Page 50 of Not Just for Christmas

He reached a hand to my cheek, and I held my breath as his fingers grazed my skin.

‘Stuck in your hair,’ he said, pulling a piece of straw from my curls and holding it up to show me.

‘Thanks,’ I said shakily.

I needed to get a grip of myself. I might have been starved of a man’s touch for a long time, but the fizzing in my stomach every time we brushed against each other was ridiculous. I was worse than a teenager.

‘Sam was very glad you were able to come,’ I said, avoiding his eye. ‘And apologies again that he ended up in your bed last night. He hasn’t done that for a while.’

‘I liked it,’ he said with a shrug. ‘The dog, not so much.’

‘Gus too? Again?’ I gasped. ‘OK, Mr Popular, don’t rub it in. While I lay alone in my bed, missing out on the fun.’

His lips twitched. ‘So next time I should invite you to join us?’

‘Very funny.’ This heavy work was making me feel warm. I took off my hat and shoved it in my pocket.

‘So.’ Dylan peeled off his coat and slung it over the metal barrier, clearly also feeling the heat. ‘Tell me about Nick.’

I puffed out my cheeks. ‘Not much to tell. His kid goes to the same school as Sam. We’re just friends.’

‘Good,’ he said almost under his breath.

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ I flicked a glance at him. ‘Am I not allowed to meet men?’

‘No, good that, that …’ Dylan extracted a tissue from his pocket and blew his nose. ‘That you’re not locking yourself away. That you’re getting out, meeting new people. It’s a positive thing. I want you to be happy.’

‘Oh right, I see.’ It was ridiculous of me, but for some reason I felt a twinge of disappointment that he didn’t seem bothered that I appeared to be moving on from Jack.

‘I thought I might drive down to the beach later, I miss the ocean. Want to come?’ he asked.

‘Too busy.’ I handed him one bucket of feed and then, beginning at opposite ends of the row, we doled out the grain to the eager calves.

‘How about lunchtime? You take a break then, right? We can take a flask of soup with us, like we used to.’

He held my gaze and a look of understanding passed between us. A memory of the three of us doing exactly that flashed into my mind. Jack, him and me, in wetsuits, sitting on a blanket, huddled under fleeces after surfing.

‘It’s a nice idea, but I can’t spare the time today. Actually,’ I turned away so he couldn’t see my expression. ‘I don’t go to the beach much these days.’

‘What?’ He froze, and I could feel his eyes boring into the back of my head. ‘But you love the beach.’

‘Don’t let me stop you, though. Go for it. So tell me about the world of Dylan Wilde,’ I said, before he could probe any further. ‘What’s going on with you?’

He hesitated as if unsure whether to press me more on the beach thing, but clearly decided against it. ‘Well, I’m working on a new album.’

‘Exciting, what’s it like?’

‘Right now?’ He clenched his jaw, shaking his head. ‘Missing one great song, and for some reason, I can’t seem to write one. Everything I come up with sounds bland and clichéd.’

‘When do you need to write it by?’ I asked.

‘I’m supposed to be recording it in January. And then …’ He finished his sentence with a shrug. ‘I’m not sure what. Composing, writing lyrics, has been my way of processing things. And I used to love performing, but I’m not sure it’s enough anymore.’ He glanced at me and then away again and I heard a sigh under his breath.

‘Fancy buying a farm instead?’ I said.

‘Seriously? Are you thinking of selling up?’ Dylan straightened up and looked at me so intensely that I felt my face burn.

‘Why?’ I stared back, a challenge in my voice. ‘Would you disapprove?’