Nick hadn’t come back after taking the boy to St Catherine’s. Of course he hadn’t. Why would he, with messy shoes and her problems to solve whichever way round he turned? He’d probably walked down Portobello Road and kept going as fast and as far away as possible from her and her shop.

Probably ran, just like she was about to. Or about to try.

New day. Fresh start. Again. ‘Okay, Jenna Cassidy-Pearce, time for a shuffle-walk-run. You can do this.’ She tugged open the front door and took a deep breath of the early morning fresh air.

She needed space to think and plan.

Arranging a wedding was proving pretty difficult while the reluctant bride shared the same office space, along with the demands of setting up a business and looking after her daughter, so Jenna had set her alarm for silly o’clock in the morning, tugged on one of Ollie’s old T-shirts and a pair of slightly too-tight but all-she-could-find shorts. A shuffle-walk-run would get her head around the things she needed to sort out for Chloe’s impending nuptials, get physically ready for the nursery fundraiser, and hopefully shed some pounds in the process. Who said multi-tasking was a myth?

It had been too long since she’d done any more exercise than a walk around the corner to the local bar, or the few steps across the road to Chloe’s flat. One quick reaffirming sniff of Ollie’s T-shirt for good luck, then she’d start.

Oh, the smell wasn’t there any more. Well, his special smell wasn’t there, just a faint scent of laundry and aged cotton. Kind of musty. Ollie had never smelt musty; he’d smelt vibrant and strong and alive and of grass and builder’s dust and soap and sex and of them.

There was a little ping in her heart. Bit by bit, she was losing him. She’d tried to keep the memories fresh, like her flowers, watering them regularly by looking at her photos and the DVD of their wedding, but it was hard. She was beginning to forget what he looked like. She tried to conjure up his face in her head and had to admit it was fading—there were parts of him she couldn’t imagine any more.

Ollie, I’m sorry about mooning over Nick. And there she was still talking to him and expecting an answer.

‘Morning, Jenna!’

‘Oh! You made me jump. Morning, Jasper! Lizzie!’ Waving at her neighbours who were also up at ridiculous o’clock, she leaned against the wall and stretched out her left calf. It was time to put everything aside and focus on staying alive for the next few minutes.

Normally she loved this time of the day; it reminded her of when she was doing her floristry training and went to the wholesalers before the sun rose. There was a feeling of excitement and optimism in the air, a fresh start and a new beginning. Like yesterday? Hmmm. A better beginning than that.

There were others up and about too; the stall holders were starting to arrive. The sun was warm enough to heat her skin, but not too hot to move fast in. Well, move slightly faster than she usually did. Someone ran by in a blur of air, nearly knocking her off balance. Then another. And another.

‘Whoa! Where’s the fire?’ she called after the third one, who was disappearing around a corner. Was it a cop chase or something? She turned to see if there were police officers waving truncheons anywhere, but realised the runners were really just that. Runners. Who would have thought there would be more than her out there doing this?

And why, oh why, did the thought of cops immediately lead her thought process directly to Nick? Especially when she had so much else to think about. But there he’d been yesterday, so beautiful and kind and helpful, and then so… gone. She’d spent the evening cleaning up and prepping for today. After getting Evie to bed, she’d lain awake wondering if he’d managed to get that boy to the centre safely.

Whether he was safe.

Whether he’d be safe in his new job.

That was what having a husband go and die unexpectedly on you did—it made you anxious about everyone else. Because things happened. Shit happened.

Right. She was going to exercise him out of her head. Or exorcise, whatever worked.

The WalkRun app on her phone said to start with a brisk walk. Three lampposts. Then, when she felt a bit more warmed up, she should try for a short run. Her legs were not used to this, neither were her lungs. The top of her thighs were rubbing like sandpaper already. Her boobs kept popping up out of her lost-its-will-to-live sports bra, and her lungs were on fire.

Two lampposts running. Three walking. Two running. One where she staggered and bent to stop the sharp pain in her right side.

This was hard.

She stopped for a minute outside her shop and looked at the lovely white-themed window display. If she survived this torture, she’d be back here in a couple of hours, turning the OPEN sign and keeping extra vigilant for anyone with an eye on her jewellery display. And, hopefully, making her first million.

Right. Back to running. Chloe’s wedding. And Vaughn’s too. Yes, she couldn’t get all rolled up in just the bride; this was a day for both of them. So she’d need a caterer better at cooking than the award winning chef groom—difficult and very expensive. Flowers were a no brainer. Something soft. Something carefree and in season. Long stemmed. Sunflowers, maybe? Tied with pretty ribbons or rustic twine. Nothing that could be used as a weapon.

