As they strolled along in the deepening twilight, Libby tried to put herself in Owen’s shoes, and found it next to impossible. Though the loss of her mum had devastated her, she’d still had all those precious years with her first. Not once had either her mum or dad left her feeling anything other than adored and cherished. It sounded like Owen had never had that from anyone. Conscious he didn’t show many people this marshmallow belly of vulnerability, she tried to feel her way carefully around the subject. ‘I can’t imagine what it must’ve been like being shunted from place to place. Were any of them okay?’
Owen shrugged. ‘A few of them weren’t too bad, but none ever felt like home either.’ Tucking his hands in his pockets, he scuffed his toes through the sand. ‘And I did my damnedest to make sure they didn’t feel like home, too. Acted out, skived off school, got in a bit of bother with the police. It was all going to fall apart sooner or later, so in a twisted way it was my way of controlling how and when it happened.’
The sheer rawness of his voice hurt to hear, and Libby took a few paces away to give him time to gather himself. She wasn’t sure she wanted to hear quite so much truth. Would he expect her to do the same, to dig up all the ugly little skeletons in her own closet? Not that she had anything on the scale of what Owen had been through, but there were still those little parts of herself she didn’t share with anyone—not even Beth or Eliza. Whether it was the shadows cast by the moon over the sand, or the man behind her, she was in danger of cracking open those hidden parts and putting everything out on display. If she didn’t like those nasty little bits, how could she expect him to?
‘Well, that is not how I saw this evening going.’ With a mocking little laugh, Owen grabbed her hand and tugged her into his side. ‘You’re a dangerous woman, Libby Stone, or maybe the moon’s casting some kind of spell on me to reveal all my dark and dirty secrets.’
It was so close to her own thoughts, Libby found herself laughing. ‘If you don’t show me yours, I won’t show you mine, deal?’
‘Deal.’
Owen slung his arm around her, tucking her tight against his body and she leaned into him for just a moment before pulling away to grab his hand and tug him towards the surf glowing white on the dark, grey sand. ‘Come on!’ Even with the current hot spell, the water was still chilly enough to illicit a little shriek as she splashed into the shallows. ‘Bloody hell, that’s cold!’
Retreating a few paces, Libby kept just her toes close enough for the waves to touch though Owen stayed ankle deep, seemingly uncaring of the water soaking the bottom edge of his jeans. ‘If I lived here, I’d do this every night. It’s like we own the whole beach,’ he said, glancing back at her over his shoulder.
‘If you plan on doing this in December, you’re on your own. There’s this massive charity swim for the local hospital on Boxing Day so you could always join those lunatics.’ What was she saying? Just a couple of hours ago she hadn’t even wanted him to stick around for the rest of the weekend never mind thinking about longer-term plans.
‘I’m always up for a challenge. I take it you’ve never participated?’
She shook her head. ‘No chance. Dad does it every year, and it takes the rest of the day to thaw him out afterwards. They raise money for the local hospice, which is a cause close to our hearts, so I work the crowds who come down to watch the swimmers—shake a collection bucket, that kind of thing. Did I mention it was fancy dress?’
Owen laughed. ‘Really? I bet it’s a fantastic spectacle.’
Libby grinned, the memory of fifty plus ballerinas in all shapes, sizes and ages charging into the freezing sea loomed large. ‘They have a theme for the costumes, too. They started off all dressed as Santa and it kind of morphed from there. If I remember rightly, it’s fairies this year.’
‘Fairies? Christ! You wouldn’t catch me dead in a set of wings and a tutu.’ Reaching back, Owen tangled their fingers together. ‘You said fundraising for the hospice is close to your heart. Is that because of your mum?’
Libby nodded. He’d likely not notice the slight movement in the dark, but it was all she could manage thanks to the lump which seemed to form in her throat any time she thought about those terrible few weeks at Mulberry House. Oh, the nurses and other volunteers had been amazing, and they’d done their very best to make sure her mum’s last days had been as comfortable as possible, but she still took a diversion to avoid walking past the place.
