Joe scratched the back of his head, checked around for customers, and gave the photocopier a swift kick. The damn thing was playing up again and had been for ages. If the paper wasn’t getting stuck, it decided it had run out of toner and he had to get down on his hands and knees and wiggle different bits about until the annoying red light stopped flashing. It wasn’t that he knew what he was doing. It was just that being the youngest of the office staff by a good twenty years, it was supposed he knew more about technology than the rest of them. He didn’t.

Fridays at the estate agents were always quiet for some reason. Maybe people didn’t want the hassle of tidying their houses and making them presentable for viewings, and those who were buying left all the looking for Saturdays, when they could do so without worrying about taking time off work. Either way, he was fed up. He’d completed all the admin he had to do, and the four games of solitaire he’d just played on his computer had done nothing to alleviate his boredom.

The photocopier spluttered into life and kicked out the paper he had been waiting for, as well as a few extra sheets for good measure. He took them and ran a finger round the collar of his shirt. He was sweating. In November. The radiators were on full blast and old Mr Rigby, who owned the business, insisted on having a couple of heaters on as well. It was only about eight degrees outside, but it was as hot as Dubai in here – a place he would definitely rather be right now.

Even though he’d been back for a long time, he was still getting used to working nine to five back in England. After moving to Australia with his girlfriend, Clara, he’d worked a normal working week. But with long lunch hours, swims before work, and barbecues on the beach after, it had made the slog of the daily grind so much easier to bear. He stared out of the window at the threatening grey sky and pouring rain, and sighed. The landline on his desk rang and he hurried over to answer it. ‘Good morning, Rigby Estate Agents, Joe speaking. How can I help?’

‘Hi, Joe?’ said a singsong female voice.

‘Hi, how can I help?’ He didn’t recognise the voice.

‘It’s Annabelle.’

‘Annabelle?’

‘Yes, Annabelle.’ She sounded annoyed now. ‘We met in the pub the other night and then we … we went back to yours.’

‘Oh yes. I remember.’ He did, just about. He’d made sure they hadn’t swapped numbers, he didn’t want to lead her on, but if she’d found the work number and rung that, she clearly wanted more than he could give. He realised he’d been quiet for a while and glanced up to see Mr Rigby smiling at him. Keeping his voice professional, he asked, ‘What can I help you with?’

‘I was wondering if you wanted to have dinner sometime?’

‘Yeah, um, no, thanks.’ There was a sharp intake of breath at the other end of the line. ‘What I mean is …’ He leaned down behind his desk, pretending to look for something in the bottom drawer. He didn’t want the whole office to hear him and brushing off a lady could be quite difficult sometimes. He knew that from experience. Joe kept his voice low. ‘The other night was great, but I’m not looking for anything more right now. Nothing serious.’ It was a bit of a corny line but he’d used it before and it had worked fairly well. Plus he meant it. He wasn’t leading anyone on. He wouldn’t do that. He mentally crossed his fingers, hoping it would work again now. Annabelle said nothing and he could feel the anger emanating from her and travelling over the air waves.

‘Oh. Okay.’ Her voice was curt and clipped. ‘Well, I guess I’ll see you around then?’

‘Yeah, okay. Bye.’

She hung up and Joe sat up from behind his desk. Calls like that were the worst part of one-night stands. The fact that they weren’t fulfilling didn’t bother him. He didn’t want to be fulfilled. He couldn’t anymore. Sometimes, like with Amy – no, Annabelle – he felt bad for a while, but he never promised them anything more. He wasn’t a complete bastard. Joe was adjusting his tie when the office phone on his desk rang again. ‘Good morning, Rigby Estate Agents, Joe speaking. How can I help?’

‘Hi? Is that Joe Holloway?’

He didn’t recognise the female voice on the other end of the line, and his brow wrinkled. He hoped this wasn’t another one-night stand wanting more. Before Annabelle, his last one had been a few months ago, so it would be odd her calling now. Why did he do this to himself? It never helped and it just caused more trouble. If they were going to start phoning him at work, he could lose his job. ‘Yes, this is Joe. How can I help?’

‘It’s Alice Potts. I’m looking for some properties for my sister, Esme.’

‘Alice?’

