ‘Old Hedley’s never bothered putting central heating in yet, then?’

‘Nope, sorry.’

They wandered through, dripping a trail to the lounge.

‘Aha. I could light the fire for you.’ He’d spotted the grate, the real fire.

She hadn’t used it yet.

‘Oh, okay. Great.’

‘Do you have any newspaper, some matches?’

There was a stack of logs and some kindling piled by the wall next to the hearth. She nipped out to the kitchen to grab a two-day-old paper she’d got ready for recycling, and collected the matches she used to light the hob.

‘You must freeze to death in this place.’ He was huddled by the unlit hearth.