Page 19

I don’t want to make him self-conscious, so I hide my smile as I climb out of the car. I take a moment to stretch, and it’s obviously too long for Blue’s patience, because when I straighten, he’s gone, the swinging gate the only sign of his presence.

I walk through the gate and up the stone steps. When I come out at the top, I blink. I’m standing in a small, wild garden that surrounds the cottage. Everything is lush and overgrown, reflecting the rain we’ve had. In some places, flowers have drooped over the path, and my feet crunch through the petals, letting off a very faint perfume like the last gasp of summer. It’s very quiet with just a lone bird singing in a bush nearby and the boom of the sea.

The cottage is beautiful, with whitewashed walls and a thatch. Like the town, it’s rather higgledy-piggledy and crookedly set, as if some bits were added on at a later date, and in one area the garden is high enough that a second-floor bedroom window is only a few feet from the ground. I turn around in a circle and smile. It sits on a small promontory overlooking the cove, which means Blue will be able to see the sea from most of the windows in the house.

“Wow,” I say and jump as Blue suddenly appears from around the side of the cottage.

“There’s a hot tub,” he exclaims.

“I know. I told you that.”

He ignores me. “You have to see it. It’s on a deck at the back of the house and all you’ll see is the sky and the sea. It’s so lush, Levi.”

I dig into my pocket and hand him the keys. “You’d better do the honours.”

He gives me a wide smile, his eyes twinkling, and for a moment my breath catches. I don’t think I’ll ever get entirely over how beautiful he is to me. He’s all long legs, blond hair, and those pale blue eyes.

He grabs my hand. “Together?”

The door is painted in shiny black, and the name of the cottage has been printed on a piece of driftwood hanging on the lintel. Blue opens the door and it swings open, letting out a gust of beeswax and furniture polish.

When he doesn’t move, I nudge him. “Are you waiting for me to carry you over the threshold?”

He snorts. “Not unless I fancy being in traction for my honeymoon and not in a good way.”

“There’s a good way?” I ask but he’s already stepped into the cottage. I follow him into a small hallway from which a set of stairs leads upwards. Blue has disappeared through a door on the right, so I follow him, finding myself in an open-plan kitchen and dining room that stretches the length of the house.

It’s a light, airy room decorated in blues and greens that play to the view of the sea from the windows. The oak cabinets look new and there’s a granite worktop that’s worn dull with age. A pine dining table and chairs are set in front of a big window that looks out on the garden, and there’s a three-seater sofa upholstered in sage-green linen. It sits in front of an old stone fireplace that was obviously original to the house if the smoke-stained brick is anything to go by. By the side of the sofa is a wooden rocking chair with a faded cushion on the seat. “That looks old,” I say.

I frown when there’s no answer. Blue is frozen in place at the door, his brow furrowed and his eyes suddenly clear of the previous joy. “You okay?” I ask. I cock my head. “Are you sensing anything?”

“No,” he says straightaway. “Absolutely nothing.”

“You sure?”

He nods energetically and I watch him for a few more seconds. I don’t sense him hiding anything, so I ask, “Shall we grab the cases and unpack and explore?”

“I’ll go and get them.”

“I’ll help.”

He rolls his eyes. “You drove most of the way here. Let me do something, please.” He vanishes out of the front door, his brisk footsteps sounding on the path.

I step closer to the fireplace and detect a faint trace of what smells like pipe smoke. A surprise, because most rental places don’t allow smoking. It’s actually fairly pleasant and not intrusive. It reminds me of when my granddad smoked a pipe.

I check out the kitchen, opening cupboard doors and finding a small pantry that’s chilly enough to raise goosebumps on my skin. On the dining table is a basket containing packets of biscuits, crisps, jars of honey and jam, and a bottle of blackberry wine, along with a small card addressed to Mr and Mr Billings-Black. I open it and smile at the contents.

When the door opens, I brandish the card at Blue. “They sent us a congratulations card.”

He dumps the cases on the flagstone floor. “For spending a fortune on renting the place?”

I snort. “No, on getting married.”

He takes it from me and his face softens. “That’s nice. We should save that. The first thing with our married name on it.”

“Come on. Let’s explore.”

We pop through the other door downstairs and find a large, beamed lounge with a squashy-looking sectional sofa and patio doors leading out onto the deck. “Nice,” Blue proclaims and heads up the stairs. I follow him, admiring the curve of his arse.