My Summer of Magic Moments: Uplifting and romantic - the perfect, feel good holiday read!. Caroline Roberts
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though she wasn’t even sure if he would raise a smile, let alone speak to her. Would he even recognize her?
Closer now, she could see the taut muscles pumping in his legs, the sweat on his brow, his hair curling damply with sweat. As he neared she could hear his heavy breathing. He was pushing quite a pace. She realized she must have been staring – oops. He managed a small stiff wave of acknowledgement as he passed. Claire gave a brief neighbourly wave back.
She walked on. Big flat plops of rain started. She’d better hurry up. She couldn’t even see the cottages from here – there was still another headland before their bay. The plops were getting heavier, starting to soak her top.
Footsteps pounded up behind her. ‘Fancy a jog? I think we’re about to get a soaking.’
My God, he’d spoken. And that might even be a glimmer of a smile across his lips.
‘Okay.’ She was stunned, by both him and the turn in the weather. Why was she saying okay? She hated running. But it was bloody bucketing it down now. It was as if someone had just turned the volume up on the rain – you could almost hear the gear change, and then thud, thud, thud, droplets all over. It was even pitting the sand.
‘I can’t go very fast, mind.’
They trotted off, keeping time, Ed obviously slowing to match her pace.
‘Typical English summer, hey,’ she quipped.
‘Yes. I’d much rather a good soaking than sitting in the garden with a glass of chilled Sauvignon,’ he answered.
She glanced across. He might be the weird type who would actually enjoy this. But there was a stray smile across his lips, which were actually rather luscious. He looked so much nicer when he smiled.
‘You should do that more often.’ Shit, the words were out before she’d had time to think.
‘What?’ He stared across at her.
She might as well carry it through now. ‘Smile. It suits you.’
‘Ah.’ He was silent for a few seconds.
Oops, that would teach her. Engage brain before mouth. ‘Um, do you … run a lot?’ she asked, trying to get the conversation back on track, though it was getting hard to speak and run at the same time. And the rain was actually pounding them now: there were little trickles streaming off her hair, running into her eyes and down the bridge of her nose.
It wasn’t the best conversation starter, but running was a better subject than swimming. Now why did she have to go and think of that? The image of him naked was making her feel all hot – she’d be blushing, for sure, though the rain would hopefully hide it.
A crack and a boom shook the air around them. She felt the vibration through her body. Wow! Lightning flashed across the sky out at sea. A sheet of solid rain shifted across the waves. A summer storm. She was absolutely soaked to the skin now. She looked across at him, his damp curly hair now scattering drips as he moved, his running top wet and tight to the muscles on his chest. It made her laugh out loud, how drenched they were. How small they seemed against the power of the elements.
‘Like this, do you?’ He had a quizzical look on his face.
‘Yeah, I think I do. Like I’m really alive.’
A frown creased his brow; she saw him take a sharp breath.
He ran a little faster, moving ahead of her.
The cottages were in sight now. She finally caught up with him at her garden gate. ‘You okay?’
‘Yeah … I’m fine … if wet.’ He managed a wry, somewhat enigmatic smile.
‘Do you want to come in?’ Whoa, she hadn’t planned to ask him in. The words had just come out. Yet again. Oh well, in for a penny, in for a pound. ‘You could warm up with a cup of coffee or something. I have dry towels.’
He stood looking thoughtful. They were getting wetter by the second.
‘Sometime today might be nice,’ Claire prompted.
‘Ah, yes, okay. Thanks.’
She unbolted the door. A cold draught hit her.
‘God, it’s freezing in here,’ he said. ‘Old Hedley’s never bothered putting central heating in yet, then?’
‘Nope, sorry.’
They wandered through, dripping a trail to the lounge.
‘Aha. I could light the fire for you.’ He’d spotted the grate, the real fire.
She hadn’t used it yet.
‘Oh, okay. Great.’
‘Do you have any newspaper, some matches?’
There was a stack of logs and some kindling piled by the wall next to the hearth. She nipped out to the kitchen to grab a two-day-old paper she’d got ready for recycling, and collected the matches she used to light the hob.
‘You must freeze to death in this place.’ He was huddled by the unlit hearth.
‘Hah, glad it’s summer, that’s all I can say. But I wouldn’t know where to start with lighting a real fire, to be honest.’
‘Well.’ He looked up at her, taking the newspaper and giving a small grin. ‘Watch and learn.’
He started rolling tight batons of paper, loading them into the grate. She liked watching him work – intent on his task with his back to her, broad shoulders, arm muscles working away. She realized she was staring, but hey, he’d asked her to watch! She was rather enjoying observing him doing his fire-lighting man thing. She didn’t mind being looked after in this instance. But all too soon, the cold began seeping into her bones. She left him to his fire lighting and went upstairs, fetching two big towels out of the bathroom and wrapping hers around her. That was a bit better. She handed him one as she got back to the lounge.
‘Thanks.’ He placed it round his shoulders.
‘I’ve got some soup left over. Are you hungry? It will only take a few minutes to heat up, and I made fresh bread this morning. It’s the least I can do … warm us up.’ And what was the most she could do? Out of the blue, she suddenly visualized lots of other naughty things they could do, involving duvets and warm bare skin. Blimey, where had that come from? Her mind hadn’t veered that way in an age, her body even longer.
He lit a match. Flames began to slowly lick at the paper and the stack of sticks in the hearth.
‘So that’s what I could smell from across this way this morning. Homemade bread.’
The fire began crackling around the kindling and paper, its glow already beginning to take the chill off the room. She headed to the kitchen, taking the matches with her, and lit the stove to warm the soup. She cut slices of soft, crusty bread and spread it thickly with butter. Within five minutes, she was bringing it all back in on a tray.
‘Good dry logs,’ he commented.
The fire was now flaming gold and orange, its warmth starting to thaw the room. She handed him a mug of vegetable soup, passed the bread, then sat down beside him cross-legged on the floor, but her jeans were sodden and getting cold, clinging roughly to her legs. Damn, she should have changed them when she was upstairs, but she didn’t want to move away from this lovely fire, the warm mug of soup. She put her mug down and stood up, pausing for a second. Oh, sod it, they were coming off. She wrapped the towel around her waist, then undid the button and zip.
‘Hope you don’t mind, but these jeans are soaking wet still.’
‘Doesn’t worry me.’ He took a gulp of soup, his eyes crinkling with amusement.
She slid the jeans down and off. Ah, that was so much better. She could thaw out properly now. The towel covered her knees at least.
‘Better?’ He was smiling. He seemed surprisingly