Summer Kisses. Sarah Morgan
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towards her and suddenly saw what was different about her. ‘You’re not wearing your glasses.’
She lifted a hand to her cheek and shrugged self-consciously. ‘Contact lenses. I don’t usually wear them at work. I’m not a morning person and I’m never awake enough to risk putting my fingers into my eyes.’ She looked over his shoulder at the basket, which now lay abandoned on the soft grass. ‘I can take the strawberries with me, if they offend you that much.’
‘Or you can sit down and eat them here.’
Her eyes narrowed. ‘I didn’t think you were looking for company.’
‘If the strawberries aren’t eaten, I’ll hurt Evanna’s feelings.’
A smile touched her mouth. ‘I thought you didn’t care about other people’s feelings, Conner MacNeil.’
‘I don’t, but if I upset her, Logan will give me a black eye. And then the locals will think I’ve seduced someone’s wife or girlfriend. And I’m already in enough trouble.’
She laughed, as he’d intended. ‘You told me that you thrive on trouble.’
‘That’s just habit. I’ve never known anything else.’
Her laughter faded and she stared up into his face. ‘I shouldn’t have come here. It’s personal for you. Stressful. And you don’t want to talk about it, do you?’
He gave a twisted smile. ‘Let’s just say that if I talk, you wouldn’t like the language I’d choose to use.’
‘Use whatever language you please. I’m not as shockable as you seem to think I am.’
‘It would be all too easy to shock you, Flora.’ He thought of what his life had been and then he looked down at her gentle eyes and her soft mouth and wondered why he’d stopped her walking away. ‘I’m not the type of man who eats strawberries with girls in flowered skirts.’
‘You don’t like my skirt?’
‘You look …’ He gave a faint smile as he searched for the word that best described her. ‘Wholesome. Like an advert for that whipped cream in the basket.’
‘It’s Evanna’s whipped cream. And I don’t see what my skirt has to do with anything. Do you always push people away?’
‘I don’t have to. They usually run all by themselves.’
‘Well, I can’t run in these shoes.’
‘Is that right? In that case, you can sit down and help me eat this damn picnic.’
‘Where?’ Flora glanced towards the house and he made an impatient sound.
‘No way.’ He wasn’t going back in there. Instead, he took her hand, scooped up the basket and then led her down the path to the tiny cove at the bottom. The path was steep and stony but she didn’t falter, confident and sure-footed despite her comment about her shoes.
She was a local girl, he remembered. She’d spent her childhood playing on these cliffs and exploring Glenmore’s rocky shores.
As they reached the sand, she slipped off her shoes and stooped to pick them up. ‘It’s pretty here. Really sheltered.’
‘Haven’t you been here before?’
‘No.’
‘Why not?’
‘Honestly?’ She hesitated. ‘This beach is part of your property and we were too afraid of your father. Even Kyla.’
Conner gave a bitter laugh. ‘Lovely man, my father.’ He sat down on the sand and then glanced at her with a frown. ‘Did you bring something to sit on?’
She smiled and sat down on the sand next to him. ‘This is perfect.’ She reached into the basket and then glanced at him, her eyes twinkling. ‘Napkin?’
‘Of course,’ he said sarcastically. ‘I’d hate to drop anything on my tuxedo.’
She laughed and passed him the bowl of chicken instead. ‘Try this. I guarantee it will taste better than anything you’ve ever eaten before, tuxedo or no tuxedo. I bumped into Diane Gregg in the supermarket this morning. She said Harry is feeling much better.’
‘Yes. I saw him in surgery yesterday. One of the advantages of being treated like a leper is that I have plenty of time for the patients that do want to see me.’ He bit into the chicken and flavours exploded on his palate. ‘You’re right—this is good.’
‘I have a boat, if you want to sail.’
Conner lifted an eyebrow. ‘Are you making a pass at me?’
The colour poured into her cheeks. ‘Of course not.’
‘But you’re offering to lend me your boat?’
‘Yes.’ She delved into the basket and pulled out some crusty bread. ‘Or we could sail together. You can sail it singlehanded but it’s more fun with two.’
‘I didn’t know you sailed.’
‘I suspect there’s quite a lot about me that you don’t know,’ she said calmly, and Conner gave a surprised laugh.
‘And what do you think the locals will say when they see you consorting with Bad Conner?’
Flora broke the bread in two and handed him half. ‘I suppose it might be sensible to avoid getting into trouble, just in case the lifeboat crew refuse to help.’
‘You’d be all right. They’d pick you up and leave me in the water.’
‘No problems, then. Lemonade?’
Conner winced. ‘Are you serious? What is this—nursery food?’
‘It’s home-made. Evanna makes it.’ She poured him a glass and he heard a dull clunk as ice cubes thudded into the glass. ‘It’s very refreshing.’
He took the glass and stared at it dubiously. ‘If you say so.’
‘You’d probably prefer beer.’
‘I don’t drink.’ He felt her eyes on his face and when she spoke her voice was soft.
‘Because of your father.’ Her quiet statement required no response and so he didn’t give one.
They ate in silence and he found himself glancing at her occasionally and noticing things about the way she looked. Like the fact that she had tiny freckles on her nose and that her eyes were incredibly pretty.
‘You should ditch the glasses,’ he said softly, and she blinked awkwardly.
‘Oh …’ She concentrated on the chicken and suddenly he was reminded of a baby kitten he’d found abandoned when he’d been a child. It had been so soft and vulnerable that he he’d been afraid to touch it in case he harmed it. So he’d placed an anonymous call to the vet’s surgery and had then hidden behind a tree, watching until they’d picked it up.
Flora had that same air of vulnerability.
They finished the picnic in silence and she packed everything away tidily in the basket. ‘There’s a good wind. I always find there’s nothing better than sailing to clear the mind and put everything into perspective.’
‘Flora—’
‘Don’t pretend you don’t want to sail, because I know you tried to hire a boat from Finn at the sailing school. I’m offering you my boat. With or without myself as crew.’
He stared out to sea. ‘I was going to clear the house out this afternoon.’
‘There’s no worse job in the world,’ she said softly. ‘After Dad died, it took me six months to even go into the house. I just couldn’t face all those memories. And mine were happy ones. Are you sure you don’t want to talk about