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But not now. This was his week off. His week of relaxation in his favourite place. Albeit with an unexpected, suspicious and snappish guest, and the prospect of a round trip to Cardiff in the snow tomorrow.
Sipping his own coffee, Ben let the warmth of the cottage flood his bones, relax his muscles, the way it always did when he came home.
Home. Luce had asked him where it was and he’d said he didn’t have one. He hadn’t explained that he didn’t want one. He’d had a home once, only to lose it when his father’s obsession with work drove his mother away.
He didn’t need a home that could be taken from him. He just needed a bolthole to hide out and recharge. Could be anywhere. Right now it just happened to be here, that was all.
I need to spend more time here.
Once he’d deposited Luce home he’d come back and look at his work schedule for the next twelve months. Figure out where there might be a break long enough to get back to Wales again. Maybe even over to France.
Luce drained her coffee and said, ‘So, this pub you mentioned?’
‘The Eight Bells. Best pint and best pies this side of the border.’ They’d missed lunch in the snow. She was probably as starving as he was.
‘Sounds promising,’ Luce said, but she didn’t sound convinced.
Ben decided to put her out of her misery. ‘And, for you townies, there’s a pretty decent wine list, too.’
‘Oh, thank God.’ Her face brightened.
Ben chuckled. ‘Less than a day with me and you’re already desperate for a drink? What? The coffee not Irish enough for you?’
‘It’s lovely,’ Luce said. ‘But after this day I’m ready for a hearty meal and a large glass of wine.’
Ben enjoyed one more moment of warmth by the fire, then got to his feet. ‘In that case, I guess we’d better prepare to face the elements again. You ready?’
Luce grinned and took his hand to let him pull her up. ‘As I’ll ever be.’
CHAPTER SEVEN
AFTER A SNOWY, freezing and downright treacherous walk into the village, Luce stamped the snow off her boots, unwound her scarf and let Ben go and find menus and drinks while she settled into a chair at the rustic wood table by an inglenook fireplace. The Eight Bells was certainly a lot nicer than she’d expected in a local village pub, but then, she supposed they were in the heart of tourist Wales around here. Made sense to cater to the townies.
Not that there were many of them around tonight. Only a handful of tables were occupied, and those were by locals discussing the weather and when the roads would be cleared.
She shouldn’t have been surprised that Ben would find a cottage near fine dining and local shops that delivered organic produce, she supposed. That was just who he was. How had she forgotten that?
It was the cottage, she decided. It was so homely. Somewhere she could imagine actually living herself. Nothing like the fancy hotel he’d been living in when she and Mandy had visited from university. Not even anything like the suite at the Royal Court in Chester. And yet it was his. Maybe there were nuances to Ben Hampton she was missing after all.
‘Check out the pie list.’ Ben dropped a couple of menus on the table, then placed a glass of white wine in front of her. Wrapping her fingers round the stem, she took a long sip. Ben was right; this place had really good wine.
‘You recommend the pies, then?’ she asked, scanning the menu.
‘I recommend everything on the menu.’ He wasn’t even looking at it, she realised.
‘You come here often?’
‘As often as I can.’ He sipped his pint. ‘The owner’s an old friend of mine.’
That was one constant. Ben had always had a lot of friends around. When Mandy had started dating him Luce had assumed that his hangers-on were after his money, or the parties he could get them into. But over time it had become clear that they genuinely enjoyed his company. Ben was one of those people with a talent for making people like him.
Not a talent Luce had ever claimed to possess.
‘I’ll try the chicken pie, then,’ she said, closing the menu. Ben nodded, and went to place their order. Watching him go, Luce studied the width of his shoulders, the confidence of his stride. Apart from a little extra muscle and size, how much had he really changed in the last eight years? Was he still the same boy who had kissed her in the hotel library?
Would he try again?
He was back before she had anything approaching an answer to that question.
‘So,’ he said, settling himself into his chair with practised ease, ‘Old Joe over there tells me the snow should be over for now, but we might get another load tomorrow night. Hopefully the roads will be clear enough tomorrow to make a break for Cardiff before it hits. A few of the locals plan to take the tractors out in the morning and clear them.’
