Two days. Owen had been back in Lavender Bay for two whole days and hadn’t so much as walked past the front door of the chippy. Libby knew this because she’d spent the same two days with her eyes glued to a certain spot on the promenade railings. It was one thing for Libby to decide it’d been a mistake to sleep with him, it was quite another for him to prove it so blatantly by avoiding her.
The kids’ beach football match Owen, Jack and Sam were involved with had finished ages ago. It had been a huge success, or so she’d heard from the scores of families who’d come through the front door for the past couple of hours, tired, happy and starving after hours spent running around in the Sunday afternoon sun. Libby hadn’t attended the event herself—though she’d normally have been down there cheering on every team—because the last thing she wanted was for Owen to think she was gawking at him. Bloody man! He had her second-guessing herself all the time and then didn’t have the decency to show his face.
Well, at least Sunday was early closing so she only had to hang on for five more minutes and then she could go upstairs and sulk in the bath. She checked the clock: two minutes left, close enough to switch off the fryers. Her hand was inches from the switch when the buzzer beneath the front door mat sounded. With a sigh, and the falsest of smiles, Libby looked up to greet the customer only to find a young boy of about 10 clutching a fiver in one hand and an envelope in the other. ‘Can I help you?’
The boy thrust the envelope onto the counter. ‘This is for you, and can I have some chips please?’
Libby studied the envelope, but didn’t touch it. Her name was scrawled in an unfamiliar bold black script. She didn’t need to know the writing to guess who it was from though. ‘Where did you get this?’
With a shrug, the boy pointed back over his shoulder. ‘Man on the beach gave me a fiver to deliver it to you.’ His face clouded. ‘Did I do something wrong?’
Shaking her head, Libby scooped a large portion of chips into the centre of the pile of paper in front of her. ‘Well, your mum probably wouldn’t like you accepting money off a stranger, even for something as simple as delivering an envelope, would she?’
His face fell even further. ‘No.’
Poor kid, it wasn’t his fault a certain someone had taken advantage of him. ‘Hey, don’t worry. It’s just a friend of mine messing about, but I think you should be more careful in the future, and you should tell your mum about what you did. Now, do you want salt and vinegar on these?’
‘Yes, please.’ Clutching his chips and the change from his precious five-pound note the boy slouched from the shop.
The second he’d cleared the steps, Libby swung the closed sign and bolted the door. For the next half an hour, she ignored the envelope and stuck diligently to her clean-up routine. If Owen thought he could ignore her and then she’d come running, he was in for a disappointment. She had a hot bath and an e-book she’d pre-ordered ages ago waiting for her, and that was the only thing she planned on reading. With a huff, she swept the envelope into the just-emptied bin, turned off the lights and brushed past the beaded curtain hanging between the shop and the back area.
She made it halfway upstairs before coming to an abrupt halt. Wasn’t she just as guilty of ignoring Owen? Worse, really, because at least he was making an effort to communicate. Two steps back down and she froze again. Why send a letter rather than come in person? Perhaps he wanted to let her down gently and thought it would be easier in writing. The idea he might not want to see her again tied her stomach in knots and she started back up the stairs, not ready to face that possibility.
Her foot hovered above the final tread. But what if he did want to see her, but was worried she would reject him? ‘This is ridiculous!’ Stomping almost hard enough to put her foot through one of the treads, Libby marched back down and into the shop to snatch the envelope out of the bin.
‘Everything all right, lovey?’
At her dad’s voice, Libby stuffed the envelope in the front pocket of her trousers then turned around. ‘What? Oh, everything’s fine thanks.’ When he stared at the waste bin still clutched in her free hand, she plastered on a smile. ‘I thought I’d lost one of my rings so was just checking the bin.’ The clean, empty bin. God, she was a terrible liar.
Either her dad hadn’t noticed or was too nice to say anything about her odd behaviour. ‘That’s a shame, lovey. I’m sure it’ll turn up once you stop looking for it.’ It had been his solution for finding lost things for as long as she could remember, and the familiarity of it was enough to brighten her mood.
