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I hand him a box of matches. ‘You light the barbecue, and I’ll unpack the food.’

‘I’m glad you’ve given me the manly job,’ he says, taking the matches from me. ‘You can’t think how it boosts my confidence.’

I look up from unpacking my bag. ‘Manly job?’

‘Making the fire,’ he says. ‘Men have been doing that since the dawn of time.’

‘You’d better hope those matches didn’t get wet when I fell in that hole,’ I say. ‘Otherwise, you’ll have to demonstrate those manly skills with a couple of twigs.’

He strikes a match and carefully lights the barbecue. ‘Thank goodness for that. I might have had to buy you a pub dinner instead. Now it’s your turn.’

‘Are you sure you don’t want to cook?’ I say. ‘Men always seem to insist on cooking at barbecues. I’d hate to damage your fragile masculinity.’

He settles back onto the rock. ‘Not at all. My work is done. I’ll sit here and tell you what you’re doing wrong. I don’t suppose you thought to bring a beer?’

I open the packet of sandwiches. ‘Only a flask of coffee, I’m afraid.’

He looks disappointed. ‘You didn’t have the forethought to make it Irish?’

‘My dad would notice if any of his whisky disappeared.’

He sighs. ‘Never mind. If we get into trouble on the way back down, I expect they’ll send us one of those St. Bernard’s with the little kegs around their necks.’

I lay the cheese sandwiches carefully on the grill and wait until they’re cooked on one side. I forgot to bring a fork, so I pick up a twig and use it to flip the sandwiches over.

‘That smells good,’ he says appreciatively. ‘Cheese sandwiches aren’t the first thing that comes to mind when you think about planning a barbecue. But you never know, it could catch on.’

I perch next to him on the rock while we finish the grilled cheese sandwiches.

‘What’s next?’ he asks when the last one has disappeared. ‘Baked Alaska?’

‘Maybe next time.’ I reach into my backpack and pull out a packet of digestive biscuits, a bag of marshmallows, and a bar of chocolate.

‘S’mores?’ he says. ‘Fantastic! We used to make those when we went camping.’

I give the barbecue a dubious look. ‘It’s nearly gone out. But there should be enough heat left to make them.’

‘Of course, there is!’ He picks up two long sticks and hands me one. ‘Put some marshmallows on the end of that and hold them over the heat.’

We manage to melt our marshmallows, only dropping one of them into the flames. Alex hooks it out with his twig and eats it anyway.

We break the chocolate into pieces and sandwich the biscuits together with the chocolate and marshmallows.

‘Next time MasterChef is recruiting, you and I are definitely going to enter,’ Alex says through a mouthful of biscuit. ‘The judges won’t know what’s hit them.’

‘It must make a change from deep-fried mars bars,’ I say. ‘What’s it really like in Scotland?’

He swallows the last few crumbs. ‘It’s absolutely lovely. I was in two minds about taking that job, but I’m glad I did. Edinburgh’s a great town to live in, and the countryside around it is stunning.’

I put down my stick and brush biscuit crumbs off my jeans. ‘Why were you in two minds about the job?’

He doesn’t answer for a moment. When I glance at him, I’m surprised to see his face has turned pink.

He meets my eyes at last. ‘I’m embarrassed to say it was because of you.’

‘Because of me?’ I echo, astonished.

He nods. ‘If you remember, we met the day before I was offered that interview. I almost turned it down. I know I’d only just met you, but I didn’t want to move so far away. It seemed like a miracle that we’d met at all. If my parents hadn’t decided out of the blue to move to Little Mickton, we’d never have met. But they did, and we did, and I fell for you at once. Meeting you felt like, oh, I don’t know, coming home. Does that sound ridiculous?’

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