Page 43 of The Cotswolds Christmas Fair

She nodded. Still smiling. ‘Uh-huh. Yes, let’s . . .’

And so they moved on, through room after beautiful room of the gallery, standing among hushed visitors, staring at paintings Jen didn’t understand. His arm stayed at her waist the whole time, his eyes finding hers at every opportunity. She felt that, now they had touched, they would never let each other go.

After the gallery they went for dinner, and after dinner, drinks. Jen couldn’t eat; her stomach was fizzing with excitement, and a small amount of fear. Because, as they leaned in to each other, hands touching, heads touching, sharing pieces of themselves, she knew that this was something different. Something she hadn’t felt in years, hadn’t let herself feel, and there was still a part of her that didn’t want to let herself open up to it. She knew what it was to need someone and then be abandoned by them, and she had little faith in true love; sure, her friends and sister had optimistically tied the knot, but only time would tell whether they’d be unscathed by that decision.

But she couldn’t help herself. She found herself pouring out her stories, the good and the bad, while Anthony listened, his gorgeous eyes on her. He laughed as she told him about the cute things Amy and George had done, and he told her about how his nieces liked to put his hair in ribbons and paint his nails.

‘I’m sure you look very pretty,’ she said, laughing.

‘You know what? I do.’ He took a sip of whisky, averting his eyes. ‘Maybe one day you’ll get to see.’

She shrugged, secretly thrilled at the idea of becoming such a part of his life. ‘I don’t know, you might be prettier than me, not sure I’d like that!’

He smiled. ‘Not possible.’ Gently, he ran his finger over her wrist, and she felt her skin prickle in response. ‘You planning to stay with your sister a while?’ He bounced his leg under the table and smiled a little sheepishly. ‘Because my mum might need looking after for a bit and . . . I’m trying to be casual about it, but careful how you answer. I might be more invested than I let on.’

Her heart melted that he would put his feelings out there like this. She sighed. ‘I don’t know. I mean, I hadn’t expected to, but now, I might. For – for a number of reasons.’

Staying in Babblebrook had never been a long-term plan; Jen had a real life waiting for her, she had bills to pay. Thank God the savings she’d set aside for her annual December escape to the sun were seeing her through. For now.

She laid her hand on his firm thigh, and he grinned, nodding and taking another sip of his drink. ‘Oh yeah, I know. Your niece and nephew, right?’

She smiled. ‘Exactly.’

‘That’s what I thought.’

‘But you know, things with Julia are a bit – we have a bit of history that’s . . . not good, so—’

He said nothing for a moment, and she felt the sympathy in his eyes. ‘Families can be tough.’

‘Yeah, and it – it was a long time ago now, and she has said she’s sorry. She’s said it a lot, actually.’ She thought of all the messages and voicemails and cards over the years. ‘And some of my friends – well, one really, my friend Ted – I know he thinks I should forgive her and move on, but . . . it’s not so easy.’

‘Hey,’ he said, taking her hand in his and gently playing with her fingers. ‘She hurt you, right? You’re not obliged to make her feel better about it.’

This was exactly what she wanted to hear, and she let the validation overtake the niggling of guilt in the pit of her stomach. Overwhelmed, she excused herself to visit the bathroom.

Staring at her face in the mirror as she retouched her make-up, her soft auburn curls and brown eyes so similar to Julia’s, she felt a longing for the days before everything had turned sour, not just between the sisters, but also between their parents.

Once, she would have shared every detail of what happened between her and Anthony with Julia. The loss of that closeness hit her like a punch, bringing tears to her newly mascaraed eyes. She longed to rush back to Railway Cottages, to drag Julia to the sofa and unpick everything Anthony had said and done with her over a cup of tea or, preferably, a glass of wine. Julia would giggle and her eyes would flash with vicarious excitement, she would want every detail of Anthony’s sharp cheekbones and strong arms. She would know whether he was trustworthy. She could tell Jen whether this was real, whether she should let herself dare believe in it.

She had known before, hadn’t she.

Jen blinked at her reflection, saw for one awful moment the girl she’d been then staring back at her, bewildered and broken.

She shook herself, wiped her eyes and straightened her skirt. She wasn’t that girl now. She was on a date with a gorgeous, free-spirited man who believed she was creative and brave and special. Everything she so badly wanted to be. So she would bloody well go out there and be those things for him.

He was writing when she returned, so intent on his notebook that he didn’t see her until she was almost at the table. He looked up, smiling, and flipped the page over so that the lines he’d filled were hidden.

‘Don’t let me stop you,’ she said, sliding into the seat next to him. ‘I wouldn’t want to get in the way of a genius at work.’

He pulled a face. ‘No danger of that here, and there’s nothing wrong with stopping an idiot at play.’ He smiled.

‘I’m sure it’s brilliant,’ she said, and she was. ‘What are you working on?’

‘Oh.’ He screwed up his face, shifting uncomfortably. ‘Just some nonsense.’

She didn’t push it. He’d show her when he was ready.

‘I do have something you can see, though.’ He flicked through the book which, from what Jen could see as she glimpsed the pages rapidly turning, was filled with doodles, poems, snippets of writing and pages of text. At last he came to a page with a pencil drawing and, as he held it out to her, Jen saw it was a portrait of herself in profile, looking down, her curls falling softly over her shoulders and her eyelashes resting on her cheek.