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that were all   choked with nettles and weeds.  They stopped at the gate, jammed open by dandelions and thistles, trampled flat by her feet that morning.
    “Bit wild, isn’t it?  What’s through here?”
    “It’s the path down to the beach.  I had a swim earlier to wake me up.  I didn’t sleep very well.”
    “Dreaming about me?”
    “It was the wine,” she insisted.  “I’m not used to drinking so much.”
    “Lightweight!” he teased.  “And now you’re wanting to use me for hard labour?  I hope your cooking’s up to it.  Shall we go and find out?”
    He definitely enjoyed her lunch and she enjoyed the flash of toned abs when he leaned back in his chair, arms stretched above his head.  He was such a blatant show-off, he knew exactly what he was doing.  Yet she still wanted to brush her fingers over that tanned strip above his belt.
    “That was way better than my old man’s usual stew,” he said, finally putting down his knife and fork.  “He makes these huge pots of the stuff that last us a week at a time.  He just keeps tossing in all sorts to keep it going.  Best not to ask too many questions.”
    He filled up her glass yet again.  She’d lost count already, despite her resolution to stay sober.  But she didn’t want to think too much about what she was doing, barely a day after her meltdown.
    “You live with your father?” she asked, surprised.
    “Yeah, not very rock and roll, is it?  But we rub along okay.”
    “Mine died last year.  I don’t think I appreciated him properly until it was too late to tell him.”
    “Sounds like you’ve been having your share of shit?  And now you’re hiding in your grandmother’s cottage, looking for answers?”
    “Is that what I’m doing?”  She got up to make coffee, aware of his eyes sweeping down her back.  “My family want to sell.  Everyone’s putting pressure on me to agree.”
    “You’d probably make a killing.  Our place belonged to my great-grandfather.  But fishermens’ cottages are fashionable now and people are selling them off to incomers for holiday homes.  Sticks in the throat a bit that the locals can’t afford them.”
    “I don’t want this place to be sold off.  I think it should be passed down to Claire.  And my sister’s kids if she ever has any.”
    “What for?  Seaside holidays?  It’s not like you’ll be moving in.  A townie like you?  You’ll be driving back up north in your executive Beemer as soon as you start missing your home comforts.”
    “I haven’t decided what I’m going to do.”
    “Still hedging your bets?  Is this where you tell me it’s none of my business?”
    She saw he was teasing and tried to match his tone.   “You’re only here because I need someone to tidy up the garden.”
    “Do I get anything else before I start?”
    “Cheese,” she said firmly.  “And coffee if you’re good.”
    “I’m always good.”
    She didn’t doubt it.  But she had to stop thinking about it.  She put down the platter and threw a grape at him.  He caught it and popped it into his mouth like a trophy.  He rocked back in the chair, his dark eyes twinkling with a definite challenge.
    “There’s crap to sort out with your husband, I get that.  But you need reminding how to enjoy yourself.  I’ve got a week to kill and I totally fancy you so what are you scared of?” 
    “Who says I’m scared?”
    “So, you’re up for going with the flow?”
    He hacked off some cheese and flipped it casually onto a cracker.  She wished he hadn’t mentioned her husband.  She didn’t want to start wondering if Joe was missing her.  Or how often he’d turn down the offer of unconditional fun.
    “You remember sex, right?”
    She was too sleep-deprived to think straight but if she’d been in any danger of confusing sex and romance, he was making it pretty clear.  So, why wasn’t she telling him to go?
    Jake reached across the table and took her hand.  She knew it was corny but