Oh God, was this Annabelle calling back pretending to be a customer? Trust him to pick a psycho. He gazed at the rain battering against the large glass windows and pictured her suddenly standing there, wielding a knife. Joe shuddered but tried to remain professional. Mr Rigby was typing slowly with two fingers and hadn’t seemed to notice.

‘Alice and Sean Potts. You helped my husband and I find our first house.’ Alice laughed. ‘You’d know me better as Alice Kendrick. We were at school at the same time. My sister, Esme, was in your year, I was a year below.’

A small smile pulled the corner of his mouth upwards. ‘Alice and Esme Kendrick? Yeah, I remember you guys now. I thought Esme moved to London?’ She’d been the talk of the town having worked hard to get to a good London university and then found a job working for a television company. ‘She was one of the major success stories of our school. Not like the rest of us normal folk.’ He sat back in his chair and played with the telephone cord.

‘Yeah, my sister was always super-focused. So, she was hoping to see some places tomorrow. Is there any chance you could line up a few viewings?’

‘Yeah, sure,’ Joe replied, grabbing his notebook and pen. It didn’t give him much time, and he wondered what the rush was, but still, business was a good thing. ‘Is she renting or buying?’

‘Renting.’

‘Any particular times for the viewings?’

‘Nope. She’s free all day.’

He made a note. ‘And what about budget? What type of properties does she like?’

‘Budget needs to be as small as possible. She doesn’t want to spend much per month and as beggars can’t be choosers, just show her anything that’s cheap.’

That was odd, but he made a note anyway. ‘Okay, I’ll call you later with the details. Can you give me your number? Or should I take Esme’s?’

Alice hesitated for a moment before replying. ‘No, take mine. She’s not really ready to … no, never mind. But if you could call me, that’d be great.’

Joe took the details and hung up. Esme Kendrick? Now there was a turn up. But what was Alice going to say? She’s not really ready to what? He rested his elbows on the desk, tapping his pen against his notepad. Looks like things were going well for Esme and her boyfriend, presuming she had one, if they were getting a place down here as well as having one in London. Of course she’d have a boyfriend. She was probably married by now, or at least engaged. She was always the most intelligent, not to mention the prettiest, girl at school. Joe could picture her now as a grown woman all pale-skinned and wide-eyed, with that mop of red curls like some Highland beauty from the Middle Ages.

He went to the filing cabinet and pulled out some brochures for the cheapest rental properties. If it was a holiday or weekend place, why rent? And why the tight budget? It all seemed very strange, but before he could think about it any further, an old male voice from the other side of the office said, ‘Joe, this bloody printer is messing about again. Can you come and unblock it?’

Filing his questions at the back of his mind, Joe closed the drawer, took a deep breath and replied. ‘Yes, Mr Rigby. On my way.’

Chapter 5
London

Leo paced the streets of London, taking long confident strides amongst the crowds of people leisurely ambling along. The rain was pouring down in great, heavy sheets and the dark sky was solid with cloud. He tutted as a couple came to a sudden stop in front of him to look in a shop window at the elaborate Christmas-themed decorations. With a sarcastic, ‘Excuse me,’ he edged around them and carried on, wishing he was indoors, dry and warm, staring out of his apartment window at the priceless view beyond. He loved looking out of that window at the skyline, a mixture of grand buildings and tall grey skyscrapers.

It wasn’t a priceless view though, was it? he mused. It had cost a hell of a lot of money – too much money, some had said – but that was London, and London prices. Leo pulled the collar of his coat in tighter. You had to invest in yourself and your future – that’s what people didn’t understand. No one liked to admit it, but the address on your CV could make all the difference to getting that job or not. Take Esme. She’d struggled with finding permanent work until she moved in with him and then, wham, she got that amazing job with Felicity Fenchurch. He’d always prided himself on helping her career like that, encouraging her to be as ambitious as him. It was such a shame it ended the way it did. Esme’s job and them. But then, she’d always been headstrong and now she’d thrown away her career.