Warm arms enfolded her in a hug. Resting her cheek against Owen’s chest, Libby closed her eyes and let the spicy scent of his aftershave and the steady beat of his heart beneath her ear soothe her. He brushed a kiss to the top of her head. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to stir any bad memories.’
‘It’s okay. When it comes to birthdays, anniversaries and stuff I can prepare myself for it. It’s the random conversations which catch me off guard. Besides, I’m the one who mentioned the charity swim which started all this, so it’s hardly your fault.’
‘I still don’t like to see you upset.’ Owen chafed his hands up and down her back a few times then stepped back. ‘Let’s talk about something more pleasant. Where do you see yourself in five years’ time?’
The abrupt topic switch caught her off guard for a second, but she decided to roll with it. ‘Here, of course. If things go to plan, Dad will retire next year so the shop will be mine.’
‘So you don’t want anything to change? No far-flung shores you’re desperate to explore?’
Her back was up in an instant at the implied criticism she read in his words. ‘Is there anything wrong with that?’
Owen held up his hands. ‘No, no, not at all. Hey, don’t get the hump with me, not when we were getting on so well. I’m genuinely interested.’
He sounded sincere enough, but Libby was tired of justifying her choices. What was the big deal about moving somewhere else? Beth, Eliza and Sam had all tried it and wound up back in the bay, none the happier for their experiences. ‘It’s not like I’ve never set foot over the county border. My aunt lives out in Spain and we’ve holidayed there every year since I was little. Her husband is a local, so we had the proper immersive experience not just sunburn and sangria. I love my cousins, but I don’t want to live their lives any more than they’re desperate to up sticks and move to the bay.’ She sighed. ‘Sorry, was I yelling by the end of that?’
Owen stuck a finger in his ear and wiggled it around. ‘I’m sure the ringing will stop in a minute.’
‘I’m sorry, it just feels like no one seems to understand that not leaving the bay doesn’t mean I don’t have dreams of my own.’
Gathering her hand in his, Owen knelt then pulled her down to sit beside him. ‘Tell me.’
Hesitantly at first, and then with more confidence as her sheer excitement took over, Libby outlined her plans to turn the fish and chip shop into a café. ‘I think there’s a lot of scope to branch out—picnic baskets for those who want to stay on the beach rather than eat inside, special afternoon teas for things like Mother’s Day. I’d offer Simnel cakes and hot cross buns at Easter, and mince pies and Christmas cakes in the winter. Birthday cakes to order, there’s no limit other than the number of hours in the day.’
Owen was quiet for long enough to set the nerves fluttering in Libby’s belly. When he finally spoke, it was to voice one of her biggest worries. ‘Won’t people miss the chippy? I’m not trying to rain on your parade, but with something so popular, there’s bound to be a few grumbles.’
‘I’ve already thought of that. There’s another takeaway on the High Street which does a mix of pizza and kebabs. We’ve always been careful not to impinge on their menu, and they’ve done the same for us. I’ve had a quiet word with Davey and they’d be more than happy to expand and provide fish and chips as well, as long as I give them Mum’s secret batter recipe. I won’t be depriving people of what they want, I’m giving them another choice.’
She glanced sideways, wishing she had more than the pale moonlight to rely on so she could get some idea of what he was thinking. ‘It’s not just some random whim. I’ve been saving for years, so I’ll have enough to pay for the decoration and refit—well, if I do most of the work myself that is.’
Bracing his hands behind him, Owen stared out across the waves. ‘I can tell it’s not a whim; it’s clear you’ve done a lot of work on this.’ He was silent again for some time, and when he spoke again there was an odd note in his voice. ‘You said once before that you had plans to talk over with your dad and now I get what you meant. Have you told him yet?’
Libby deflated like a soufflé taken too soon from the oven. Burying her face in her bent knees, she muttered, ‘Not yet.’
