A Perfect Cornish Escape by Phillipa Ashley Page 0,55

over the fact she’d been genuinely rattled by Craig.

‘It takes more than that to rile me. I’m tougher than I look,’ he said. ‘Though it’s hard on you to have to put up with that sort of stupid comment.’

‘Craig was drunk and he’s an idiot,’ she said, annoyed that Craig had tried to spoil their evening by implying that she ought to be loyal to Nate. ‘Let’s forget it.’

Marina determined to enjoy the rest of the night, but she was convinced that Lachlan had become quieter since the incident with Craig. By ten, the barbecue had run out of burgers and the band had played their finale. In the twilight, it was also growing cold on the quayside. Marina shivered despite her hoodie and finished her Coke.

They said their farewells and headed back home. Lachlan had left the pub smiling. Marina felt that he seemed to be more comfortable with Porthmellow life than she’d expected, which gave her hope that he might stick around long enough for her to get to know him much better.

Perhaps Craig hadn’t got to Lachlan as much as she’d feared.

They walked side by side along the harbourfront, where the lights of houses and restaurants twinkled in the darkening water. It was a warm evening, and there were plenty of people strolling along the waterfront and sitting outside the two pubs. Laughter and Greek music spilled from the balcony of Gabe Mathias’s restaurant and delicious aromas wafted into the evening air.

All too soon, they reached her cottage, but he showed no sign of bidding her goodnight. Everywhere was quiet apart from the whisper of the waves on Porthmellow beach, below the cliff.

‘Thanks for asking me, tonight. I wasn’t sure whether to come at first but I’m glad I did. I really enjoyed it.’

‘They’re a great bunch, though you were lucky enough to get some of the less weird ones tonight … apart from Craig of course.’

‘I’ve already forgotten him,’ Lachlan said, which gave her heart. ‘I like your mates, but I’ll confess the pleasure of the evening was largely down to the company I’m with now.’

A flush rose to her face. She wasn’t used to being complimented in this way, but she liked it. She thought for a moment that maybe he was going to ask her to his house for a coffee, or even lean in for a kiss.

A moment later, he’d shoved his hands in his pockets. ‘It’s work tomorrow,’ he said. ‘I’d better let you get home.’

‘Oh. Yes.’ She deflated rapidly.

She left him, cursing herself. She’d read the signals wrong. He had seemed to be moving closer to her – or her to him – but had pulled away at the last moment. They were like kites dancing in the wind, soaring high, almost touching, then diving apart again.

Perhaps it was simply way too soon after Lachlan’s accident for him to think of anything beyond friendship. But she couldn’t help wondering if Craig’s comments about Nate really did have something to do with Lachlan’s reticence to let her get closer.

Even if she was ready to move on from the past – and from Nate – some people in Porthmellow never would.

Chapter Sixteen

Tiff was enjoying an affogato on the terrace of the Net Loft in lieu of her usual Saturday morning cappuccino. The sun blazed down from a blue sky so she was in a sleeveless shift and ballet pumps. On a weekend morning in Porthmellow, there were always plenty of locals around, as well as scores of holidaymakers pottering around the harbour, galleries and cafés. Fishermen were unloading their pots and she recognised some of the townspeople chatting outside the shops. Ellie and Drew were working on the sailing trust trawler; Chloe Farrow was feeding ducks with her granddaughter; Troy was chatting with his old mates on the steps of the Fisherman’s Institute. She almost felt part of the scene, part of Porthmellow … or perhaps it was becoming part of her …

Since their spat about Amira and the newspaper the previous week, she’d barely spoken to Dirk, other than the odd ‘hello’ or quick exchange around town. She’d lost sleep over it, torn between annoyance at his prejudice and steamy thoughts about his admission that he longed to take her to bed. She supposed their row had helped her to understand him better, even if she’d left angry at the injustice of his ideas about journalists. That being said, if his only experience of the press was Esther Francois, she could understand