Leo overtook a group of tourists and in his pocket, he tightened his grip on the ring he had bought Veronica. It wasn’t an engagement ring, though he had secretly looked at those too, but he didn’t want to rush too much. Poor Esme. From the look on her face that night, it was almost as if she thought he was going to propose or spring a romantic holiday on her. She’d always been fanciful though and would often let her imagination run wild. The day after they’d split, she’d come at the crack of dawn, even before he was up for the gym, and packed a suitcase, clearing out her clothes and special mementoes, like her memory box. She hadn’t said a word, just moved silently around the room. At first, he’d pretended to be asleep but, realising he couldn’t do that forever, he’d gone and hidden in the bathroom, thankful she had cleared that first. It wasn’t cowardly, he told himself. It was tactful and made things easier for her. It was the least he could do. She must be devastated. But she’d be fine. She was one of those people who’d always be fine. Later, she had texted saying Mark would come and get the last few bits when it was convenient, and he was to contact Mark directly to arrange it. She didn’t want to speak to him, or see him, and to be honest, he couldn’t blame her. He knew deep down he should have given her more time, but it was difficult to say no to Veronica.

Swerving to the right and cutting up a middle-aged man who was trundling along at a snail’s pace, staring up at all the Christmas lights, Leo charged down the tube station steps. The warm air rose up to grab him, a sudden contrast to the cold air outside. He was meeting Veronica soon and he couldn’t wait to give her the ring. He was sure she’d love it. Still, as sad as things were with Esme, at least now he was now able to move on and be with someone who got him. Someone who was just as ambitious as him. The type of person he was meant to be with. Leo smiled to himself. Veronica was equally as driven, strong and determined, but if she had one fault, it was that she was a little bossy. She had to be, he supposed, being his boss and leading the team, but sometimes she forgot to turn it off when they were together. Since yesterday morning, when he told her Esme had gone, taking most of her stuff, she’d been demanding Leo chase Esme to confirm when she’d remove the last of her things. He’d told her he couldn’t do it yet – it had only been two days since he’d ended it. To phone now would be callous in the extreme, but it hadn’t stopped her mentioning it again in the office this afternoon. Leo suspected Mark knew that he’d allowed someone else to move in already and would no doubt have told Esme. He was glad he didn’t have to face her at the moment when it would still be raw and hurtful for her.

A train pulled in and he jumped on. Leo was looking forward to going back to his flat and pictured the piles of Veronica’s things already dotted here and there – a spare bag, a book – happy that he’d done the right thing. Esme’s lack of ambition had been holding him back from his life goals for a long time now. Another reason why Veronica was the perfect partner for him. That and her insanely long legs. Together they could achieve anything. They’d started their affair six months before he’d broken up with Esme and a fleeting regret for cheating on her passed through him but quickly faded. Sometimes these things happened.

He was meeting Veronica at the flat and then they were going to a fancy restaurant where he’d give her the ring. Every time he tried to take Esme to a fancy restaurant she had this annoying habit of trying to figure out exactly what was in a dish and how she could cook it. It had been endearing at first but as things had started to go wrong, he’d found it boring. There was no way Veronica would do something like that. The new watch on his wrist shone as he reached his arm up to hold onto the bar. Whilst at the jeweller’s he’d bought himself a new watch. Well, why shouldn’t he? He’d been through a lot lately, he deserved a little treat.

Chapter 6
Sandchester

‘So, I’ve got these three properties that are in your price range,’ said Joe, handing Esme the details on a freezing cold Saturday morning. ‘They’re all vacant so we can see them today.’

Esme took them and peeked at Joe over the top of the paper, pretending to read. He had been gorgeous at school, in that bad boy kind of way, with black hair worn long at the front so it flopped into his sea green eyes. He’d looked like something from a boy band. His untucked shirt always hung loose and his school tie was short and fat, like the cool kids wore them. Esme would go the long way round to science so she could pass him on her way and see him leaning back against the wall with one leg bent. Now, he was handsome in a mature I-know-what-I’m-doing kind of way. His hair was cut short and his eyes, though ringed gently with crow’s feet, were intelligent and kind. His grin was still wide, pulling up slightly more at one side, but he had straight white teeth and a chiselled jaw. Esme had met him at the estate agent’s at nine o’clock and been nervous since she got up. And not just at the idea of finding a new place to live. Doubts were still ringing in her brain that she was making another huge mistake, going from one terrible decision to another. But she was also anxious about seeing Joe again. She’d wondered if he was still as handsome and if his face had aged well, but he wasn’t on Facebook and Esme hadn’t wanted to ask Alice for fear of teasing.

‘Which one did you want to look at first?’ Joe asked, putting his hands in his pockets. He was wearing a well-cut navy suit with a pale blue shirt and dark blue tie.