Lamppost!

She almost hugged it as she reached it, then started to slow to a fast walk.

There was a river of sweat down her back, her thighs were now on the verge of bleeding and she was starting to think that death may be preferable.

‘Jenna? Jenna, is that you?’

‘Ugh.’ That voice. Of course. Nick. Why wouldn’t he be out here at this time in the morning? She turned around, trying to tug the bra back down over her boobs without him noticing, and sucked in her stomach, which still had her baby wobble very much in evidence. She gave up with the shorts; one leg seemed to have been sucked up into her groin and she could hardly start trying to pick it out in front of him. Instead of coming to a halt, he fell into step with her, so she had no choice but to up the pace to running. Staggering. If she hadn’t already been gasping, just seeing him out in a white T-shirt that hugged his body, grey/black Nike running shorts and a little hint of exercise fatigue would have whipped her breath away anyway. ‘H… h… hi.’

She tried to find more words, and breathe, to explain why she was out here doing this instead of being tucked up in bed, where she would give her right leg to be at this moment. She didn’t have the energy to play it cool; she could barely put one foot in front of the other.

He grinned. There was a fine sheen on his skin, a glow. Golden. Damn it. Why was he so bloody good looking? He pointed at her bun, which she’d scrunched up on the top of her head but could feel straggly bits had worked free. On anyone else, it would be cute ringlets framing their face, but on her they were just stuck to the sides of her head with sweat. ‘I thought it was you. It’s the hair….’

‘Mess?’ She patted her hair, trying to bouffant it up a little and refused to take even a tiny glance at her reflection in the shop window they were passing, because she couldn’t bear having her mental image of cute ringlets blown just yet.

Now he was running backwards and talking to her. She’d been so right when she’d told Chloe he wouldn’t be interested in her, not when he’d been surrounded by those amazing women soldiers who were fit and fighters and probably confident and the opposite of how she felt. He grinned and pointed to her head, to the ringlets. ‘No. The red. No one has hair like you.’

‘The Celtic curse, you mean?’ The bane of her life growing up, but now she was quite proud of it. It wasn’t orange ginger, and definitely not strawberry blonde. It was deep red, no hint of blonde, no evidence of brown. She’d been told it was like her dad’s, but as she’d never met him, she didn’t know. It certainly wasn’t like her mum’s or Chloe’s dirty blonde. ‘Just about half… of Ireland and… most of… Scotland.’

‘Oh. Okay.’ He frowned. ‘Is that where you’re from?’

‘Have you heard my mum… speak? The whole… po-lice… thing.’ It was easier to say single words than try a whole sentence. Or say nothing at all, but that would be all kinds of weird. ‘Yep. Both. Parents. Irish.’

He looked a bit puzzled at her speech pattern but just smiled. ‘I’ve never seen you out this early before. I didn’t realise you ran.’

I don’t. ‘This…? Oh? Fun… Run…’

‘Running’s fun?’ He frowned, looking even more confused, probably because she didn’t look like she was having fun, more like she was about to fall over or start crawling. Or just lie down in the foetal position.

‘No! Not fun.’ That came out too vehemently on a rush of air. She gulped in more. And more. And more. Her head was starting to feel a bit weird. Light and woozy. Not because she ‘fancied him’ woozy, more because she was ‘about to die’ woozy. And she needed to wee. Like badly. Childbirth had not been kind to her pelvic floor. ‘I mean… not really.’

‘You want to stop then?’

‘No.’ I want to die. Actually, pee first, then die. Yes, she did want to stop, but stopping would mean she’d have to admit to him how crap she truly was at this. Why couldn’t he have caught her in the act of arranging a fabulous bouquet, or being silly with her daughter, or on the PTA taking no crap from the snooty mothers? Why couldn’t he have caught her doing something she was good at? She slowed right down. Couldn’t breathe. Actually, she really couldn’t breathe. ‘Okay. Let’s stop.’

‘Whoa, you look a bit weird.’ His hand went to her back and he rubbed, the way she’d rubbed Evie’s back yesterday just after the upchuck. She didn’t want to think about that while he was touching her. His voice was soothing. ‘Okay. Breathe. Breathe. Slowly.’ He met her gaze. Those brown eyes shimmering with concern, he lifted his hand away. ‘Okay. Feel better?’

