Page 32

Temperance flinched as a deep whistle reached her ears. She looked out of a crack between two wooden panels in the wall. Black T-shirt, red shorts.

‘Are you kidding me?!’ she muttered. Temperance scanned the shed for a hiding spot. No way was she going from seeing Abel in her best make-up and a fantasy gown to having to face him drenched in perspiration and shame.

She didn’t fancy diving into the pile of loose hay. She didn’t fancy her chances behind the boxes that smelt super strongly of turpentine either.

‘What the fuck is my fucking life.’ Temperance grabbed at the hessian sacks, hopping into one like it was a school sports day and pulling another over her head, then shuffling down, out of sight, just beside the work bench.

Abel was still whistling as he strolled into the shed. It sounded to Temperance like an old Noah and the Whale song they’d all loved back in the day. Whatever the tune, it was weirdly upbeat for his usual slapped-arse personality. Temperance strained her eyes through the loose weave of the cloth, trying to get a look at him, but all she could see were his bare calves as he walked slowly towards her.

She sucked in a tiny pocket of air, her heart hammering in her ears.

His shoes stopped. They turned on the spot. In her direction.

‘What do we have here, then?’ Abel murmured softly.

Temperance screwed her eyes shut.

‘Phillips, Phillips. Nope. Ah, here we go. Cross-head.’ There was a clank and then Abel’s feet stepped back and his whistling picked up again as he headed towards the shed door.

Temperance risked a slow breath out through her nose. Her lungs complained for more oxygen.

That was too close.

‘MWAH MWAH! MWAH MWAH!’

There was a buzzing and an eruption of sound from Temperance’s back pocket.

Oh god, the Love Devon alert. Now I remember why I hated it.

Another round of tinny kissy noises played, another growl of vibrations against the metal work bench.

All of a sudden her vision was flooded with light: like a captive having their blindfold removed, and Temperance was about to sell all her state secrets for some sweet, sweet freedom.

‘What the ever-loving fuck?!’ Abel shouted down at her, a sack in his hand. ‘Tee!’

‘Hello.’

‘Hello?! Hello? What are you doing in a sack? In a shed? Who has—’

She could see the whites of his eyes, his hands balled into fists by his side. He stared around the room, his head flicking in every direction wildly.

‘It’s just me,’ she tried to laugh casually. ‘Hiding. Uh . . . playing hide and seek. With some of the village kids.’

He let out a jagged exhale and then ran a hand over his hair. ‘I didn’t see any kids hiding out in the field.’

Temperance stood up awkwardly, shoving the sack down to her ankles. ‘I er . . . I’m such a hide and seek ninja. They must have got bored and gone home.’ She nodded with fake nonchalance, because what was more natural than an almost-thirty-year-old woman hiding in a potato sack to amuse some children? And she was not going to show weakness in front of Abel Gulliver today, not when the memory of that dance could still burn her insides with shame.

‘Right.’ His body language softened slightly, just for a beat, before he folded his arms.

‘MWAH MWAH.’ Temperance winced and wrestled her phone out of her back pocket, silencing the notification at last.

‘Someone’s keen to get hold of you,’ Abel said gruffly. ‘Weird text sound, but whatever floats your boat.’

‘I didn’t choose it,’ Temperance rushed out in mortification. ‘It comes with the app and I don’t know how to change it over. Love Devon,’ she waved the screen his way. ‘Local dating . . . thing.’

Abel assessed it for a split second, before holding up the screw driver in his hand. ‘Well, I just came in for this. Praveen’s gate is about to come off its hinges so I’m sorting that out.’

Wine tonight? Please say yes.