‘Oh, umm …’ Esme checked the details again and tried to ignore the blush creeping up her cheeks. The first property was a small flat on the seafront in a converted Georgian house. It had sconces and high ceilings, and great views onto the beach. The second was an even smaller flat above a takeaway pizza place at the horrid end of the high street – Esme put that one to the back. The third and final property was a shabby-looking cottage on the outskirts of town, with views over the fields.

‘Shall we go to the seafront flat first?’ said Esme. ‘It looks fabulous.’ She imagined large sash windows with a built-in seat where she could sit and read her cookery books or watch winter storms roll in from the sea.

‘Sure thing.’ He grabbed his coat and opened the door for her. Esme retied the belt on hers as a cold wind blasted in.

The sky was a dense pale grey from the rain clouds gathering to bring another damp, cold day. A strong wind blew her curls over her face and she tugged her hat down onto her head to keep them at bay. She’d been back home for three days now and her head and heart still ached for Leo and the life she’d left in her favourite city on earth – London. Would she ever get that life back again?

Last night she’d disappeared to her room after dinner like a sulky teenager, and dredged through her phone, staring at the photos of her and Leo together, hoping to spot signs of when things had begun to go wrong. No clues had been forthcoming. He was always smiling and had his arms around her. She’d been completely blindsided by their break-up; had no idea it was coming. She’d trusted him when he’d said he was working late because they were busy at work. She’d even been pleased for him, knowing how much his career meant to him. But now she knew he’d been lying. They’d been together for five years and she’d been so sure he’d propose soon. Then last month, after checking their internet history when looking for a recipe she’d come across but forgotten to bookmark, she found he’d been looking at jewellery, engagement rings to be precise, and had assumed it couldn’t be long. She’d thought that his secrecy was him planning something big. She’d been so stupid.

Glancing towards Joe as he strode to his car, Esme gave herself a mental shake. Today she had to try and look forward, look to the future. And there was always something fun about nosing around other people’s houses. This excitement, mixed with her nerves at being in such close proximity to Joe, knotted her stomach as she climbed into his waiting car.

Joe watched Esme yank the green beanie hat down onto her head and wondered what on earth she was doing back in boring old Sandchester. Usually couples looking for holiday homes viewed everything together – quite nauseating. All the lovey-doveycuddliness as they ‘ummed’ and ‘awwed’ over period features or places that were within easy reach of the motorways or train station. Perhaps her other half was one of those uber-busy, suited and booted, successful types. A doctor saving lives, or a surgeon elbow-deep in brains curing epilepsy. Maybe he was a scientist building space rockets, or perhaps creating a vaccine for space flu. Whatever he did, Joe bet it was essential or pioneering, or life-saving. Something epic that made his being an estate agent seem normal and boring. There wasn’t a ring on her finger, though. No big shiny diamond or wedding band, so they hadn’t got that far yet. Not that it was any of his business, he reminded himself.

Keeping his eyes on the path avoiding the puddles, he unlocked the car. He’d forgotten how pretty Esme was. In fact, she was even prettier now than she had been back then. In her teens she’d been gangly — all arms and legs that didn’t seem to work properly. She’d been clumsy, he remembered with a smile. Now she was much more in proportion, had grown into herself. ‘So, how’s life?’ he asked, climbing into the driver’s seat.

Esme hesitated. ‘Oh, you know … fine.’

The radio kicked out a Christmas song and Esme shivered. Joe reached over and turned the heater on. From the pause, he guessed she didn’t want to talk about it to him which he could understand. He was a stranger.

‘What about you?’ she asked, staring out the window. ‘What have you been up to since school?’

His mind flew to Clara and a sharp pain shot into his heart. ‘The usual stuff,’ he replied, ensuring his voice was level and calm. ‘Uni, a bit of travelling. I went to Australia for a while.’ That was it. That was all he could manage. Before she asked anymore questions, he said, ‘So you want to see the seafront property first? It’s great, but it’s not super-huge. With the budget you’ve got, I’m afraid you won’t get lots and lots of space.’

‘That’s okay. I just need a decent-sized kitchen, that’s all.’ Her voice carried a slightly resigned tone. Joe glanced at her. She had a pretty profile and the mass of red curls were poking out from under her green beanie hat, emphasising the beautiful deep colour of her hair.

‘So you still love cooking and all that sort of stuff?’

‘Yep, I do.’ Esme smiled. ‘Cooking always makes me feel better.