‘Yes. I think so.’

‘You had me worried for a minute there. Good thing I have my first aid badge.’ He grinned. He really did not realise quite how close to dying she actually was. ‘So you’re running…?’

‘I’m training… for a sponsored… fun run for… Evie’s nursery.’ Fun run. If ever there was a misnomer, that was it. Breathe. Breathe. Breathe. ‘They’re fundraising for more outdoor play equipment.’

‘Sounds great. When is it?’

She hauled in more air, wondering whether she should fake life-threatening shortness of breath and have his hand on her again. Then she remembered she wasn’t going there with him. ‘Five weeks. You should sign up. We need all the money we can get. Please? You’d smash it, no problem.’

‘Maybe.’ He shrugged, giving nothing away.

There was this thing going on with Nick that she’d noticed; he was lovely and kind and polite and enthusiastic, yet there was a hesitancy. He held back—even scrambled backwards sometimes—almost as if he realised he was getting too comfortable and relaxing, and then tried to lever himself out of situations. Last night he’d grabbed the chance to take that boy to the homeless centre. Right now he was trying hard not to commit to a charity event.

Or maybe it was just how he acted with her. Maybe he was just polite and non-committal with her. Maybe he genuinely did think she looked weird and needed oxygen or something, like someone ill that he needed to help, someone just a little bit pathetic.

Ugh. Pity friendship. She certainly didn’t need that. ‘No problem. Well, I won’t keep you from your run.’

He frowned, seemingly picking up on her descending mood. ‘Oh, okay. Yes. I’m just doing a short circuit up to Notting Hill Gate and back round down Holland Park Avenue today.’

That was almost too far to drive. She couldn’t run it, not ever and certainly not with him; then he’d really see how crap she was. ‘Well, I’d love to join you but I have to get back. My schedule’s all over the place, what with the shop and Evie’s nursery and stuff. Just a short one today too. It’s hard to make myself a priority.’

‘You should do.’

‘Why? Do I look that bad?’

He recoiled, eyes wide. ‘No. I just meant—shit, that sounded bad. I just meant you’re so busy all the time, you should try to carve some time out for yourself or you’ll burn out. And if getting fit is what you want to do, then you should do that. Or sit and watch Netflix and eat chocolate. Whatever you want.’

She looked at the wobble and the dimples and wanted to die right there on the spot. Netflix and chocolate were the highlights of her day. Every day. If she wanted to make a wild night of it, she added in wine, but just the one glass in case Evie woke in the middle of the night. ‘Because I look like I do that anyway?’

He stopped walking and looked at her. ‘Wow, that was not what I meant. You’re really beat up about this, Jenna.’

She swiped the back of her arm across her sticky forehead and put paid to the whole ringlet fantasy completely, as the loose locks from the right side of her head plastered themselves first across her forehead and then over to the left—a combover made from sweat. Kill me now. ‘I’m fine.’

‘No, you’re not fine. You’re on edge, and that’s not like you. Did I do something wrong?’

‘No.’ If you didn’t count taking his hand off her back, or the sharp barb that now, once oxygen was getting back to her brain, didn’t seem like a barb at all. Had he learnt how to read people in the army? She imagined so, because when she’d known him at school, he hadn’t seemed particularly intuitive. Truth be told, she hadn’t known him well; he’d always been in a different group.

They’d only got to know each other better because of a chance meeting she’d had with his mum who’d told her Nick had joined the army. Jenna had sent him an email at his mother’s suggestion, because he liked to hear about the normal things back home. That had turned into hundreds of emails between them over the years. He probably knew her better than most people ever had. It had felt safe telling him all her emotions and private thoughts when they’d had distance—he’d been a sounding post and a confidante. Not so now. Now, he was a threat to her equilibrium. ‘No, I’m sorry. It just came out wrong.’

‘I’ll think about the fun run, honestly.’ His eyebrows rose and he shrugged. ‘It’s just that I don’t know anyone who’d sponsor me. I’m the new guy here, but I’ll ask around at work. There must be someone who believes I can run five kilometres.’

‘Oh God, I never thought.’ Now she felt bad about jumping to conclusions. Served her right for second-guessing him, for thinking he had motives that she was clearly misreading. ‘No, it’s not that. Not at all.’

‘Then what’s bugging you, because something’s not right?’