‘Oh.’
‘Yeah, oh.’ Sighing, Libby grabbed a handful of sand then let it trickle slowly through her fingers. ‘I know I need to get on with it, but I can’t bear to hurt his feelings. I don’t suppose selling fish and chips is many people’s idea of a stellar career, but all those portions of cod and battered sausages kept me fed, clothed and a safe loving roof over my head. I don’t want him to feel like his life’s work isn’t good enough for me.’
‘I’m sure he wouldn’t think that.’ Taking her hand, Owen brushed the remaining sand from her palm then raised it to his mouth to press a soft kiss in the centre.
Heat radiated from that single spot to spread through her. Drawing her hand free, she closed her fingers as though she could capture the tenderness in that touch and keep it safe forever. She could wish for an ounce of his confidence, too. How did he manage it, after everything she suspected he’d been through from the few brief hints he’d shared of his past? ‘What about you, Owen, what about your dreams?’
With a laugh he pushed to his feet. ‘I’m not one for dreams.’
God, it was enough to break her heart, though he wouldn’t thank her for the pity. Accepting the hand he held out, she let him help her to her feet while she tried to compose herself. Once she was sure she could keep her voice light, Libby hooked her arm through his and began to stroll along the beach. ‘If you weren’t following a dream, then what brought you here to Lavender Bay?’
He was silent for a long moment. ‘I came to find my mum.’
Stunned, Libby pulled up short. ‘She’s from around here?’
With a tug of her hand, Owen kept walking up the beach towards the row of huts. ‘According to my birth certificate, but I’ve not found any trace of her.’ His hollow laugh held far too much pain. ‘Not that I’ve tried too hard to find her. There’s only so much rejection a man can take in his life.’
She felt the cut of those bitter words like a whip against her skin, and her next question was tentative. ‘What about your dad?’
Owen gave a quick shake of his head. ‘He wasn’t named on the birth certificate so unless I can find my mum, I don’t suppose I’ll ever know.’
Libby fell silent, trying to get her head around the idea of not knowing something so fundamental as who your parents were. It was alien to the point of near-impossibility. Clearly, Owen was hurting a great deal about it so she would need to tread carefully and curb her own curiosity.
They reached the hut and Owen unlocked it and ushered her in. ‘Hold on.’ Using the light from his phone screen, he found his way across to the bed to switch on the fairy lights Libby had bought one day on a whim to wind through the bars of the old iron bedstead.
Pushing the door closed, she leaned back against it. ‘If you don’t want to talk about your mum, you don’t have to.’ He didn’t respond beyond a quick nod.
Having tossed his trainers in the corner, Owen hitched himself up onto the bed and patted the space beside him. ‘Come here, I need to hold you.’
Libby dropped her boots by the door and scrambled up to curl into his side. ‘I missed you this week.’ It was still an effort to admit those kinds of things to him, but it felt like they’d taken a step forward in their relationship over the past hour. Her suggestion to keep things between just the two of them had seemed like such a good idea at the time, but each weekend that past made her regret it more. Not telling Beth and Eliza had begun to weigh on her, too—an omission was still a lie at the end of the day.
At first, she hadn’t expected it to last beyond a handful of encounters so keeping it quiet had been an act of self-preservation. Only Owen had kept texting to check on her schedule, and sending details of his, and one weekend had rolled into the next. When they couldn’t avoid spending time with the others without rousing suspicion, Libby felt so awkward she could hardly bring herself to meet his eyes, never mind speak to him. She kept waiting for him to say something about it, but he never did and now it felt like she was trapped in some Groundhog Day loop. She loved the precious hours they spent together like this, but she wanted more. Just tell him you’re ready to go public.
As she opened her mouth, Owen shifted to cover her body with his. ‘I missed you, too. Now come here.’ His lips found hers and their bodies moved together in a pattern that had become as natural to her as breathing. Tomorrow, she’d tell him tomorrow…