‘You were the only one who paid attention in home economics.’

‘I don’t know why you lot hated it so much.’

He shrugged. ‘We were 15 and knew about microwavable burgers. To us, there was no point in cooking anything else.’

Esme laughed. ‘I suppose not. Though microwavable burgers are super-gross.’

‘They really are,’ he said, laughing too. ‘I have no idea why I ate them. It was like meat-flavoured cardboard in actual cardboard.’

As they sped through the town, from the corner of his eye, Joe saw her watch out of the window. ‘The town hasn’t changed much, has it? Esme asked, glancing towards him.

Apart from some new-build housing developments, it hadn’t. The streets were lined with boring bungalows and quiet suburban cul-de-sacs. A few new coffee shops had opened up on the high street but that was about all. It wasn’t a match for Oxford Street. On the radio the DJ announced another Christmas song. Some people had already started decorating. and here and there large inflatable Santas loomed out of front gardens or from behind hedges. He thought it was a bit early, personally.

Joe drove along the seafront, following the sea to the far end of town and pulled up in front of a beautiful Georgian house that had been divided into flats. Esme climbed out of the car and stood back to admire the large black front door and sash windows. ‘All you have to do is cross the road and you’re right on the beach,’ said Joe. The grey clouds had followed them from the town centre and a light rain began to fall. He pulled out the keys and opened the main door. ‘It’s the top flat.’

Esme climbed the stairs two at a time, almost beating him to the top and he was hopeful she’d like it. He found the front door keys and led them inside. They walked down a small hall, so small in fact, they nearly had to go sideways like a crab, emerging into a tiny sitting room, off which was an even smaller kitchen. Esme’s face clouded. Joe knew that look but gave her a moment to look around. ‘What do you think?’ he asked, when she came back into the sitting room after checking out the rest of the flat, but he could already guess the answer; her eyes weren’t sparkling as they had outside.

‘I don’t think the kitchen area is quite big enough for what I need.’

‘What do you need it for exactly?’ asked Joe, looking confused. He’d assumed this was some kind of weekend or holiday flat where even the most ardent of bakers would lay off the self-catering.

‘I’ll be doing a lot of cooking. So I need some decent workspace.’

‘Right.’ Joe nodded. That was weird. Most people did the minimum amount of cooking in their holiday homes, preferring to eat out. But then Esme had always been different. Looking around, the cooker was squeezed into a corner, the fridge stuck out and there were only three cupboards and a tiny bit of workspace. They’d called it a galley kitchen in the details but even that was pushing it. ‘Are you going to be here a lot then?’

Esme looked down at the floor, her cheeks colouring. ‘I’m, umm, I’m having a bit of a change of direction.’

That didn’t sound too good, but he didn’t want to pry. ‘Oh, okay.’

She was walking around the tiny kitchen opening and closing the cupboard doors. ‘I, umm, I left my job in London and then … then my boyfriend and I broke up, so I’m back here for a bit. I’m trying to make a new start.’

Joe raised his eyebrows. He hadn’t imagined it was anything so bad and was even more surprised that she’d told him so openly. Then he remembered that she’d always been honest and outspoken at school. ‘Sorry. That’s really tough.’

Esme scratched her head underneath her hat. Her eyes were so sad and her pale skin resembled porcelain. A part of him wanted to make her feel better, to let her know she wasn’t alone in her heartbreak, but he couldn’t get the words out. ‘Which one would you like to try next then? I’m guessing this is a no-go?’

Esme gave a polite smile. ‘If this were bigger, it’d be perfect. I’d love to live by the sea.’

‘The only thing I’ve got like this that’s larger is double the price.’

Esme frowned. ‘I know I’ve got limited options.’

‘What about the flat in Palmerston Road? The one above the pizza shop?’ He tried to sound cheerful but was pretty sure it wouldn’t be her thing.

‘I have to be honest, I’m not keen on the pizza place.’

‘It’s not actually in a pizza shop,’ replied Joe, smiling.

‘Above it, then. I bet it smells of greasy pizza all the time,’ Esme said, aimlessly walking to and fro.

‘It doesn’t. It’s quite nice inside. It’ll just get a bit noisy when the pubs kick out. It’s the best pizza place in town.’

Esme’s eyes widened and a smile lit her face. ‘Are you speaking from experience?’

