Page 73 of The Bookshop By the Loch

His sitting room consisted of a hexagonal black and glass coffee table and a charcoal leather sofa and two chairs, decorated with zebra-striped cushions. A bookcase ran the far length of the sitting room wall, housing everything from a Lewis Hamilton biography to Ken Follet.

The kitchen was similar in style, black and chrome with a dark rattan blind at the window. There was trendy cutlery, beside which sat another Guardians of the Galaxy mug and an Iron Man mobile phone holder in the corner.

Tobias must have caught me smiling. “I’m a bit of a Marvel geek,” he confessed with a sudden, shy blush. “Star Lord is one of my heroes.”

I struggled not to imagine Tobias looking sexy in a leather jacket, boots and tight jeans like Chris Pratt. I batted the pictures away. “I can understand why. Those films have a fantastic soundtrack.”

I also noticed further down the hall, a framed print of a Ghost rock album. He caught me admiring it. “I’m a big fan,” he smiled, gesturing to the picture. “I love listening to their music when I’m painting.”

“Me too,” I said. “Well, when I’m editing. And I thought you might be. I remember you wearing one of their T-shirts.” Bugger! My cheeks zinged. He’d be thinking I was some sort of stalker!

I started to burble on about “Spillways”, “Dance Macabre” and “Call Me Little Sunshine”, explaining they were three of my favourite tracks of theirs.

“You’ve excellent taste. All great, but I love “Darkness at the Heart of my Love”. There’s something mystical and sexy about it.”

Tobias’s fingers brushed against my shoulders as he took my jacket and hung it up on one of the pegs in his hallway.

I could feel him studying me, so I kept my attention focused on one of the far kitchen windows, which overlooked one of the country roads out of Bracken Way, with fields sandwiched beside it and clusters of hedges.

Next to the kitchen, was what looked like a makeshift art studio, containing an easel, paint palettes, pots of brushes and various canvases. Some were blank, screaming to be painted on, while others carried almost completed pieces or works that had just been started; ghostly traces of silhouettes and features I could just make out, in faint pencil.

Odd boxes sat around, waiting to be unpacked and there were a couple of paintings lying against the magnolia wall in the hallway, poised for hanging. The apartment carried an air of newness and expectancy.

Tobias concocted a delicious stir fry infused with juicy chicken strips, slices of glossy red and yellow peppers and crunchy beansprouts. The sauce he created, dashed with a tangy hint of pineapple, enhanced it even more.

Across his marbled breakfast bar, we discussed everything over dinner, from how he got into painting in the first place (he trained at the Edinburgh School of Art and then Glasgow Art School) to my struggle to get a foot into the publishing industry.

He twinkled across at me, watching my mouth as we talked and it had all been so natural; we weren’t dancing around each other anymore, but both able to let our guards down and behave how we wanted to.

I realised I didn’t want to tear my eyes away from him.

His deep laugh; his dry delivery when he was telling a joke; the way his curls skimmed his shoulders; how he reached up with his long fingers and tucked his hair back behind his ears. Sitting there right now across from me, he reminded me of a sexy pirate.

Oh God.

I snatched up my glass of crisp white wine, buried my face in it and took a mouthful.

Tobias tipped his head to one side. “If someone had said to me a few weeks ago that we’d be sitting having dinner together like this, I wouldn’t have believed them.”

“No, me neither. Pistols at dawn, more like.”

I watched him push his fork around his plate, before setting it down again. “Lexie, I know I often come across as a morose sod, but I want you to know something.” He trained his mesmerising green stare on me again. “I’ve been thinking about you a lot. Far more than I should.”

I gripped the stem of my wine glass tighter.

Had I just imagined him saying that? Was I willing him to say it and he hadn’t? Worried that I might snap it or injure myself on the wine glass, I set it straight down again by the side of my plate. “You’ve been thinking about me?”

“Yes.”

My heart galloped harder. I had to make a decision here. Was I going to take a step over the cliff or was I going to just stand there and admire the spectacular view?

Because I’d put so much time and energy into trying to advance my publishing career, I’d chosen not to get involved with anyone. I hadn’t been interested. The risk of being let down too, by someone I loved, wasn’t something I relished. Nobody seemed worth taking the chance on. I felt it was safer for me to fall in love with the heroes in my author’s books and that meant I could focus on promotion.

But now, sitting here now on this Monday evening in June, with the dreamy sun cascading in through his kitchen window, this seemed to slot together like the last pieces of a puzzle that I had been struggling to make sense of.

I took another gulp of my wine and discovered my voice. “And if I’m being honest, I’ve been thinking about you a lot too.”

Tobias’s eyes glittered. “That’s a relief. I was beginning to worry then.”