A Perfect Cornish Escape by Phillipa Ashley Page 0,68

I was at the station, being chucked into the Atlantic!’

Several hours later, she was cursing inside while apologising profusely for not being able to give a young man from Stoke change for a twenty-pound note. She’d put it in the till but let the cash drawer close before fishing out his £9.50 change. Parminder, the retired pharmacist who was helping her in the shop, had gone to ‘answer the call of nature’ and she’d been alone for ten minutes. She’d barely glimpsed Dirk as he was so tied up in the boathouse itself.

‘I need that money for the car park,’ the customer grumbled, pointedly looking at his watch. ‘My ticket’s running out!’

‘I’m terribly sorry but there’s no one around to help …’ Tiff replied, desperately scanning the door through to the station itself. The place was packed with holidaymakers, queuing for tours and asking questions.

Three other people had now joined the queue behind the impatient customer, their baskets full of jigsaws, tea towels and model boats.

Struck by a sudden brainwave, Tiff grabbed her purse from her bag. ‘Here you are, I can give you some change.’ She managed to fish out some five-pound notes and handed it to him. ‘Here you go, forget the extra fifty pence.’ She’d have done anything to get rid of him.

‘Thanks,’ he muttered and stalked off.

Two lavender-haired pensioners, obviously twins, reached the front of the queue, eagerly holding their debit cards up. ‘Do you do contactless?’ they trilled in unison.

‘Um …’ Tiff prayed for Parminder to return and almost squealed in delight when he reappeared. In a flash, he’d opened the till to sort out Tiff’s impromptu reimbursement of the car park guy.

‘Take it as a donation,’ she said, simply relieved to have an expert back.

‘I heard you had a baptism of fire in the shop,’ Dirk said later, over a glass of wine on the balcony at The Net Loft restaurant. It was a beautiful evening, with sunlight glinting off the harbour and yacht halyards clanking in the gentle breeze.

‘Better than a baptism of icy seawater,’ Tiff replied, enjoying the evening sun on her bare shoulders. ‘Although almost as stressful at times.’

‘Parminder told me you’d given someone change out of your own pocket.’

‘Only because I was desperate to get rid of him. I couldn’t get the bloody till to open.’

He laughed. ‘I must admit I’d never have imagined you as a charity shop volunteer when I first saw you.’

‘Well, the day you see me in rubber clogs is the day you’ll know I’m beyond all hope.’

‘I think you’d look good even in rubber clogs,’ Dirk murmured.

‘Not as good as you would,’ Tiff flashed back.

‘I’d rather go overboard without a buoyancy aid,’ he growled.

She chinked his glass. ‘Then we agree on one thing. No clogs.’

She sipped her wine and it was really rather good. The skate wings that arrived, with a lemon butter glaze, were delicious too, and Tiff couldn’t even fault the crushed potatoes, despite their associations with queuing on the narrow roads.

Most of all, the company was delicious, and as the sun sank behind them, lighting up the harbour with pink rays, Tiff could imagine how she could stay here forever. She also noticed more than a few sidelong glances, mostly from women. In addition to her London-ness, she’d now added the far greater sin of having ‘snared’ Dirk Meadows. Except she hadn’t snared him, only temporarily invited him into her life.

They lapsed into silence, gazing out over the boats, and Dirk’s hand crept over hers under the table. He squeezed her fingers and it felt so good … the electric thrill of his touch …

‘It’s going to be hard …’ Dirk said when their espressos arrived.

Tiff raised an eyebrow and laughed. ‘I’ll pretend you didn’t say that.’

‘Hard when this ends, I mean. Us.’ He frowned. ‘You’ll go back to London before long, Tiff.’

‘Maybe …’ She smiled. ‘Probably. But that’s all the more reason to make the most of now.’

‘Keep things casual, you mean? Like they are now? I must admit I’m enjoying the way things are,’ he said. ‘I hope you’re finding the arrangement pleasurable, too?’ His eyes sparkled.

‘It’s an extremely pleasurable “arrangement”,’ she murmured. ‘Plus it makes things simpler when I do leave,’ she added with a smile. ‘And when that time comes, we must promise each other there’ll be no regrets and no sad faces. Until then, we should make the most of enjoying every moment together.’

He flashed her such a sexy look it almost made her knees buckle. ‘Then