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if they grew around here?"
    As she turned to reach for the casserole dish, his eyes dropped to her hips then her bum, which was being shown off spectacularly in a pair of snug jeans.
    "Matt?"
    He dragged his gaze back to hers and felt himself blush. Had she caught him looking? "Sorry, what?"
    "Poppies?"
    "Oh, yeah. Erm, I'm pretty sure they don't grow around here. But I do know they were used in Roman myths as offerings to the dead."
    Emma dropped the pan lid into the sink, splashing water and soapsuds up her T-shirt.
    "You okay? You've gone a bit pale."
    "I'm fine. I'll just go get changed," she said as she dried her hands. An offering to the dead? What did that even mean? So, she'd seen the dead and new beginnings in the same vision? Was the man she'd seen dead then?  
    She pulled a dry T-shirt on and told herself to leave it. The last thing she wanted was Matt thinking she was crazy when he was the first friend she had made in the village.  
    By the time she got back downstairs, Matt had finished the dishes and topped off her glass of wine. She took it into the living room and curled up on one side of the sofa. Matt followed and sat at the other end, facing her with a worried look on his face. She started to twist her ring as she tried to think of something that would rid him of that expression.
    "So, you didn't inherit a love of gardening off your gran, then?"
    His look slowly turned from worry to a smile. "No. I used to spend a lot of time in the garden with her when I got older." Suddenly, he laughed.
    "What?" she asked.
    "I just remembered why I stopped helping her in the garden."
    "Why?"
    "I'm not sure I should tell you, it's quite embarrassing."
    Emma smiled and patted his leg, which he had curled up onto the sofa. "Don't worry, your secret's safe with me." His eyes dropped to her hand and she quickly pulled it back to her lap. Maybe he wasn't a touchy-feely type of friend.
    "Er, she got a cat. And no matter what my gran did, she could never convince it to come inside the house. I swear this thing was possessed. It was black, with really vivid green eyes, and just a patch of white on each paw. It would rub itself innocently against my gran, but as soon as she disappeared ..." He curled his fingers over, making a clawing action. "Christ, I lost count of how many times it got me. In the end, I just avoided Gran's garden, until one day it up and disappeared. Never saw the bloody thing again."
    "So, you're scared of cats, then?" Emma asked with a laugh. "What about dogs?"
    "I wouldn't say I was scared of cats. I just have a healthy respect for the pain they can inflict. Dogs are different, much more friendly. Especially Barney."
    "You mean Barney is a little over-friendly." She smiled as she remembered his surprise at her having a dog. She took a sip of her wine, looking at him over the top of her glass. He fidgeted as she watched him, and she wondered if he was like this around everyone or just women in general. She found it cute, quite amusing even.
    "So, what about you? Anything you're scared of?"
    Slowly, she smiled again. "Believe it or not, I'm actually scared of dogs." His laugh was deep and warm, and she found herself joining in. "I know, but I thought if I got a dog I wouldn't be scared of them anymore. Didn't work that way, though. Obviously, I'm not scared of Barney, because he jumps at his own shadow, but other dogs? Yep, they still scare me."
    He leaned his head against the sofa and relaxed into the cushion. She smiled at the action, liked the fact he felt relaxed there. Liked him , she realised. Definitely on the road to being friends. She took another sip of wine and curled up into her cushion.

CHAPTER NINE

    The next morning, Emma practically skipped to the village shop; after all, it was the weekend and she'd had a great time the night before. Hopefully, we'll do it again, and soon.  
    When she pushed open the door, the bell tinkled overhead and the ladies chatting at the counter stopped to turn and