get back into it. I broke my coccyx a few months ago, landed badly on a submerged rock. It was a real pain in the ass.’
Robin rolled her eyes, resisting the laugh. ‘It sounds awful. But at least you didn’t do it slipping on a banana skin or falling drunkenly out of a taxi.’
‘What’s your point?’
‘I don’t think you can lose any cool points for a surfing injury.’
‘Pretty sure your dignity is affected when you can’t sit down for three weeks.’
‘Oh, come off it, Tim, you’re—’ She stopped, caught herself. She would not feed his already overinflated ego. ‘You’re lucky it wasn’t a worse injury,’ she said instead, and then wished she hadn’t, her thoughts drawing the inevitable, unhelpful comparisons. She cut off a slice of Bakewell tart with her fork, but before she could bring it to her mouth Tim’s hand was over hers. The contact was warm and familiar, and unsettling in the unspoken comfort it provided.
‘Did something happen in London, Robs?’ He was suddenly sincere, his bravado hidden behind concern, and she felt herself being drawn towards it.
‘My friend died,’ she said, not shrugging his touch off. ‘Neve.’
Tim’s eyes widened, and for the first time since she’d seen him he looked less than composed. ‘Neve, who you met in your first year? The – your business partner?’
She nodded, her throat closing as Tim’s features clouded with shock. He’d met Neve on a couple of occasions while he and Robin were still going out, and he’d travelled up to London to see her in her first-year halls of residence.
She and Neve had hit it off instantly, and Robin had often wondered what would have happened if their rooms hadn’t been next door in halls, if they would still have found each other and come up with the idea of Once in a Blue Moon Days. She’d thought a lot about fate and destiny, and not only since Neve’s death. Her friend had been a big believer in those intangible things, in finding meaning in the cosmos, divining who you were meant to end up with from a horoscope. It was part of the reason Starcross was so special, with its focus on stars, on looking beyond the immediate.
‘Are you OK?’ she asked softly, wondering if she’d been callous in firing this bombshell at him, for using it, somehow, as a shield against his charm.
‘God, I’m so sorry, Robin.’ He moved his chair closer to hers, squeezed her hand. ‘I had no idea.’
‘Why should you have?’ She thought of the rumour mill, which had clearly kept him informed of some, but not all, of her news. She waited a few beats, grateful that he didn’t try to fill the silence, allowing her composure to return and her heart rate to settle. ‘I hadn’t planned to come back here, but then, afterwards, it was where I needed to be. And when Mum and Dad said they were moving away …’ She shrugged. ‘Molly’s helping out. She’s roped Paige and Adam in, and offered some builder friends haircuts for life if they’ll help with the redecorating. It’s a long way off being finished, but I’m excited. I’ve just bought a painting.’
‘A painting?’ Tim raised his eyebrows, matching her new enthusiasm, the solemn moment gone. It felt good, talking about the guesthouse again. It had become her safe place. Of course it would be hard work, it would be challenging, but she was ready for that. After all, Once in a Blue Moon Days hadn’t always been easy. The clients had been demanding, wanting – understandably – sheer perfection. As she told Tim some of her ideas, her mood lifted. The coffee and the sugar gave her a boost of energy, and she felt suddenly, overwhelmingly excited about the future. She was embracing the guesthouse as if it was her salvation. In lots of ways, it probably was.
‘When can I come and see it?’ Tim asked once Robin had finally run out of steam.
‘Not yet, it’s not ready.’
‘I don’t get a sneak peek?’ He pouted, looking so ridiculously crestfallen that she laughed.
‘No. What made you think you would?’
‘Our history.’
‘Not all good history,’ she reminded him, but she felt a flutter of unexpected longing. She risked looking at him. He was sitting perfectly still, his blue eyes trained on her.
‘The course of true love never did run smooth,’ he said quietly.
She shook her head, incredulous, but her heart was racing. She stood, catching her fork with her knee and knocking it to the floor. She bent to pick it up, but Tim was already there. They rose to standing together, so close that she could feel his breath against her cheek.
‘I have to get back,’ she said quickly.
‘Repurposing some furniture?’
‘Endlessly, for about the next four months.’
‘It’s been great catching up.’
Tim refused to let her pay the bill and walked her to the door. The cold was bracing, and Robin welcomed it; she needed to clear her head.
‘When can I come and see the rooms?’ he asked.
‘When they’re finished, not before.’
‘Robin Brennan, ever the perfectionist.’
‘Takes one to know one.’
‘I wouldn’t have it any other way.’ He smiled, their eyes catching hold of each other’s. Tim was first to look away.
‘I’d best get on,’ Robin said. ‘Thanks for coffee.’
‘Next time let’s make it a glass of something celebratory to toast your new business.’ Before she had a chance to protest, Tim’s arm was around her and he was kissing her cheek, smelling of spicy, no doubt expensive, aftershave and filling Robin’s senses with heady nostalgia.
She watched him stride away and thought again about fate. She’d known that seeing Tim was inevitable once she moved back to Campion Bay, and she’d also known that their five-year, first-love relationship would always hold a special place in her heart, but she hadn’t been prepared for her heart to be quite so keen to see him again. Was this what was destined for her, what was written in the stars? Could she forgive his indiscretion, aged nineteen and with her too far away for their relationship to flourish? They were both so much older now, both with their own histories and heartaches behind them, but still with an undeniable chemistry. Could it be rekindled? As she started to walk back to Goldcrest Road, Robin chided herself for even entertaining the thought.
‘Where is she?’ Robin heard her dad’s voice, always on the right side of amiable, drifting up the stairs.
‘Up here!’ Paige called, and then glared at her mother as Molly made a loud shushing sound. Robin tried not to laugh. Paige was sixteen, Molly thirty-four, and they often acted more like sisters than mother and daughter. Paige’s hair was the same, expertly applied blonde, only three times longer than Molly’s.
‘This is a delicate operation,’ Molly hissed at her daughter.
‘Why?’ Paige asked. ‘Will the fish get scared?’
‘Not sure we’ll
