CHAPTER THREE

      THE SHOP HAD been busy. So busy Ellie hadn’t had a moment to dwell on the morning’s encounter. And even though she knew a fair few of her customers had come in to try and prise information about Max Loveday out of her—or out of the far more forthcoming Mrs Trelawney—they had all bought something, even if it was just a coffee.

      Slowly Ellie began to tidy up, knowing that she was deliberately putting off the moment when she would head upstairs. She loved her flat, and normally she loved the silence, the space, the solitude. Knowing it was hers to do with as she pleased. But this evening she dreaded the time alone. She knew she would relive every cutting remark, every look, every moment of her bruising encounter with Max Loveday. And that inevitably her thoughts would turn to her ex-fiancé. It wasn’t a place she wanted to go.

      And tomorrow she would have to deal with Max all over again.

      As always, the ritual of shutting up shop soothed her. From the day she had opened it the shop had been a sanctuary. Her sanctuary. She had planned and designed every feature, every reading nook and display, had painted the walls, hung the pictures, shelved each and every book. Had even chosen the temperamental diva of a coffee machine, which needed twenty minutes of cleaning and wiping before she could put it to bed, and sanded the wood she used for a counter.

      She had been able to indulge her love of colour, of posters, of clutter. Nobody expected a bookshop to be tastefully minimalist.

      By seven o’clock Ellie could put it off no longer. Every book was in its rightful place. Even the preschool picture books were neatly lined up in alphabetical order. A futile task—it needed just one three-year-old to return the entire rack to chaos.

      The shelves were gleaming and dust-free, the cushions on sofas, chairs and benches were shaken out and plumped up, the floor was swept and the leftover cakes had been boxed away. She’d even counted the cash and reconciled the till.

      There was literally nothing left to do.

      Except leave.

      Ellie switched the lights off and stood for a moment, admiring the neatness of the room in the evening light. ‘Thank you,’ she whispered. If Demelza Loveday hadn’t encouraged her to follow her dreams, hadn’t rented her the shop, where would Ellie be now?

      And, like the fairy godmother she’d been, Miss Loveday had ensured that Ellie could always stay here, always be safe. The shop and the flat were hers. Nobody could ever take them away from her. And, no matter what Max Loveday thought, it hadn’t been Ellie’s idea. The legacy was a wonderful, thoughtful gift—and it had been a complete surprise. The one bright moment in the grey weeks following Miss Loveday’s death and the unwelcome burden of the trust.

      A rap at the closed door made her jump. The shop was evidently closed. The sign said so, the shutter was drawn, the lights dimmed right down in the two bay windows. But it wouldn’t be the first time someone had needed an emergency gift. That was the thing about small towns: you were never really fully closed.

      ‘Coming,’ she called as she stepped over to the door, untwisting the lock and shooting back the two bolts before cautiously opening it...just a few centimetres. Not that there had ever been any robbery beyond the odd bit of shoplifting in Trengarth’s small high street.

      Ellie’s hands tightened on the doorframe as she took in the lean, tall figure, the close-cut dark hair and stubbled chin.

      She swallowed. Hard. ‘I didn’t think we were meeting until tomorrow.’ She didn’t open the door wider or invite him to come in.

      ‘I wanted to apologise again.’ Max held up a bottle of red wine. ‘I found this in Great-Aunt Demelza’s wine cellar. She had quite a collection.’

      ‘It’s your collection now.’ Ellie didn’t reach out and take the bottle, her hands still firmly clasping the door, keeping it just ajar.

      Max pulled a face. ‘I can’t quite get my head around that. It seemed pretty intrusive, just walking in and showering in the guest en-suite bathroom, looking around at all her stuff. I mean, I didn’t actually know her.’

      Showering? Ellie immediately tried to push that particular image out of her mind but it lingered there. A fall of water, right onto a tanned, lean torso... Her fingers tightened as her stomach swooped. Her libido had been dead for years. Did it have to choose right this moment to resuscitate itself?

      ‘I was planning on chocolates as well, but the shop is shut.’ He gestured behind him to the small all-purpose supermarket. ‘They were shut this morning as well. Do they ever open?’

      Ellie looked over at the firmly drawn shutters, grateful for a chance to think about anything but long, steamy showers. ‘They do open for longer in the school holidays, but otherwise the hours are a little limiting. It’s okay if you know them, but it can be frustrating for tourists—and then Mr Whitehead complains that people drive to the next town and use the bigger supermarkets.’

      There. That was a perfectly safe, inane and even dull comment. Libido back in check. She was most definitely not looking at the golden tan on his arms, nor noticing the muscle definition under his T-shirt. No, not at all.

      ‘You really didn’t have to,’ she hurried on, forcing her eyes back up and focussing firmly on his ear. No one could have inappropriate thoughts about an ear, could they? ‘Really.’

      ‘I think I did.’ His smile was rueful. ‘I managed a few hours’ sleep on the couch and when I woke up I felt just terrible. Not just because of the jetlag. My grandfather would have been horrified if he had heard me speak to a lady that way. He brought me up better than that.’

      Grandfather? Not parents? Interesting...

      ‘Anyway, I thought I’d make amends and get some air...have a look at this town my great-grandfather crossed an ocean to escape. I don’t suppose you’d like to join me? Show me around?’

      No, she most definitely would not. In fact she had a very important date with the new edition of Anne of Green Gables she had unpacked that very morning: hardback, illustrated and annotated. She also had a quarter-bottle of wine, a piece of salmon and some salad.

      Another crazy evening in the Scott household of one.

      Would anything change if she threw caution to the wind and went out for a walk before dinner, book, bath and bed? In fact she often took an evening walk. The only real difference would be her companion.

      He was her beloved godmother’s nephew. Surely Demelza would have wanted her to make him welcome, no matter how bad his first impression? Hadn’t she just been remembering just how much she owed her benefactress? She really should replay the debt.