Page 53 of The Sunrise Sisterhood

‘Thank you for joining me,’ I replied, wrapping my arms around her, savouring being with my favourite person on the planet for as long as possible.

‘I’m so proud of my girl.’ Mum pressed her cheek against mine. ‘But it’s nice to see you relaxed. You work so hard.’

‘Er, pot, kettle,’ I retorted with a laugh. ‘And you’re sure you can’t stay for dinner? There’s still money left on my voucher.’

Mum bent down to retie the laces of her Dr Martens boots. ‘Tempting, but I daren’t. We’ve got a big booking to prep for tomorrow. I need to be at Liz’s bright and early or she’ll get stressed.’

We both smiled. My godmother and Mum’s best friend, Liz, had messaged her several times today checking up on details for their next catering event. Not that Mum would have it any other way. The Seaside Gourmet Girls succeeded because they both brought different skills into play: Mum being the unflappable hostess who could smooth over any bumps, and Liz, whose delicious food and attention to detail ensured that the bumps were few and far between.

‘But you must stay,’ Mum insisted. ‘Make the most of your day off. Or else, knowing you, you’ll spend the evening on your laptop and undo all the good work from today. Right, I’m off. I love you.’

‘Love you too.’

We gave each other a kiss and I waved to her as she strode away in her fuchsia pink coat, out into the dark evening towards the car park.

I looked at the locker key in my hand, wondering whether to collect my things and go home. If I left now, I could unblock the kitchen sink, which had been harbouring a mysterious aroma for the last few days, or, as Mum had hinted at, I could squeeze in an hour of work.

But there was at least another twenty pounds to spend on my gift voucher (one of the best gifts from a pupil I’d ever had in my decade of teaching). I deserved this treat, I thought and headed to the bar for a drink.

‘Ouch!’ I gasped as someone barged into me, sending a plume of hot water out of the spout of the teapot I was carrying and over my hand. ‘Shit.’

‘Gosh, I am so sorry,’ said a male voice behind me. ‘Are you OK? Don’t answer that. Stupid question.’

I stumbled back to my table quickly and set the pot down, squeezing my eyes shut against the pain. ‘It’s fine.’

It wasn’t fine. I’d asked for a top-up for my mint tea and the water was approximately one million degrees centigrade.

‘Ice! I’ll get some ice.’ He darted back to the bar.

I sat down, grabbed a napkin and dried my throbbing hand. There was already a livid red mark across the skin. I contemplated dashing to the bathroom to hold it under cold water like you’re supposed to do, but there was a man fetching ice for me and I didn’t want to appear ungrateful. Besides, he was already on his way back clutching a bundled-up cloth filled with ice cubes. He drew up a chair and sat down.

‘Here.’ He held out his hand for my burned one. ‘Let me see.’

I put my hand in his immediately. Supporting my wrist, he lowered the makeshift ice pack onto the back of my hand. I let out a little moan.

‘How’s that?’ he asked, worriedly. ‘Better or worse?’

‘Better.’ I nodded my encouragement. This was weirdly very enjoyable. A stranger holding my hand, our heads almost touching. If I wasn’t in acute pain, it would be quite romantic.

I’m ashamed to say this, but if some haggardy lizard had been invading my personal space like this, I’d have shaken him off and insisted that I could manage.

But he wasn’t.

On a scale of one to ten in the looks department, he was hovering between nine and ten.

‘Good.’ He looked up at me and smiled, dimples appeared in his cheeks and I forgot about the stinging sensation on my skin.

Make that a strong ten.

He was my sort of age – that is to say, still young, definitely not at the ‘your biological clock is ticking, better get a move on’ stage. Average height, slim without being thinner than me – bonus. (Been there, got the ‘my hips are stuck in your jeans’ T-shirt.) Plus, thick dark hair with a bit of a kink to it; it would be nice to run my fingers through it, tug it a bit maybe. I blushed at the direction my mind was going in.

‘You look really uncomfortable,’ he said, apologetically, lifting the ice from my skin and releasing my hand. ‘Shall I stop dabbing?’

I blushed some more in case he could read my mind. Already I missed his hand holding mine. And yes, it had been a while since I’d been this up close and personal with a man.

‘Please don’t stop,’ I blurted out, indecently fast. ‘I think it’s helping, thank you.’

He leaned over me again, resuming his position as hand-holder and ice-pack provider. ‘You’re welcome.’