Page 37 of Cupcakes and Kisses in Micklewick Bay

‘No worries at all, I had to get back home.’

Max nodded, still smiling at her.

‘You haven’t half grown.’ Jasmine vocalised the second thought that popped into her head concerning Max. The first was that he was really rather attractive. But she kept that to herself.

‘Aye, just a bit. As soon as I hit sixteen, I shot up like some sort of bonkers beanstalk. Thought I was never going to stop at one point. I went that gangly, you’d think I’d been stretched. The growing spurt ground to a halt when I hit six-three.’

‘Wow!’ Jasmine said, thinking he had the loveliest voice, all rich and deep and velvety. She hadn’t noticed it the other day, but then again, her knees had been giving her grief and she’d been overcome with embarrassment for falling over. And wherever he’d been in the last twenty-odd years, he’d still kept his North Yorkshire accent. She wondered if he’d stayed in Harrogate, kept near his grandad.

He clapped his hand to his head. ‘What the heck am I thinking, keeping you here on the doorstep? Come inside, let me get you something to drink. I’ve got a million questions to ask you. The kids are having a whale of a time in the garden, by the way, Sabrina’s keeping an eye on them.’

Mention of his PA sent a wave of unease over Jasmine. She couldn’t put her finger on it, but though Sabrina had been friendly, there was something about her that had given unspoken warnings. ‘Another time, maybe. I should probably be getting back, and I don’t want to intrude.’

Max’s smile fell. There’d always been something in his eyes that had managed to reach into her heart, even when they were children. She hovered for a moment, battling between going home and staying for a short time, wondering how it would go down with Sabrina. Jasmine didn’t want to rock the boat; she had enough going on without dealing with a jealous PA/girlfriend.

‘Just so you know, Jingilby, you wouldn’t be intruding. I’ve been hoping to see you again since we bumped into each other. And when Connor said his best friend was called Zak Ingilby, I secretly hoped he’d be related to you. Connor’s my son, by the way.’

‘Yeah, I realise that now.’

‘Somehow, seems fitting they should be friends, don’t you think?’

‘It does.’ She smiled up at him. ‘History repeating itself.’

‘Aye, that’s what I thought. According to Connor, they hit it off straight away. He said Zak was really friendly and made sure to include him in their games.’

Jasmine’s heart swelled with love for her son. ‘Yeah, he’s a good kid, doesn’t like to think of anyone being left out or having no one to play with.’

‘Sounds just like his mum.’

Jasmine gave an embarrassed laugh, her eyes dropping to the floor.

‘Sure I can’t tempt you to a quick catch up?’ He dipped his head, giving her no choice but to look at him.

Meeting his gaze, her pulse jumped to attention. The pleading look in his eyes took her all the way back to when they were nine years old. How could she possibly refuse? ‘Okay then.’ She reached for Zak’s backpack, but Max got there before her and hooked it over his shoulder.

‘Great! Come on.’ He guided her into the house, his hand on the small of her back as unexpected butterflies danced a lively jig in her stomach.

‘Oh, my days, this is fantastic.’ For the second time since she’d arrived, Jasmine gasped. The front door led into a wide entrance hall, a sweeping oak staircase with decorative metal spindles in clean lines at its centre, a woven runner softening its appearance. The walls were painted an eggshell white, their starkness relieved by artfully arranged paintings of scenery, the theme of which was predominantly of the sea and the cliffs of Micklewick Bay; the brooding hulk of Thorncliffe was easy to pick out amongst them.

She followed him into an airy kitchen, the units echoing the pale blue of the front door and window frames. The biggest island she’d ever set eyes on took centre stage. It was topped with light-coloured marble, shot with shades of grey – as were the rest of the units – and added to the light feel of the room. A six-oven Aga sat in what had been a large fireplace, while an all-singing, all-dancing contemporary oven took up position beside it. Alongside the double-fronted American-style fridge stood a glass-doored wine chiller. Jasmine had never seen such a kitchen. Everywhere was flooded with light and, though what she’d seen of the house so far had a distinctly contemporary feel, the atmosphere was warm and welcoming, with personal itemsdotted about the place, including photos of Connor and Ernest together.

‘Make yourself at home, Jingilby.’ Max gestured to the high-backed Lloyd Loom-style bar stools, his arm extending to the L-shaped sofa at the other end of the kitchen. ‘Tea? Coffee? Hot chocolate – I remember you used to be a huge hot chocolate fan.’ He grinned at her as he set Zak’s backpack down.

‘And I seem to recall I wasn’t the only one.’

‘Your mum’s were the best,’ he said fondly.

‘Still are.’

‘In that case, maybe we should stick to tea. I’d hate my hot chocolate to be a crashing disappointment,’ he joked.

‘I doubt it would, but tea’s good for me, dash of milk, no sugar, thanks.’ She headed over to the enormous floor-to-ceiling window on the opposite wall. It overlooked a sweeping lawn where the boys were playing football against a backdrop of the sea. She spotted Zak, running about, the corners of her mouth lifting with a smile. He looked happy and carefree. It was good to see he’d put the trouble of earlier in the week behind him.

‘How are they, by the way? Your parents, I mean? I’d been hoping to call in on them as you suggested, but work commitments haven’t allowed. I’d love for Connor to meet them; I’ve told him loads about them, and you.’

Jasmine pulled herself away from the window and made her way over to the island. Pulling out a bar stool she hooked her bag over the back. ‘Mum and Dad are good, thanks. It’s their ruby wedding anniversary soon, so they’re getting excited about that, Mum particularly so.’ She wondered how much detail Max had gone into with his son about his past.

‘Ruby? How many years is that, then?’

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