The other thing about Nick was, even though she knew he held himself back, he had a way of making you want to confide in him. He was gentle and assertive and asked questions with just the right tone. ‘Well, the truth is, I don’t run. Never. Ever. Look at me. Really. I’m a size fourteen on a good day. I’m only twenty-six and my boobs are heading south already. Yep, I know. Too much information.’ The lack of oxygen to her brain was giving her verbal diarrhoea. ‘But I really, really want to do something about it. I want to be fitter and healthier and a good role model for my daughter. I’ve got a training plan. It’s day one.’

‘Hey, you’re doing great. Honestly.’ He smiled and his gaze ran over her body, and she wished it wouldn’t take so long because there was so much of it. ‘Okay, you do look a bit red-faced. But that’s because you’re out here instead of staying in bed, which is more than most people, and you’re doing… what was it you were doing exactly?’

So he’d seen her staggering to the lamppost. ‘Walk-running. It’s a thing. I have an app and it’s promised me I’ll be able to go from Netflix and chocolate to running five kilometres in nine weeks. But what with the shop opening and everything, I’m four weeks late getting started. It’s early days. Well, the first one.’

‘Then you did good even getting out of bed. Step by step, day by day, mile by mile.’

‘Good mantra, you could apply it to anything, I guess. Did you learn it in the army? Is that what you say when you’re all running together? Like…’ She started to chant, ‘I don’t know, but it’s been said, step by step and day by day?’

His mouth thinned to a line. ‘No. Sorry to disappoint, but it’s Whitney Houston. Stop laughing. It’s very profound.’

She tried to imagine him in his combat uniform, hiding from the heat of the desert, under canvas, lying on a camp bed listening to The Bodyguard soundtrack, and failed. He was much more the heavy rock type. ‘I just can’t see you listening to Whitney.’

‘One of my love-sick squaddies played her over and over and over in the barracks until we made him stop. Don’t tell anyone I know the words, okay?’ He laughed and his eyes sparked, and she wanted to just stand here bathed in his gaze forever. ‘It doesn’t go with the macho soldier image. We’re all tough on the outside, but marshmallow soft on the inside.’

Which was something she really didn’t want to know. ‘I can tell. You were so nice to that kid last night. But if you were in the army for so long, why do you have to re-train all over again to be a police officer? Surely you have some pretty specialised skills they could use? Wouldn’t you have just been a shoo-in for a top job?’

‘Everyone has to go through basic training. Once that’s all done and I’ve done time on the beat, I’ll have more options and may even fast track into something more specialised. But, to be honest, I’m fine with that right now. I’ve a lot to learn.’

‘Isn’t it boring compared to what you’re used to?’

‘Not at all. No two days are the same, and I’m learning so much. No tents. No desert. No mess food. You have no idea how good that is. And I come home to my own bed every night.’

‘Talking of beds, how did you get on last night with Tyler?’

‘Not bad. St Catherine’s had a bed for him, and I made sure he had a good meal inside him before I left.’

‘That was above and beyond the call of duty.’

‘Maybe. Without good guidance, any of us could end up like that. I tried to get him to phone his mum in Manchester and get some help, but he wouldn’t. I ended up giving him my phone number too. For emergencies.’ He leaned against the lamppost, arms crossed across his chest, which she chose not to notice was broad and strong, and that, with his arms crossed and buff like that she could see biceps she wanted to touch. She’d also have preferred it if he’d had big drips of perspiration on his face, or the slightest deep breathing. But no dice.

‘Would you help him if he asked?’ She started to walk again, noting that time was ticking on and she needed to get home to properly start her day. Although, there was something extra nice about being here with Nick when the rest of the world was still tucked up in bed, as if they were stealing precious moments together. She just wished there was a loo nearby, and then she’d enjoy the conversation a whole lot more.

Of course Nick didn’t look as if he was suffering bladder issues; he just carried on smiling and talking and moving like a highly toned athlete. ‘Kids like that have to be ready to accept help. I can just steer him in the right direction for help and advice, if he wants it. Trust comes easily to some people, while others just learn the hard way to keep to themselves.’

Something in his tone made her think he wasn’t just talking about the boy. She didn’t want to pry further as to what that meant, although she imagined it had something to do with his ex and the baby story. They’d reached the lamppost she’d identified as the last one before she turned around and headed back home. She tagged it and then turned. ‘It’s good of you.’

He was still in step with her, copied her tagging action as if it was a perfectly natural thing to do, and turned with her instead of heading on up the hill towards Notting Hill Gate. ‘Actually, the boy seemed to take a real shine to Vaughn, not me. I think he was angling for a job, said he used to do the washing up in a cafe where his mum worked, before the step-dad threw him out.’