Hooking her arm through his, she rested her head against his shoulder. ‘Wise words, Dad.’
‘What’re your plans for this fine evening?’ he asked as they made their way upstairs to their family home. ‘There’s one of those crime series you love starting tonight, if you fancy it?’
Conscious of the envelope burning a hole in her pocket, Libby demurred. ‘I’m not sure, Dad. I’ve been stuck in all day, so I might pop out for a bit of fresh air.’
‘Whatever you like, lovey. Shall I DVR it and we can watch it later?’
‘Sounds like a plan. I’m going to get changed, I’ll see you in a bit.’ With a quick peck on his cheek, she hurried up to her private haven on the second floor.
Most of their accommodation sprawled over the first floor, but Libby had chosen one of the attic rooms as a child. Then, as now, she’d loved the view it afforded out across the sea. Her dad had extended the windowsill to create a bench seat which her mum had covered in gaily coloured cushions. It was her spot. For thinking, dreaming, or spying on gorgeous, frustrating men. Whatever her mood was, curling up on her little bench always made her feel better.
Sinking down on one of the tattered cushions, Libby drew out the crumpled envelope and stared at it. Five minutes—and a failure to develop any kind of X-ray vision—later, she gave into temptation and ripped it open. Her eyes scanned the brief note, little bubbles of excitement fizzing inside her.
Mr Owen Coburn cordially invites Ms Elizabeth Marie Stone to join him for supper this evening at 8 p.m.
Location: Third hut from the left, The Beach, Lavender Bay.
Dress code: clothing optional
Clothing optional? He should be so bloody lucky. With a skip in her step, Libby headed to the little en-suite bathroom her dad had installed when she’d turned 12. If Owen wanted to see her naked again he was going to have to work for it, but best to be prepared…just in case.
With a quick rub of her palms against the front of her best jeans, Libby glanced over her shoulder, then tapped on the door of the beach hut. The beach around her was mostly empty. Those who’d finished their holidays would be well on their way home by now, and the locals would be going through their regular Sunday evening routines. The door swung back and her breath caught at the sight of Owen clad in an olive green short-sleeved shirt which turned his tanned skin to a delicious shade of caramel. He’d teamed it with a pair of cream chinos and his feet were bare. It really was criminal for a man to be so good-looking. ‘Hi.’ It was about all she could manage.
‘Hi.’ He scrubbed at the back of his neck with one hand. ‘I wasn’t sure you were going to show.’
That admission of uncertainty did more to disarm her than anything else. ‘After such a charming invitation, how could I resist?’ She gave him a quick once-over. ‘I see you didn’t follow the suggested dress code either.’
He laughed. ‘Can’t blame a man for trying.’ Stepping back, he swept his arm wide. ‘Come on in.’
Scanning the room, two thoughts crossed her mind in quick succession: one, he really was trying, and two, she was in deep trouble. A bed with an old-fashioned brass frame dominated one half of the small space, its mattress draped in a mish-mash of patchwork quilts, blankets and cushions.
Not wanting to think too hard about how comfortable it looked, her eyes skipped over to a battered wooden desk with an old captain’s chair in front of it and a mismatched cabinet beside it. The top of the desk held several platters of cold meat, cheese, olives and a crispy-topped cob loaf. Beside a couple of china plates draped with cotton napkins sat an ice bucket with what looked like a bottle of champagne nestled inside it and a pair of mismatched glasses. A bowl of strawberries and a pot of clotted cream adorned the cabinet. ‘What’s all this?’
Slipping past her, Owen lifted the champagne from the ice and began to twist off the wire cage covering the cork. ‘I did promise you supper.’
‘Yes, but how did you manage’— arms outstretched, she turned in a half-circle —‘all this?’
With one of the napkins wrapped about the cork, Owen eased it from the bottle’s neck with the softest pop, rather than the brash, showy bang she might have expected from him. Another point in his favour—they were beginning to rack up. ‘The furniture I picked up after touring around the local antique shops yesterday afternoon.’
