Page 36 of My Summer of Magic Moments

‘I remembered you were into making bread and suchlike.’ He sounded almost shy.

‘Well, yes … That’s really kind, thoughtful of you.’ She looked right into his lovely green eyes. ‘Thank you.’ Then it dawned on her. ‘How did you know you’d see me again?’ It was only on a whim that she’d rebooked the cottage.

‘Well, I didn’t really. I just bought it on a hunch. Saw it in my local Waterstones. And you never know, I might have ended up using it myself if you hadn’t turned up. Maybe I’d have turned into a baking genius and ended up on the British Bake Off . . . giving that Hollywood chap a run for his money.’ He grinned. ‘No, it’s definitely for you.’

She took it. A peace offering? A friendship token? ‘Thank you,’ she said again, flicking through a few pages. Images of scrummy just-baked bread greeted her, of pain-au-chocolat oozing with melted chocolate. Divine.

‘I may just have to try some of the results, of course.’ Again he smiled. God, he had a melt-you-down smile. But what the heck had happened to Mr Grumpy?

‘Naturally.’ She grinned back. Was there a little bit of flirting going on?

It was as if he’d had a personality transplant whilst she’d been away. Oh well, she’d enjoy it while it lasted. Was it too much to hope that he’d missed her in some way, that he had been thinking about her too?

‘Are you here for long this time?’

‘No,’ she replied. ‘Just a long weekend. I’ve got to get back to work on Tuesday. I’ve used up most of my holiday. And you?’

‘Just the weekend. The world of Scottish architecture waits for me. I’m working on some designs for a new library for the university, and some apartments on the seafront at Portobello. It’s pretty full-on at the moment.’

They were still standing on the step. She ought to invite him in – that would be the polite thing to do – but something held her back. It might get way too confusing after the last time’s turn of events. She should just head back in on her own for her supper and a glass of wine; that would be the sensible thing to do.

‘Claire … would you, maybe, like to come over to mine for some supper tomorrow evening?’ He looked slightly awkward. ‘I mean … I’d understand if you didn’t want to, after last time and everything …’

‘Ah …’ So it had reared its ugly head.

‘It’s okay. I shouldn’t have asked. Look, just forget—’

‘Yes.’ What was she saying? Mouth engage brain, per-lease. Remember the disaster last time.

‘Yes?’ He looked surprised.

‘Yes, supper would be lovely, Ed. Thank you for asking.’ What are you doing, woman?

He let out a long, slow breath, ‘Well, great. Okay, right, well is seven-thirtyish okay?’

‘Yes. I look forward to it.’ For once she seemed like the calm one. ‘And thanks again for the book.’

She stepped back from the threshold and slowly closed the door. Only then did she let the huge grin that had been bursting to get out spread across her face. Ha-ha, now that, Claire Maxwell, sounds very much like a date! Was he sorry nothing had happened? Was he wanting to put things right – desperate to rediscover what they had started that day in the rain? Or was it just to be friends? A little frown of confusion crossed her brow. Well, friends would be fine too – wouldn’t it?

17

Dancing barefoot on sand in the moonlight

Standing on his step with homemade olive ciabatta, inspired by his cookery book and another lovely visit to Lynda’s deli, Claire felt a little churn of anticipation. Would Mr Grumpy still be AWOL? Would it just be a friendly night, or might there really be something more to all of this?

She’d been spying on his preparations from the cover of her balcony this afternoon. He’d set up a table and two chairs out the back on the grass overlooking the sea, and she’d spotted him bringing out a large storm lantern ready to light later on. She’d approved of the setting, smiling to herself over her cup of tea. Then he was in and out with cutlery, napkins, glasses. It looked like he was making a real effort. Hmm, interesting. After that, he’d disappeared for an hour or so in the car, possibly getting provisions in. She wondered if he’d be a good cook or more of an assembler.

And here he was, opening the door for her, dressed in a pale-blue cotton shirt, sleeves rolled up to the elbows, a pair of dark jeans which fitted tightly over his long well-muscled legs and a lovely smile. His dark-blond hair was ruffled, and there was a shadow of stubble on his chin. Sexy or what. Or shouldn’t she be thinking that? Just friends?

She hoped she looked all right. She’d taken a bit more care with her make-up, using a light foundation, some blusher and a slick of red lip gloss as well as a hint of pale-gold eyeshadow; she hoped it wasn’t over the top. And she’d been in and out of three different outfits in the past hour, settling on a strappy dress with a floral pattern that came to just below the knee; she hoped it might look pretty and summery, but not overdressed. On her arm was a cardigan for later; from the setting-up this afternoon it looked like they’d be outside, and she might well need it.

‘Come on in. Welcome to my humble abode.’

‘Not half so humble as mine next door,’ she quipped.

‘No, maybe not.’ He gave her a small peck on the cheek.

He smelt gorgeous, all aqua and citrus notes, fresh, like you could just bury your head in the crook of his neck and sniff. Just a sneaky second then, hmmn.