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But she didn’t move and even from this distance Conner sensed her wariness and remembered what Logan had said about her being shy.
‘Good. Because there’s a large bowlful in this basket and I hate them.’ He dumped the basket on the ground and looked at her expectantly, but she still didn’t move.
‘Just eat the chicken, then.’
Realising that she wasn’t going to walk to him, he strolled towards her and suddenly saw what was different about her. ‘You’re not wearing your glasses.’
She lifted a hand to her cheek and shrugged self-consciously. ‘Contact lenses. I don’t usually wear them at work. I’m not a morning person and I’m never awake enough to risk putting my fingers into my eyes.’ She looked over his shoulder at the basket, which now lay abandoned on the soft grass. ‘I can take the strawberries with me, if they offend you that much.’
‘Or you can sit down and eat them here.’
Her eyes narrowed. ‘I didn’t think you were looking for company.’
‘If the strawberries aren’t eaten, I’ll hurt Evanna’s feelings.’
A smile touched her mouth. ‘I thought you didn’t care about other people’s feelings, Conner MacNeil.’
‘I don’t, but if I upset her, Logan will give me a black eye. And then the locals will think I’ve seduced someone’s wife or girlfriend. And I’m already in enough trouble.’
She laughed, as he’d intended. ‘You told me that you thrive on trouble.’
‘That’s just habit. I’ve never known anything else.’
Her laughter faded and she stared up into his face. ‘I shouldn’t have come here. It’s personal for you. Stressful. And you don’t want to talk about it, do you?’
He gave a twisted smile. ‘Let’s just say that if I talk, you wouldn’t like the language I’d choose to use.’
‘Use whatever language you please. I’m not as shockable as you seem to think I am.’
‘It would be all too easy to shock you, Flora.’ He thought of what his life had been and then he looked down at her gentle eyes and her soft mouth and wondered why he’d stopped her walking away. ‘I’m not the type of man who eats strawberries with girls in flowered skirts.’
‘You don’t like my skirt?’
‘You look…’ He gave a faint smile as he searched for the word that best described her. ‘Wholesome. Like an advert for that whipped cream in the basket.’
‘It’s Evanna’s whipped cream. And I don’t see what my skirt has to do with anything. Do you always push people away?’
‘I don’t have to. They usually run all by themselves.’
‘Well, I can’t run in these shoes.’
‘Is that right? In that case, you can sit down and help me eat this damn picnic.’
‘Where?’ Flora glanced towards the house and he made an impatient sound.
‘No way.’ He wasn’t going back in there. Instead, he took her hand, scooped up the basket and then led her down the path to the tiny cove at the bottom. The path was steep and stony but she didn’t falter, confident and sure-footed despite her comment about her shoes.
She was a local girl, he remembered. She’d spent her childhood pla
ying on these cliffs and exploring Glenmore’s rocky shores.
As they reached the sand, she slipped off her shoes and stooped to pick them up. ‘It’s pretty here. Really sheltered.’
‘Haven’t you been here before?’
‘No.’
‘Why not?’