‘Antique shops?’ Had he been shopping at the emporium? That would be bound to raise questions with Beth.
‘Not the one you’re thinking of, don’t panic.’ Owen handed her a glass full of sparkling golden liquid. ‘The food, I sourced from the local supermarket through one of those click-and-collect orders.’
He was still missing the point. ‘But how did you get access to this hut?’
‘Oh, that?’ He gave her a disarming smile. ‘I asked the Barneses about how I might go about renting one.’
‘You did what?’ Humiliation burned across her cheeks. What on earth had he told them, that he wanted a…a love shack?
‘If I’m going to be spending more time down here, I need an office I can work from in peace. I can rig up the laptop to my phone for internet access, and I quite fancied something with a sea view.’ He reached for her free hand. ‘Annie and Paul are letting me stay in Sam’s old room which is incredibly generous of them, but completely ruinous to my plans for you.’ He pressed a kiss to her palm.
Relief flooded through her, leaving her giddy before she’d taken so much as a sip of her champagne. ‘What kind of plans would those be?’
Sliding his arm around her waist, her pulled her close. ‘Lots of nefarious plans which require adherence to the dress code.’
‘You’re very sure of yourself, aren’t you?’ Her words might have held more impact if she hadn’t cuddled closer to his chest.
‘When it comes to you, Libby, I’m not sure of anything other than I can’t get you out of my head.’
Oh, Lord. He knew all the right things to say. A pang of worry marred her excitement at the effort he’d gone to. Perhaps he knew what to say because he’d had a lot of practice. She wasn’t exactly an expert when it came to relationships. What if this was all just a bit of flash to make sure she fell into his arms? What if he had a girlfriend back in London and she was just a convenient amusement for when he was staying in the bay? He leaned down for a kiss, but she stopped him with a hand to his chest. ‘Don’t hurt me, okay?’
‘Hurt you?’ His arm fell away. ‘What kind of a man do you think I am, Libby?’
‘That’s the point, Owen. I have no idea. I don’t really know anything about you.’
A deep groove etched between his brows. ‘I’m not one for all that soul-baring, “tell me all about your feelings and I’ll tell you all about mine” crap. Can’t we just be two people having a good time together?’
There was a tension to his words, and she wondered exactly what it was he was trying to hide from her. She tried again. ‘I’m not expecting you to bare your soul to me. I just meant that I don’t know anything about your life in London, or what your interest is in Lavender Bay.’
Owen sank down on the edge of the bed, eyes fixed on the glass he held between his fingers. ‘I have my own company which I built from scratch after starting out as a builder’s mate. I own a one-bedroom flat in an anonymous high-end development in Canary Wharf, which I share with a half-dead spider plant, and by own, I mean I have a mortgage large enough to give myself nightmares. Half the other apartments are empty because they’ve been bought as investment opportunities or tax write-offs so I have no neighbours that I’ve ever met. I eat out most nights because the meals for one section in the supermarket is the most depressing place on the planet. I date the right sort of women and take them to the right sort of places and I’m bored shitless by the whole bloody lot of it.’
Wow. She wasn’t sure what she’d been expecting, but this wasn’t it. At least she had her dad and her friends, a community she fit into and was an integral part of. People who would always be happy to hear her voice if she called them. She couldn’t imagine anything worse than the empty, lonely life he’d just described to her. A couple of steps brought her close enough to stand between his legs. ‘I’m definitely the wrong sort of woman then because as much as I love the effort you went to this evening, I’d have been just as happy with a bag of salt and vinegar crisps and a glass of house white in the pub. I don’t do materialism.’
Leaning back on one elbow so he could look up into her eyes, Owen waved the glass in his free hand towards the discreet logo sewn onto the front of his shirt. ‘That’s a shame, because I’m a study in materialism.’
‘Bollocks.’ Libby nudged his knee with hers. ‘You’re the most real person I’ve ever met.’ There was a vitality to him, a strength of will that made him stand out in the crowd. She’d called it confidence, arrogance even, but that wasn’t it at all. He was a man who knew himself for what he was and wore it well. If she wasn’t careful, she’d get caught up by his sheer force of personality and be swept away. ‘Being around you scares me a little bit,’ she admitted.
