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“It’s dark.”

“I have a torch on my phone.”

“Can’t you just allow a man to be chivalrous for once?”

“Fine,” Lucy sighed, just wanting to get things over with and him on his way. “Follow me.”

“You’re actually heading off, together?” Carrie clarified, throwing her husband an incredulous look.

Dylan responded by flinging his arm around Lucy’s shoulder. She shrugged him off and glared at him.

“Apparently, I need help getting home,” Lucy said, ignoring the smiles from her friends.

* * *

The pub had been warm, and it was a relief to step out into the slightly cooler night air, even if it was with Dylan in tow.

They walked down to the High St in silence with Lucy forcing herself not to comment on Dylan swinging her bag so vigorously it was only narrowly missing the pavement.

“I only brought the back door keys, so I’ll have to go in through the garden,” Lucy said, suddenly feeling awkward. Had she ever been alone with Dylan after dark before?

Dylan shrugged and they continued along the road and then down a side street and along the alleyway behind the shops.

Without the light from the street lamps their way was now solely illuminated by Lucy’s phone’s torch.

Lucy looked pointedly at Dylan as they reached her garden gate. “I’m taking you to your door,” he said, firmly. “There could be all sorts of murderers lurking in your flower beds.”

Despite the darkness, Lucy rolled her eyes but couldn’t be bothered to argue as he followed her through the gate and into the garden.

“Not much of a gardener, eh?” Dylan commented, shining his own phone torch around.

“No time,” Lucy snapped.

She knew she needed to get the garden sorted. Extra coffee shop seating out there would make a huge difference in the summer months, but, aside from her own time constraints, she still wasn’t at the point where she could afford to pay someone to do what was necessary. Maybe after Easter next year, when the slow season was long behind her.

She found herself contemplating the garden further. There wasn’t any major work to do, mainly just clearing away the overgrowth . . . might she at least make a start on it herself over the winter months? Perhaps on Sundays when the coffee shop was closed . . .

She caught herself as the sole of her shoe slipped on the wet path.

“Be careful, the ground’s slippery,” she called back to Dylan, just before she heard a thump and Dylan swearing under his breath.

“Are you all right?” Lucy asked, turning and shining her phone’s light on him. He was sitting on his bottom looking pained.

“I’ve hurt my ankle,” he grumbled. “You could have warned me.”

“I did, as soon as I realised. And this wouldn’t have happened if you hadn’t insisted on walking me up my own garden path! Are my tins all right?”

“Your tins are fine and I was trying to be nice! It’s dark!”

He was so far from his usual perfect self that she struggled not to laugh. The way he was glaring at her made her think he knew she was finding this amusing.

“It never would have happened if you hadn’t insisted on walking with me! Let’s get you inside, and check you over,” Lucy suggested, the corners of her mouth twitching. It was the least she could do under the circumstances. She could hardly abandon him on the ground in her garden, as much as she might want to. She offered her spare hand. “Come on.”

He took hold of her hand and she helped him haul himself up.

“You go first,” she said. “And be careful.”

She couldn’t make out his grumpy-sounding response as he walked ahead, limping slightly.