watched Lovage—Elle—Amery walk away and discovered that he wanted to go with her. Take her hand and walk out into the dusk with her. Walk across the village, along the towpath by the Common. Walk her home and kiss her on the step, ask her out on a date, just like they did in the old days.
‘What did you say to her?’ Charlotte demanded, intensifying the feeling.
‘I asked for the roll with pumpkin seeds,’ he replied.
‘And you certainly got it,’ someone chimed in. Everyone laughed except Charlotte.
‘I don’t believe you. You were flirting with her from the moment she came to the table,’ she accused.
Sean realised that the restaurant owner was still hovering. Listening. ‘If I was, then I am one hundred per cent to blame, because she certainly wasn’t flirting back.’ He forced himself to smile at the man. ‘We’re okay, really. Thanks.’
It was a dismissal and he took the hint, leaving them to their meal. Another waitress brought a fresh glass, a new basket of rolls, and served their meal, but he only had eyes for Elle as she weaved with drinks and trays of food between smaller tables on the far side of the room.
Reassigned out of the danger zone by the restaurant manager and no doubt happy to go.
What on earth had got into him?
He’d just taken his seat at the table when he’d looked around the room and seen her, hair restrained in a French plait, luscious curves neatly encased in a black shirt and trousers, a long black pinafore tied with strings around her waist.
She’d been laughing over a friendly exchange with a family she was serving at another table and he’d experienced another of those breath-stopping moments, just like the one he’d had when she’d opened the door to him.
He should have guessed this was where she worked.
There were a fairly limited number of jobs where she’d be working at this time of night, or on a Sunday lunchtime. A late-night garage, a twenty-four hour supermarket or a restaurant. And the Blue Boar—a rambling restaurant with bed and breakfast facilities for businessmen—was within walking distance of Gable End.
As he’d watched her, he saw the guy who’d shown them to their table, the one who’d come to see what the fuss was about, stop her with a hand to her arm as she’d passed him.
It looked familiar. Possessive.
As did the way the man’s eyes had followed her as she came towards their table.
It was none of his business, he told himself. None at all. But then she’d looked up, seen him, and he just hadn’t been able to stop himself.
Elle walked into the kitchen the following morning, gritty-eyed, heavy-limbed, late after a restless night with a head full of pink ice cream vans and blue-eyed men, to find it blissfully silent.
Sorrel had presumably walked her grandmother to church before going on to take advantage of the free Wi-Fi at the Blue Boar. And Geli would be doing an early turn, dog walking at the animal sanctuary.
She dropped the envelope and van keys she’d retrieved from the hall drawer onto the kitchen table, then opened the back door.
The sun poured in, bringing with it the song of a blackbird, the scent of the lilac and she lifted her face to the sun, feeling the life seep back as she breathed in the day. Breathed out the unpleasantness of last night. That girl with Sean McElroy might have been beautiful, elegant and polished, but beauty is as beauty does, at least that was what her grandmother always said.
She suspected that beauty like that could, and did, do whatever it pleased and Sean McElroy was clearly happy to let her.
Freddy had moved her to another table after the incident with the rolls. He had been quick to reassure her that he didn’t blame her for what happened but, after all, the customer was always right.
It should have been a relief. Was a relief, she told herself. Between Sean and his girlfriend, someone would undoubtedly have had their dinner in their lap.
She had enough on her plate sorting out Rosie, without that kind of trouble. But not before she’d had a cup of tea and got some solid carbs inside her, she decided, picking up an elastic band from the bowl on the dresser and fastening back her hair.
She opened the bread bin.
Nothing but crumbs. And a shake told her that the cereal box on the table was empty.
She was on her knees hunting through the cupboards for the packet she’d bought the day before when a shadow cut off the sunlight.
It was too soon for her grandmother or Sorrel and she looked up expecting to see Geli, ready for a second helping of breakfast before going into Maybridge with her friends. And out of luck because the empty box on the table was the one she’d bought the day before.
But it wasn’t Geli.
The silhouette blocking out the light was that of Pink Van Man himself, but only momentarily, since he didn’t wait for an invitation but walked right in before she could ask him what the heck he thought he was doing.
A fast learner.
Life is uncertain. Eat dessert first.
—Rosie’s Diary
SEAN MCELROY looked so much bigger, so much more dangerous now that she was on her knees. Maybe he was aware of that because he bent to offer her a hand up, enveloping her in a waft of something masculine that completely obliterated the scent of the lilac.
Old leather, motor oil, the kind of scents unknown in an all female household, and she found herself sucking it in like a starving kitten.
Her eyes were level with a pair of narrow hips, powerful thighs encased in soft denim, closer to a man—at least one she wanted to be close to—than she’d been since she’d said goodbye to her dreams and taken a job working unsocial hours.
‘How did you get in?’ she demanded.
‘The gate was open.’
Oh, great. She nagged about security but no one took her seriously. Except, of course, it wasn’t about that.
Leaving the gate open was Geli’s silent protest against Elle’s flat refusal to take in any more four-footed friends, no matter how appealing. Why bother to shut the gate when there was no dog to keep off the road?
She shook him off, cross, hot and bothered. ‘It’s not an invitation for anyone to walk in,’ she snapped, standing up without assistance.
‘No? Just as well I closed it then,’ he said. ‘It could do with a new lock.’
‘I could do with any number of new things, Mr McElroy. The one thing I don’t need is an old van. Can I hope that your arrival means you’ve realised your mistake and have come
