Page 91 of Not Just for Christmas

‘Not on his way?’ Dylan is sprawled out on the sofa, a wine glass dangling from his hand. His legs are draped over the arm like he owns the place. When I see him like this, all relaxed and at ease, he looks like the boy I met on the beach all those years ago and not the singer whose music is being listened to all over the world.

‘Not even close,’ I say, shoving his legs out of the way and squeezing beside him on the sofa. I wedge the bowl of crisps between us and gesture for him to help himself. ‘Sorry, Dylan, you’ll have to make do with just me for the moment.’

‘No apology necessary,’ says Dylan, crunching on a crisp. ‘I’ve got wine, potato chips and you to talk to; I’m a happy guy.’

‘At this rate we’ll be drunk by the time he gets back,’ I reply. My head was already spinning from drinking on an empty stomach.

‘Cheers to that.’ He clinked his glass against mine.

We both sip but I laugh as Dylan sucks in air, not realising his glass is empty.

‘Whoops.’ His eye catches mine and he gives me a boyish grin. ‘That went down a little too well.’

He reaches down to pick up the wine bottle from the floor, unscrews the cap and pours; one solitary microscopic drop plops into his glass.

We stare at it and then burst out laughing.

‘I’ll get another bottle.’ I try to get up from the sofa, but I’m wedged in and laugh some more.

‘Let me go,’ says Dylan and leaps up easily. He disappears into the kitchen and returns with two Champagne flutes and the posh bottle of fizz which he’d brought with him.

‘Ooh, bubbles!’ I feel a niggle of guilt that we’re opening it before Jack gets back, but it’s his loss, I think, pushing the thought away.

Dylan eases the cork out with a soft pop and pours us both a glass before settling back beside me.

‘To you and Jack,’ he said softly, his brown eyes holding my gaze. ‘And a lifetime of happiness.’

‘To me and Jack,’ I echo.

I take a sip, trying to banish the negative feelings I’d had moments ago and put it down to pre-wedding nerves.

The moment hangs between us, heavy and warm, and for some reason I feel my eyes fill with tears. It’s a combination of the alcohol and the stress of the build-up to the wedding and also something else, which I don’t want to examine, but feels dangerous. All of a sudden sitting beside Dylan feels too intimate.

‘I’d better turn the oven off.’ I get up and go into the kitchen. I’d left the lasagne in on low, but any longer and it was going to have to be chiselled out of the dish.

I pull it out and set it on the hob with a sigh.

‘That’s a big sigh.’ Dylan has joined me in the kitchen and looks over my shoulder at the dish of dried pasta.

‘I wanted us to have a nice dinner, a proper catch-up together like we used to do, before the madness of the wedding tomorrow.’ I pouted, but I’m only half joking. ‘And I’m embarrassed that Jack hasn’t made the effort to be here when you have.’

‘Look on the bright side,’ he said, nudging me playfully. ‘I always get to hear loads about the farm, but not much about you. So spill, what’s new?’

He turns to lean against the counter and I do the same, so we’re standing side by side in my tiny kitchen.

I shrug. ‘Not much to say about me. Except did you know I’ve given up my job?’

He looks at me sharply. ‘You loved that job.’

Until last week I was assistant manager of a hotel along the coast, and it’s true, I did love it.

‘But from tomorrow I’ll be a farmer’s wife,’ I tell him. ‘Correction, I’ll actually be a farmer, because I’m going to be working alongside Jack on the farm.’

‘But that doesn’t have to mean giving up your own career.’ He blinks at me and I’m touched by the concern on his face.

‘While we’re away, Heather and Jim are moving into a bungalow right in the heart of Craggy Bay.’ Even as I say it, I feel a frisson of nerves at the new life ahead of me. ‘Their retirement begins on the day we return. It makes sense for me to help Jack here.’

For a moment he says nothing, but his jaw tenses and I know, just know he’s dying to say something. He has always shown interest in my dreams.