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teens.
    ‘So, um, you can pay at the checkout.’ Will lifted the stir stick in the air, and a glob of blue goo dripped down onto his trouser leg. ‘Bollocks,’ he said, swiping at the spot and only succeeding in making it bigger.
    Emma tried to hide a grin behind her hand. God, he’s cute, she thought, watching him frown in frustration. Definitely not her type—he worked in a home improvement centre, and statistics showed job compatibility was key for relationship longevity—but she couldn’t deny there was something appealing about Will’s confidence and the spark in his eye.
    ‘Right.’ Emma reached over and grabbed the metal hoop of the paint tin. ‘Ouf’ —it was heavier than it looked. ‘Well, thanks again.’
    ‘My pleasure. Let me know if you ever need any other colours. I’m your man.’ His cheeks went even redder as the words left h is m outh.
    ‘I wish,’ Emma muttered under her breath. She lifted a hand and slowly walked away.

CHAPTER FIVE
    W ill Ballard swore as he rubbed paint thinner into his trousers in a futile attempt to get rid of the blue splotch. Although he didn’t care about ruining his work uniform, he did care about looking like an absolute idiot in front of a woman who’d made things interesting for once.
    Usually, customers came in seeking shades of cream, beige, the ever-popular boring magnolia, or various exciting shades of grey. Once in a while, some eccentric or aging hippie would go off-road and request burnt orange or cherry red. Will couldn’t remember the last time someone had asked for such a specific shade, so specific it wasn’t even on the colour chart.
    But it wasn’t just that, he knew. There was something about those green eyes, the look on the woman’s face when she’d explained the colour .… Will shook his head. Come on, mate, he told himself. T he las t thing he needed was to get caught up in a romantic fantasy, especially when he knew how those scenarios ended. Cherie had driven the point home. One day, they’d been happily living together, planning their future. The next, she’d tearfully told him she couldn’t be with him any longer. There was nothing to say that another woman would behave differently, and Will wasn’t about to head down that road again.
    ‘Will? Call for you in the office. Line three.’ Jim Lowell, Will’s manager, stuck his head around the aisle. ‘Go on. I’ll cover for you here.’
    ‘Thanks, Jim.’ Will nodded in the older man’s direction, then trudged towards the dingy office at the back of the large box store. Only his dad called here, usually to badger him about returning to his former job at the family paint company. A spurt of anger went through Will. When would he accept that this was Will’s reality now?
    Will lifted the grimy receiver. ‘Hello?’
    ‘Son.’ His father’s gruff tone rang down the line. ‘I’ve been trying to reach you at home, but you haven’t returned my messages.’
    Will sighed. Maybe if the messages were more to do with the typical father–son relationship and less about business, he’d want to call back.
    ‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘Look, I’m at work right now. Can I ring when my shift is over?’
    ‘Actually, if you’re feeling up to it, I was hoping you could come by the factory today. You haven’t been here for ages, and it would be good to see you.’ His father’s voice was accusatory, and Will gripped the phone. No sooner would he visit the factory in Neasden than his dad would propel him into the sparse office, shoving paperwork his way and applying pressure to fulfil familial responsibilities. Not a chance. ‘I can send a car to pick you up now,’ his dad continued. ‘Or over at the boat, if you want a bit of a rest first.’ His father uttered ‘boat’ like he’d tasted something very bitter.
    Will rubbed his forehead, suddenly conscious of how tired he was of all this. He’d thought shunning the position of company vice president—in readiness to become CEO