He sat up so quickly champagne spilled over the back of his hand. Eyes wide with horror, he stared at her. ‘I scare you? Christ, Libby, that’s the last thing I want to do.’
‘Not like that!’ Cupping his cheek, she smiled down at him. ‘You have a lot of presence, and sometimes that’s a bit overwhelming. I feel like it’d be easy to lose all sense of myself when I’m with you.’
Owen’s hand found her hip. ‘Now it’s my turn to call bollocks. You’ve got personality in spades. You’re not like any other woman I’ve ever met.’
‘So you keep telling me, and that worries me, too. I don’t want to be some novelty or amusement.’
His fingers slid down to squeeze her bottom. ‘Because there’s nothing novel or amusing about mermaid hair.’ There was such a sweet smile on his lips, it was impossible to be offended.
His hold on her firmed, urging her down until she straddled his lap. ‘That’s better. I couldn’t do this with you all the way up there.’ Leaning forward he brushed her lips with his, a sweet glide of temptation that brought every inch of her to life with the spark of delicious memories. ‘There’s no nefarious plan here, I promise. I fancy the pants off you, and I think that’s mutual. Let’s just have some fun and see where things go, okay?’
‘I’m overthinking all this, aren’t I?’
Owen took her glass then placed it together with his own on a little bedside table. ‘On the grounds that there’s no way for me to answer that without getting myself in trouble, I’m going to distract you instead.’
‘I like the sound of that.’ Libby let herself sink deeper against him as she wound her arms about his neck. A loud buzzing came from the desk behind them, and she turned to glare at Owen’s mobile. ‘I don’t like the sound of that.’ As though on command, the phone fell silent and she turned back to him with a grin. ‘Now, where were we?’
To her disappointment, Owen’s attention was fixed behind her, a frown etched its way between his brows. ‘I should probably just check that.’
Ugh. She hadn’t counted on him being a workaholic, but then again she knew that running your own business didn’t always mean keeping to regular office hours. With a sigh, she started to rise from his lap. ‘If you need to work, I can leave you to it.’
‘What? No, don’t go!’ His hands tightened on her hips, holding her in place. ‘That was just an email alert, I can check it later. My office will call if it’s something really urgent.’
‘Great, so if it starts ringing, what will you do, put me on hold? Way to make a girl feel special.’ Libby pulled herself away from his hands and stepped away. She’d dated a man before who’d been more interested in his phone than in her, and sworn she’d never do it again.
‘Hold on a sec.’ Owen stood, crossed to the desk and picked up his phone.
And that was her cue to leave. ‘I’ll see you around.’
Arms locked around her waist. ‘Where are you going?’
Turning in his arms, she eyed him warily. ‘What about your phone?’
‘It’s off.’ Keeping her held against him he walked backwards until the bed hit the back of his knees then fell back onto it, taking her down with him. ‘You’ve got my complete and undivided attention.’
Warmth curled inside her. ‘Is that so?’
Still a bit breathless from being on the receiving end of Owen’s complete attention, Libby rested comfortably in the crook of his arm eating occasional strawberries from the bowl he’d propped on his chest and listening to the gulls’ cry as they dipped and soared over the evening tide. The tiny hut was like a space out of time, the real world only a step and yet miles away. Lilac, orange and red painted the patch of sky visible through the small square window above the bed. ‘I could stay here forever,’ she said with a contented sigh, before biting her lip. She needed to play things a bit cooler, not come over quite so eager. Sure, he’d gone to a lot of trouble tonight, but she couldn’t afford to read too much into it. Trying to keep her body relaxed against his, she hoped he’d take it as a throwaway comment.
Tilting the bowl on his chest towards him, Owen peered at the last couple of strawberries. ‘You’ve already eaten most of the food so that might be a bit of problem.’
Relief flooded through her, and she told herself to stop second-guessing everything and just enjoy the moment. Stealing one of the strawberries, she popped it into her mouth. ‘Not for me. I’ll laze around here, and you can channel your inner hunter-gatherer and go out on foraging trips.’
