Page 26 of Tricks & Treats at The Cosy Cornish Bakery

Ginger put her glass on the table and took it. She stroked the curling edges down. ‘Thank you.’ She was too choked up to say anything more. Hugging it to her, she finally said, ‘I don’t think anyone’s given me a nicer present.’

‘Then they should have. I figured you weren’t the kind of girl who went for designer perfume or jewellery.’ He nodded to the book. ‘And, seeing as the proceeds of the sale goes towards the Lifeboat fund, it’s win–win. But I’d give you perfume and jewellery, too, if that’s what you want?’ he added hurriedly. ‘Don’t want to be thought of as a cheapskate.’

Ginger smiled at him. ‘You’re not a cheapskate; and there’s absolutely no reason why you should give me presents, but you couldn’t have given me anything I’d prize more.’

Leaning closer again, he smoothed a tendril of hair from her face. ‘You’re a such surprising person, Ginger. Easily pleased with something so simple.’

Ginger’s breath caught in her throat as she stared into his eyes that were burning a deep blue and just about visible behind his thick specs. ‘But it’s not simple, is it? You saw that it meant something to me and remembered. That’s kind. And thoughtful.’ He was still very close. She felt his breath on her skin, could see his throat work.

‘Can I tell you something, Ginger?’

She nodded.

‘I’ve spent a fortune on women before and this has given me more genuine pleasure than anything else. They were all with me because of who I am, what I can do for them. And most made sure they had a pap on alert.’ He stroked her hair to one side and tucked it gently behind the ear. ‘But I sense you like me for who I am. For who I really am. I can’t tell you what that means to me.’

They hovered on a promise of a kiss. Ginger closed her eyes, wishing for his lips to touch hers. Forget about all those other women. You’re the one who’s with him. Here. Now.

Josh put the back of his hand to her cheek and exclaimed, ‘You’re freezing!’ He jolted his chair next to hers, put his throw around her shoulders and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close. ‘Better now?’

‘Much better, thanks.’ Ginger snuggled against him. I don’t want to be anywhere else. I am absolutely, exactly, where I want to be. Forget the future, forget he’s a Hollywood star just passing through. She closed her eyes again and inhaled his spicy, lemony scent, a mixture of cologne and her guest soap. Breathe in this happiness. Take it for what it is. A stolen moment. A gift from the universe. In the book Ginger still clutched, she remembered Laurie was Jo’s love and he inhabited a higher realm, but they loved one another.

Nik emerged from the Surf School and strode up the steep lane to Ticky Tacky Green. It had been a quiet day, the surf had been calm and, apart from a couple who had hired out paddleboards, his staff hadn’t had much to do. They’d concentrated on cleaning the boards down, sweeping the building free of the sand that got everywhere, and he’d been holed up in the office doing paperwork. It was a task he loathed and it made his head hurt. He’d far rather be out catching a wave.

Reaching the green, he paused and leaned against the wall of The Smugglers. He enjoyed running his business, but he’d be the first to admit the numbers and the official stuff didn’t come naturally. Still, it was the payoff for living here and being able to get out on the sea whenever he could. Rolling his head around his shoulders, he eased out the kinks. The first pint wouldn’t touch the sides. He didn’t move, smiling at the scene before him. It was Wheal Kitty Cove at its eccentric best. It was really too cold to sit outside. He crossed his arms and tucked his hands into his woolly jumpered armpits. The chill hadn’t deterred the village residents. They sat, huddled under assorted coverings, sipping cider and hot chocolate, some on blankets on the grass, which must be damp by now, in front of the firepit.

The Sea Shanty Buoys roared into life with the old classic, ‘Drunken Sailor’. It soon got the crowd clapping along, whether in appreciation of the singing, or in desperate need to warm up their hands. Nik watched, enjoying the sight of the men singing. They were an eclectic bunch of seven, all ages, some grizzled and bearded, one youngster and the leader, a charismatic showman who sported a shaven head and an earring glinting from one ear. They’d sing for twenty minutes or so, getting everyone to sing along. He’d seen them perform many times before and didn’t want to linger as his feet were cold – why he felt the cold more here in Cornwall than in Sweden when it could get seriously chilly, he could never fathom. The damp, maybe. It seeped up from the sea and invaded the air, made everything clammy to the touch. Seeking the warmth of The Smugglers, he decided he’d return outside to catch the Sea Shanty Buoys’ last song, once he’d warmed up in front of the pub’s inglenook. He passed the sound system that was stacked up around the main door. After the Buoys had done their stint, there’d be music and dancing on the green. Usually cheesy eighties pop and he rarely stayed.

The door was propped open, so he strolled in only to collide with a woman coming in the opposite direction. Catching her by the arms, he said, ‘Hey, slow down. I nearly knocked you flying. And trust me, falling down on these stone slabs wouldn’t end well.’

‘Nik, hi,’ Chloe said breathlessly.

‘Hi.’ He put her from him. ‘Always in such a rush,’ he reproved gently. ‘Don’t you ever go anywhere in Cornish time?’ He took in the sight of her. Always so put together, today she had on indigo jeans, which clung like a second skin to her long legs, a striped sweatshirt and an expensive-looking navy gilet. Her dark hair was piled up in the messy bun she adopted. He had a sudden urge to thrust his hands through it, making it tumble around her face, then make her face flushed with his kisses. Biting down on the impulse, he controlled the attraction that flared. He knew there was no future for anything between him and Chloe Pengelly except maybe a friendship. He was definitely not her type. She’d go for someone monied, a sharp-brained man who drove an expensive car. Not a campervan-owning surfing guy like himself. ‘Where are you going in such a hurry? Big fan of the Sea Shanty Buoys?’

‘The who?’ She looked blank and a little pink. ‘Oh no.’ Frowning, she added, ‘I don’t like that sort of music at all.’

‘No? There’s dancing later. Probably a lot of Michael Jackson and a bit of Earth, Wind and Fire.’ He noted her disdainful expression. ‘Not your sort of thing either?’

‘Not really. Sorry to bump into you. I was fleeing from my mother.’ Jerking her head back at the pub’s interior, she added, ‘She’s in there with Pinky. They’re stuffing their faces with pasties and chips. Kept asking me if I knew anything about this Welsh bloke Ginger’s got hanging around.’ She shrugged, indignant eyebrows raised. ‘What’s all that about? I’m really not sure I could take a whole evening with those two and the parrot. She squawked right in my ear. It hurt.’

She rubbed the offended appendage and looked so outraged that Nik laughed. ‘Glad you find it funny.’

‘Demelza can be loud, I agree.’

‘Have you seen Ginger? She said she was coming.’

‘I haven’t but I’ve only just arrived myself. Been closeted in the office doing paperwork.’

‘Right.’ Chloe couldn’t look less interested.

‘Tell you what, I’ll go in and get us a couple of drinks and we can do a round of the green to find her.’

‘Oh, okay.’ She shrugged.

Grinning in the face of her indifference, he went to order at the bar. He’d forgotten to ask her what she wanted but thought wine was a safe bet. What would it take to ruffle that coolness? To get her all mussed up and passionate. A sudden image of Chloe arose: naked, underneath him, her back arched in ecstasy, her lips reaching for his, her legs wrapped around pulling him in closer. It invaded his mind. For a second, he almost felt her nails raking his back. Whoa. Deliberately emptying his head, he shook some sense into it. He wasn’t sure he even liked the woman. And he was pretty certain she barely tolerated him.

‘Nik?’ Amber said from behind the bar. ‘I’ve asked you what you want three times. Come on, mate, I’ve got a queue a mile long.’

‘Sorry. Pint of Doom Bar and a glass of white.’