Page 139 of Secret Paths

Mandy keeps her eyes ahead, chin lifted, colour high in her cheeks. She is not hiding. She is not laughing it off. She is walking beside me through the middle of St Claire with her hand in mine.

That is enough to make something inside me go quiet.

We pass the book stall, now reduced to three boxes and a pile of unsold thrillers. We pass the cake stand, where all that is left are crumbs. Luke is near the tea tent, helping stack chairs. He sees us, smiles once, then has the sense not to shout.

Mrs Higgins is sitting in her folding chair with Bernard at her feet.

She sees our joined hands.

Her smile is small and devastating.

Mandy narrows her eyes slightly. “Do not look that pleased, Mrs Higgins.”

“I am doing nothing of the sort, love.”

Bernard gives a sharp bark, then attempts to drag his lead towards a dropped napkin near the cake table.

“Leave it,” Mrs Higgins tells him. “You do not need paper.”

Bernard looks unconvinced.

Mandy laughs under her breath, and her hand tightens around mine.

She slows, then comes to a stop.

I stop beside her.

For a moment, neither of us says anything. The bunting stirs overhead and voices drift across the green from the stalls behind us.

Then Mandy turns to face me.

There is fear in her expression, but something else is stronger.

She reaches up and touches my jaw, her thumb brushing once over the edge of my beard.

“I do not want to disappear into someone else’s life,” she says quietly.

“You won’t.”

Her eyes hold mine. “I know that now.”

Those words mean so much more than any promise she could have made.

My throat tightens.

“Mandy.”

She rises onto her toes and kisses me.

In daylight.

In the middle of the harvest festival. Again. Just in case not everyone has seen us the first time round.

Not quickly. Not as a joke. Not with one eye on who might be watching.

Her mouth is warm and sure on mine, and for one heartbeat I am too stunned to move. Then my hand settles at her waist, and I kiss her back.

The noise around us blurs. The stalls, the grass, the church tower, the damp bunting. Everything narrows to her fingers against my jaw and the soft pressure of her body leaning into mine.