‘I am.’ He grinned.

‘Well, I’ll make a note to try it, but I don’t really want to live above it. Besides, I make a mean pizza myself with fresh tomato sauce, basil, olives and sautéed artichokes. It’s really good.’

The thought of it made him hungry. ‘That sounds amazing. I’ve never had things like that on a pizza before. I stick with pepperoni, or tuna if I’m on a diet.’

Esme giggled. ‘I don’t think pizza is a diet dish even if it has tuna on it.’ A slight glow came to her cheeks and she turned one of the brochures over in her hands. ‘What’s the deal with this cottage?’

‘Ahh, now, that’s a bit of an oddity.’ Knowing the state of it, he hesitated. ‘It’s only just come onto the books, so we haven’t had a chance to clean it yet. It belonged to an old woman who passed away. The family are looking for a buyer, but they’re happy to rent it too, just so long as the building’s in use. It doesn’t have central heating, but it is full of character. It’s surrounded by the countryside and I think it’s one of the most unusual properties we’ve ever had. Want to have a look?’

Esme nodded. ‘It sounds interesting.’

‘It just needs a little bit of TLC.’

‘Don’t we all?’ A shadow came over Esme’s face. How she was so positive when she’d had such a terrible time, he didn’t know.

A moment’s silence fell between them and Joe read the brochure for the flat above the pizza shop. To be fair, it did look a bit grubby and the kitchen there was tiny. The owners obviously thought their tenants would survive on pizza from downstairs. He made a mental note to redo the photos when he was finished with Esme. She wandered to the window and took one last look out to sea before following him out of the flat.

Joe drove them to the outskirts of town, leaving behind the unremarkable new-builds and ordinary streets lined with terraced houses. The roads gave way to a narrow country lane, widening here and there for cars to pass. Before long, field upon field lined the sides of the road. Some held horses covered with heavy blankets and they seemed happy enough roaming about in the cold; others were bare and the smell of damp mud followed them. They turned off the main lane and drove down a narrow dirt track until the cottage came into view. They drew closer and Joe saw a smile creep over Esme’s lips.

As decrepit as it was, it was pretty and picturesque, as it said in the brochure. A rose bush climbed up either side of the front door and though no flowers were growing at this time of year, it didn’t look bleak. Small, hardy bushes of rosemary grew around the walls of the house here and there, haphazardly marking the boundary. A couple of tiles were hanging at odd angles on the roof, and the nearest neighbours were a mile and a half east. If she was going to be clattering around in the kitchen at all times of the day or night, which he suspected she would be, there would be no one nearby to bother her. ‘What do you think?’ asked Joe, pulling on the handbrake.

‘It’s like a fairytale.’ Esme grinned at him and climbed out the car. She walked to the door and pulled back some of the bare branches of a rose bush climbing up the outside to reveal a name plaque. Mr Rigby must have missed it when he came to value the property and take the photos. ‘Mistletoe Cottage,’ Esme read aloud. From her tone he wasn’t sure if she liked it or not, then turning back, she grinned.

‘Yeah, that’s the name of the place. Listen, I know it’s quite isolated but all the local supermarkets deliver out here, as well as the takeaways, not that you’ll be needing those.’ He pulled up the collar of his coat as a gust of wind swept around them, but at least the drizzle had eased off. ‘Also it’s only a twenty-minute walk into town.’

‘What’s over there?’ Esme asked, pointing to a large wood on the brow of a nearby hill.

‘That’s Parkin Wood. It’s a great place to walk. There are tracks to follow and streams and stuff. There’s nothing scary over there.’

She nodded and turned again to look at the cottage. ‘I like it.’

‘Just remember what I said about the inside, okay? It’s not modern and new and shiny. It’s all a bit old and dusty.’

Esme frowned. ‘That’s not very estate agenty of you, is it? Aren’t you supposed to be glossing over all the terrible things and telling me it’s a great opportunity or something like that?’

‘It’s a bit late now,’ he said with a smile. ‘You already know about the ancient decor and no central heating.’

‘That’s true.’

His voice softened. ‘If you like it, then great, but I’m not going to give you the hard sell. You need to know warts and all what’s going on with this place.’

She turned to look at him and he was caught by the sincerity in her eyes. ‘Thank you, I appreciate it.’ Just as a blush rose up her cheeks, she looked away. ‘Can we have a look inside?’