‘Poor kid.’ Her family may have been annoying and made her feel a little claustrophobic at times, and sure, they’d had their ups and downs, but she’d never ever imagined what life would have been like without them.

Nick nodded. ‘Of course, he could have been spinning us a line just to get sympathy.’

‘Well, if he was, that’s just fine. I didn’t want any drama on my first day.’

‘Yes, I’d say you achieved that. No drama at all, what with the attempted theft and the shoe vomit and the cupcake make-up.’ His mouth twitched; then he tipped his head back and laughed. It was lovely, a mellow rumble yet so full of life. It transformed him; his eyes crinkled and he seemed younger and less care-worn. Less wary. It had been so long since she’d heard that kind of male rumble of laughter that her body prickled all over with something long forgotten.

Or was it just that it was Nick’s laugh that made her body prickle all over?

No. She wasn’t going to let that happen. She took a couple of deep breaths. ‘I hope that journalist doesn’t print photos of me with lavender cream all over my face. I’ll be the laughingstock of the market. You think the opening was entertaining? Just stick with me, matey, and you’ll see just how good things can get.’

Oops. Did that sound like a come-on? She felt her cheeks heat. If she wasn’t careful, what with the running and her embarrassment, and yes, okay—the lust—she was highly likely to spontaneously combust any moment. More mess for his shoes. ‘I mean…. I didn’t mean…. Don’t think….’

He pulled up to a halt, suddenly serious. ‘Think what, Jenna?’

‘Nothing. Sorry. I don’t want you to think—’ She stopped too. Thank God. Her bladder and her lungs were battling out as to who was hurting the most. Right now they were neck and neck, and she couldn’t think straight. Her words were coming out all wrong.

His eyes caught hers, the dark coffee pupils were flecked with gold. But he stopped laughing and the gold fired a little. ‘Think what, Jenna?’

‘That I want… you know… that I think we should… that I—’ God. Could she get any more tongue-tied? How did you tell a friend you just needed them to be a friend? Did you even have to say those words, or was it just mutually assumed? Was she overthinking? Yes. A friend knew when they were just a friend; you didn’t have to say it out loud. ‘Nothing. Geez, time’s ticking on. I really have to go. And you should finish your run before you start to get stiff.’ Ahem. Had she really just said that? Out loud?

‘Sorry?’ He blinked.

‘I mean… well, you know what I mean. Muscles… and things. You know, legs.’

‘Legs. Yes. I’m all for stopping stiff legs.’ He gave her a strange look and shook his head as if flicking away a stray thought, and the smile snuck its way back on to his face. A bit cheeky, a lot of tease, and just seeing it made Jenna’s tummy contract. He checked his watch. ‘You’re right. I should go. I’ve got to finish the run then get organised for a late shift. Great to see you. Keep going with the training, you’ll get there. You can do anything you set your mind to, Jenna Cassidy-Pearce.’

‘Oh.’ What a lovely, friendly thing to say. He believed in her. Wow. He believed in her. ‘Thank you.’

He leaned forwards and pressed a kiss to her cheek. Vaughn would have done it. Jason used to do it when he was engaged to Chloe. It wasn’t anything. It meant nothing. But when he pulled back and she looked into those eyes again, the warmth had flashes of heat there.

Or it could have been her imagination. He’d said in his emails from the Middle East that his ex had destroyed his faith in love and trust. There was nothing he’d said since that made her think he’d changed his mind.

In that respect, they were poles apart; he didn’t believe in love and she knew it existed. She’d lived it, breathed it and lost it all in a few short years. She also knew she’d never have a second chance at it; just couldn’t open herself up to that kind of pain potential. There was no way she could survive that kind of loss again.

So it was brutally unfair that she was having all these strange feelings prickling all over her skin. She pressed her hand to her cheek, still feeling the heat of his lips on her skin. Then she wiped it away. Friendly, nothing more.

‘See you! Happy running!’ She turned to go up her road, wanting so much to look back and watch him power his way up the hill. To watch the push and pull of his muscles, the easy way he moved. Just to look at him, because… because.

Because looking at him made her heart thrum and her skin tingle and her hormones fizz.

But she forced herself to focus on getting home. There was a child who needed sorting out, a business to run, a family to soothe, a wedding to plan. All the things that would fill her head and, hopefully, push Nick Welsh and his glorious body out of it.

All that, and the fact she really, really did need the loo.