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‘Ogle?’ I say on a little laugh, ignoring the fact that I have also definitely been ogling. He’s rather easy to ogle. And there’s a lot to ogle, too. ‘He should wear a T-shirt when he’s shopping for groceries,’ I mutter stupidly, earning a well-deserved snort of disgust from Brianna. ‘Who is he, anyway?’
‘Ryan Willis. And he’s the only beautiful thing around these parts, so don’t say silly things like he should wear a T-shirt when he’s shopping.’ Suddenly her eyes widen, and she’s looking at me for the first time since I arrived at the checkout.
I’m about to ask her what’s up when a basket lands on the counter beside me with a thud. I startle a little and snap my mouth shut, watching as Brianna virtually melts all over her till.
‘Hi, Ryan,’ she coos, her head tilting, her eyelashes fluttering. He’s a step behind me, and I can’t seem to see him no matter how much I strain my peripheral vision. So I check out his basket instead. Sparkling water. Beers. Milk. Bread. My forehead wrinkles. Ice cream? His big hand wraps around the tub of Chunky Monkey, and I see him move forward. Unable to stop myself, I peek up, having to go past his sweaty chest as I do. Our eyes meet. His face is stoic. My blood heats.
‘Hi,’ he says, his voice as rough as I remember. Gravelly. Low. Manly.
I stare at him like a freak, stuck for words. And struck by the sheer magnificence of the man before me. I blink and quickly swing my eyes to Brianna. ‘Thanks,’ I squeak, dragging my bag off the counter and making a swift exit. I’m sweaty now, too, and I pull at the front of my dress to circulate some air. For God’s sake.
‘You forgot your croissant,’ he calls, and I freeze by the door, my grip tightening around the handle as I close my eyes and fight to get some stability into my voice.
‘You can have it.’ Pulling the door open, I hurry out of the shop and scuttle back to my shop, cursing myself the whole way. You can have it? What the hell is he going to do with a half-eaten pastry? ‘Urhhh.’ I drop my head back as I traipse down the street. I’m pathetic. Say hello. That’s all I needed to do. Smile. Be polite.
Having a stern word with myself, I let myself into my shop, going straight to the kitchen to mix up more paint. You can have it? I slam the door of the cupboard hard and slap my palm into my forehead. Lame, Hannah. So damn lame. The man must think I’m a total weirdo. And I hate that.
I have no idea how, but I make it to Molly’s before she leaves for work at eight, and thankfully all the paints are still in their containers. Mrs Hatt was kind enough to point the way when I passed on foot, and I found Molly’s little cottage set back from the road with ease. She’s eternally grateful as I stack the pots on the side while she gets her coat on, showing her all the colours before apologizing for leaving it so late.
‘Oh, please, Hannah. You’ve saved my skin.’ She throws her arms around me and squeezes, and I can’t deny it feels good. There’s just something so warm about Molly. ‘We must do drinks tomorrow night.’
‘Sure.’ I accept easily. Because . . . why not? ‘I’d love that.’
‘Give me your number.’
‘Oh yes.’ I pull out my phone from my pocket.
‘Jesus!’ Molly blurts. ‘Are you planning on murdering someone with that thing?’
‘What thing?’
She laughs and takes my mobile from my grasp, turning it in her hand. ‘It’s a brick.’
‘It makes calls and receives texts.’ I shrug. ‘That’s all I need it for.’
‘And could be used as a lethal weapon.’
I chuckle, because she’s right, and snatch it back playfully. ‘Take it easy on the phone. What’s your number?’ She reels it off, and I call her so she has mine. ‘Done.’
‘Seven tomorrow at the pub?’
Perfect. I know I’ll need a drink tomorrow evening, something to take my mind off the predictable low mood I’ll be in after my usual Saturday morning since I moved to Hampton three weeks ago. ‘See you there.’ After checking that her dog is fine, I leave Molly searching for her work bag and wander down her cobbled footpath to the pavement. I pull the gate shut behind me and stare up the street, seeing the start of the dirt road in the distance. That track road led me to somewhere unfamiliar last night. Not just unfamiliar surroundings, but unfamiliar feelings.
It’s been years since I’ve looked at a man in that way. But something about Ryan Willis didn’t give me much choice. He was worried about me – a woman he doesn’t know. He cared that I was hurt. He tried to help, to make it better. And while bamboozling me with his attention, he knocked me back with his rugged handsomeness, too. He’s a nice guy. A stand-up, decent man.
