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“Yeah, right.” Sam was young and pretty and wasn’t exhausted and getting fatter by the day.

“I’m just being friendly to customers,” Dylan explained. Lucy was supremely unimpressed by the glint of amusement she caught in his eyes.

“More friendly with some than others,” she grumped.

“Lucy Wilson, are you jealous?”

“Of course not!” she retorted so loudly that the couple of customers in the coffee shop looked over. “Sorry,” she said to them.

“It’s called good customer service,” Dylan said sotto voce.

“It’s called flirting,” Lucy hissed, taking the tray of cups she’d collected into the kitchen.

Dylan followed her. “I’m not flirting, but if it makes you happier, I will be extremely rude to any female under the age of . . . eighty, who comes in here.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Lucy refused to look at him and began loading things into the dishwasher.

“I’m not,” Dylan said, sincerely. “If anything I do makes you uncomfortable, then that’s not acceptable to me. But I really wasn’t flirting.”

“I’ve seen you flirt a million times!”

“Usually because it was the only way I could get a reaction out of you, which was infinitely better than being ignored. But now I get to hang out with you and talk with you all the time, I don’t need to bother with that rubbish.”

Lucy was left speechless as Dylan walked back over to his laptop and resumed working.

* * *

A grown-up dinner party warranted a frock, and Lucy was in luck when she found a little black dress she’d forgotten about in her wardrobe with very forgiving stretchy fabric. She put some waves in her hair and just had time to do her make-up before it was time to leave.

She came out of her bedroom to find Dylan looking very handsome in a white shirt and chinos. “Well,” he said, looking her up and down and making her blush, “don’t we scrub up nicely?”

“I guess we do,” she said shyly, being careful not to meet his eyes.

“You look beautiful, Luce. Look how cute your little bump is.”

Lucy blushed and instinctively placed a hand on her stomach. “Thank you. Shall we get going then?”

“Yep, I’m all ready.”

They walked the two doors down to the bookbinder’s where the door was opened by Carrie, with a very excited Monty at her feet, clearly absolutely thrilled to have visitors. Carrie scooped him up in her arms so that he didn’t end up being stepped on by one of them as they entered.

Michael was cooking up a storm in the kitchen and Carrie organised drinks while they caught up with each other’s news and Dylan set to work helping his friend at the stove.

Carrie and Lucy took the opportunity to get comfortable at the table with a bowl of pistachio nuts between them.

“Michael?” Lucy said. “I was wondering if you had any photos of Dylan from when you two were little.”

“Definitely some school ones,” said Michael, laughing at the horrified look on his friend’s face.

“I know where they are!” Carrie grinned as she got up and opened one of the cupboard doors in the oak dresser behind her. She pulled out a box and brought it over to the table.

“Lucy Wilson, what are you up to?” Dylan asked.

“You just focus on toasting those pine nuts,” Carrie said, firmly. “This doesn’t concern you.”

“You’re searching for photos of me!” Dylan retorted indignantly.

“Shush now,” said Lucy, as the women began sifting through the box of photographs.