A Season for Second Chances(92)

John raised an eyebrow. “There’s going to be a next time?”

Annie realized she’d jumped right into that one. She felt her cheeks flush. “I don’t see why not,” she said, trying to be cool and collected. “There’re bound to be things that need to be discussed at some point, and we may as well do it over a good meal.”

John smiled and helped her into her coat. “We may as well,” he said.

Annie called her good-byes to Raye and Aiden. John said he would be back in when Annie’s taxi arrived, and Aiden promised not to lock him out.

Annie shivered as the outer door gave way with a creak and opened out onto a wall of navy blue cold. Annie pulled her coat closer around her and parked herself on a wooden picnic bench. Across the road, she watched the lights go out one by one in the Sunken Willow and imagined Pam and Bill making their weary way to bed. Bed. She shivered again, a convulsive full-body shudder. John sat down beside her, and she forgot the cold; suddenly all she could think about was his nearness.

It was quiet but for the breeze whistling through the naked trees. The grass was diamond-studded with the glisten of frost.

“I’ve been swatting up on Mari’s notes for the Christmas festival,” said Annie.

“It’s a pretty special night, a lot of fun,” said John. “It’s kind of a last hurrah before the December festivities begin proper.”

“It’s not really a last hurrah if there are a load more festivities to come and loads before it, is it?” said Annie. “It’s more of a halfway hurrah.”

“Well, it’s the last hurrah before the proper winter hurrahs begin.”

“I have never known a place to have so many hurrahs.”

John laughed. “You wait till the dark days of January, that’s when they really get going!”

“I’m looking forward to it.”

“I’m glad,” said John. “You suit Willow Bay.”

“I don’t know whether to take that as a compliment or not,” said Annie wryly.

“It’s a compliment. I promise. Not everyone would embrace it like you have. And everyone thinks you’re great. I can’t turn around without somebody telling me what a bloody marvel you are.”

Annie laughed. “How very discomforting for you!”

“I’m getting used to it.”

“My sources inform me that Pam keeps the ghosts of Christmas in the cellar.”

“She does indeed.”

“Can I ask what form these ghosts take?” asked Annie.

“They’re like giant papier-maché puppets. Provided it’s dry, they’ll be walked down to the beach and fixed to bases where they can view the proceedings.”

“You don’t do things by halves, do you?”

“Do it right or don’t bother,” John replied.

Annie felt John shift on the bench, and she turned herself to look at him. He was looking at her.

“I’m glad it’s you who’s staying at the Nook,” he said. “Don’t get me wrong, it hasn’t exactly made my life easier. A straightforward, non-café-opening tenant would have been easier. But still. I’m glad that the thorn in my side is you.”

Annie was still formulating a witty comeback when John kissed her. Just once. A soft, gentle, tentative kiss. His lips were warm on hers. She closed her eyes. He drew away, tantalizingly just enough that she could she still feel the warmth of his breath. It would only take the slightest movement for their lips to touch. Annie leaned infinitesimally and their mouths met again, deliciously, lightly. John’s hands cupped her face, the tips of his fingers twisting in her hair. His breath came harder, and so did Annie’s. She felt her body arching toward him; she reached inside his coat and wrapped her arms around him. She wanted to get under his clothes, to touch his skin, to feel his body on hers. John’s kisses became deeper, more urgent, and Annie let herself be swept up in his passion, her skin tingling, her body alive with want. A sudden bright light and an elongated beep broke them apart. The taxi had arrived.

“Right,” said Annie, jumping up. She was dizzy and almost lost her footing.

“Right. Yes,” said John, pulling his coat around him.

“That’s my cue,” said Annie.

John nodded and stood. She felt his hand guiding her as they tramped down the grassy bank to the road. John opened the back door, and Annie climbed in.

“Thank you for a lovely evening,” said Annie. The temptation to pull John into the back of the cab with her was almost overwhelming.

“Thank you!” said John. He pushed her door closed and leaned in through the open passenger window to pass the driver a ten-pound note. Then he stood back, raising his hand once as the taxi pulled away.



* * *



—

Annie climbed into bed, still all a-fluster, and flicked off the lamp. She leaned across to the drawer in her bedside cabinet and pulled Mr. Knightley from his wrappings. But it wasn’t Mr. Knightley’s image that filled her mind as she shimmied down beneath the bedclothes and closed her eyes.





Chapter 70



Annie woke up the next morning with more than a smidge of a hangover, which she doused liberally with coffee and carbohydrates before taking herself for a walk along the promenade at seven a.m.