With a chuckle, Owen dropped a kiss on the top of her head. ‘I’m not sure Lidl existed in prehistoric times. Besides, I thought it was the woman’s job to tend and care for her man?’
Sitting up, Libby grabbed a pillow and bopped him on the head with it. ‘Let this be the first of many disappointments for you, because I can barely look after myself.’
She’d expected another laugh from him, but the look on his face as he shoved the bowl of strawberries to one side and tucked the pillow behind him to sit more upright was anything other than amused. ‘Don’t do that.’
‘Do what?’
‘Make yourself the butt of the joke. You work so bloody hard. Don’t think I haven’t noticed all those hours you spend on your feet. And I bet you take care of your dad too, on top of everything else.’
Taken aback at the vehemence behind his words, Libby reached for her glass of champagne and gulped the last mouthful. ‘I didn’t think I was doing that. I thought we were just messing around. Dad and I take care of each other, like we’ve always done. We’ve always split everything down the middle at work and at home. Though just lately he’s been trying to do more than his fair share.’ With a sigh, she scrubbed a hand through her hair. ‘He gets on these periodic guilt trips, like he thinks he robbed me of my youth or some such nonsense. It’s been much worse since Beth and Eliza came home.’
‘How so?’
‘He’s always on at me to go out and spend time with them, like we’re still teenagers. I’m not a kid anymore. This is my job, my life and I’m happy with the responsibility of it. I can’t get him to see that, though. Working in the chippy was good enough for him, and his parents before that, so why shouldn’t it be enough for me?’
‘Is it enough for you?’ When she frowned, he held up a hand. ‘That’s not a criticism, I’m just asking if it’s really what you want and that you’re not just saying it because you think it’s what’s expected of you.’
She knew what he was trying to say, but it was hard to stop her next words from sounding defensive. ‘I’ve got plenty of plans for the future, but they all revolve around staying here in the bay.’
‘And have you told him that? He’s probably just trying to make sure you enjoy a better life than he had. That’s what all parents want for their children—or so I’ve heard.’
That wasn’t the first time he’d made a reference like that, and she wondered anew what else lurked behind the confident face he turned towards the world. Whatever his personal issues might be, he was right about one thing: she hadn’t told her dad about her plans for the future. And it was something she’d have to address with him sooner rather than later. Stretching over, she snagged the champagne bottle from the bucket they’d placed on the floor, and said as much. ‘You’re right, I need to talk to him.’
Owen tucked a hand behind his head, drawing the muscles in that side of his body tight. With a lazy smile that did all sorts of ridiculous things to her insides, he gave her a nudge with his foot. ‘Of course I’m right. I always am. Now pour me some more of that champagne.’
‘Ugh, you’re so bossy.’ She needed to stop making it sound like a compliment. Her feminist credentials would be withdrawn if she kept melting every time he issued a command.
She shared the remaining champagne between their glasses—making sure she added just a bit more to her own glass—then settled next to him against the pile of pillows. It was time to take control of the situation, make it clear she was putting no expectations upon him, that she wouldn’t be running straight to Eliza and Beth to tell them about her new boyfriend. ‘Would you be offended if I asked if we could keep this just between us?’
‘A clandestine and sordid affair?’ Humour sparkled in his eyes, and she saw no sign of offence, thank goodness. She wasn’t ashamed of being with him, but she didn’t want their friends getting the wrong idea and reading more into it than there was. And not just them, either.
‘Not sordid, just private.’
Owen slung an arm around her shoulders and pulled her close to whisper in her ear. ‘Just a little bit sordid?’ He caught her lobe with the edge of his teeth making her shiver in delight.
‘I might be persuaded.’ She wriggled away from his lips before she did something unforgivable like spill her champagne, or let slip the turmoil he stirred up inside her. ‘Cheers.’ She tilted her glass and he clinked them together.
‘Cheers. Here’s to us.’
‘To us,’ she echoed. For as long as that might be.