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‘Prove it.’
‘Prove it? You saw me lose it!’
‘Nuh-uh. I saw that you losesomething, but how do I know it’s the very scarf I’m wearing?’
‘Because it’s not yours?’ I suggest.
He considers, then shakes his head. ‘Not enough. Use your imagination. Or your bookish words. They fascinate me.’
Is he serious? Just who the hell does he think he is?
‘I’m sorry, but right now, of all the words coming to mind, none of them are bookish in the least.’
At that, there’s a glint of amusement in his eyes. Eyes that are fanned by long dark lashes. It’s such a shame he’s elected to ruin his life when he could actually amount to something. I can tell he’s bright. Perhaps he’s lazy. Perhaps he needs a kick up the arse. He could easily enrol in college courses. I bet he’d ace them, seeing he seems to have a witty answer for everything.
‘Sorry,’ he finally says. ‘But it’s finders, keepers, especially when it literally falls into your hands.’
‘It fell into your hands,’ I repeat, unimpressed.
‘Right out of the sky,’ he assures with the face of an innocent four-year-old, the cad. ‘Go figure…!’
‘Right!’ I rasp and, turning my back on him, march straight back to the bench.
‘So much for showing him, huh,’ Maisie says with a giggle. ‘He’s still looking at you, by the way,’ she informs as I scowl into the horizon.
‘He’s just hoping I’m going to break down and plead with him. Not happening. He can keep the damn scarf.’
‘But your mother gave it to you…’
‘So what?’ I half barked, moistness already gathering behind my eyeballs. There’s no way I’m going to show him how upset I actually am. ‘It’s not like it’s that important to me, anyway.’
‘Emmie…’
‘Drop it, Maisie, please.’
‘Do you want me to get it off him for you?’
‘You think you’d have more luck?’
‘Probably not. He seems to like you more than me.’
‘Yeah,’ I snort, taking a huge bite out of my pasty.
‘Oh, I think so,’ she insists. ‘He can’t seem to take his eyes off you, you know.’
‘He’s probably wondering what he can con me out of next.’
Maisie laughs and takes a swig of her beer. ‘You know, this Cornish stuff, it’s an acquired taste, but it’s actually starting to grow on me. The same might happen with Jago Moon.’
I look at her. ‘Who’s Jago Moon?’
She swallows with a sigh of contentment and nods towards the monster with my scarf. ‘Your scarf buddy over there.’
‘And how do you know that?’
‘I had a chat with Laura, the receptionist at the inn. She says he tried to drown himself in the sea, but they pulled him out just in time.’
Drown himself? My God, why? What could possibly induce a man to take his own life? What horrors have entered his heart? I’d seen the darkness in him from the beginning. The resignation to loneliness. That his life is worthless. No one should ever be made to feel like that. Someone should tell him that it doesn’t go away with drink.
