Page 88 of Christmas at Sturcombe Bay
He waited. Five minutes stretched to ten, then fifteen. He was tossing up between going back inside or giving up and going away when the doors opened and the guy came striding out. He paused to pull on his crash helmet, then swung onto his bike, revved it up, and turned out of the car park.
Paul waited until the noise of the bike’s engine had faded, then climbed the steps and walked back in through the front doors. Neil pointed to the terrace. “She’s outside,” he murmured.
Nodding his thanks, he crossed to the terrace. Jess was standing by the stone balustrade, gazing out over the bay. He moved over to stand close to her, but didn’t speak.
After a long time she turned. “He tried to hit you.”
“He missed.”
“Thank you for not hitting him back. Oh, not because he didn’t deserve it.” She shook her head, unsmiling. “But that would have been just what he wanted — a good ruck.”
“I thought as much.” He laughed with a touch of dry humour. “When I was playing, I’d often have defenders try to rile me up, try to get me sent off. I learned pretty early how to handle those situations.”
Her brow furrowed. “What is it with some men? Thinking they can just say sorry, and carry on as if nothing has happened?”
He shrugged his shoulders. “I guess some of us are just idiots.”
“He brought me this.” She had a small box in her hand, a jeweller’s box. “Earrings.” She flipped open the lid to show him.
Diamonds winked in the light spilling from the reception hall. Diamonds in a pretty flower-shaped setting. He knew enough about diamonds to know that they were almost certainly real.
“Bloody diamonds.” She snapped the box shut. “They’re probably fake. He thought he could give me diamonds and I’d go running back to him. Well, this is what I think of his bloody diamonds.” She swung her arm back to throw the box into the sea.
In a swift movement he caught her wrist, folding his other hand over her fist to close it over the box. “Don’t do that. If you really don’t care about him anymore, it doesn’t matter what you do with them. Wear them, sell them, give them to charity.”
She laughed — bitterly, angrily, then shading into a wry amusement. “You’re right. Why should I throw them away? They’re very pretty. I’m surprised he had such good taste. I bet someone else chose them for him. Probably his sister.” She dragged in a deep breath, and held out her hand. “Anyway, thanks for . . . Thanks. Goodnight.”
He took her hand and held it. “There’s a comedy night at the Corn Exchange in Exeter on Wednesday. It’s usually a pretty good evening.”
She shook her head. “No, thank you.” She looked away, then back again. “I’m sorry, but as a . . . relationship, this isn’t going to go anywhere. I hope we can still be friends, but . . .”
She drew her hand from his, and with a brisk nod, she turned and walked back across the reception hall to the staff door.
He watched her go. Well, that had been pretty clear. He’d been given the brush-off before, a couple of times, but they really hadn’t bothered him much. They’d mostly been just a case of who would say it first.
This time . . . He felt like one of those cartoon characters who’d been hit over the head with a giant hammer.
But it was no surprise. Her ex showing up like that had thrown her for a loop. She was going to need a bit of space. He drew in a long, deep breath, and sighed wryly. He’d give her space, but he wasn’t going to give up.
Cassie had warned him that he could have met his match. Maybe she wasn’t far wrong.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
“That was fun.” Kate smiled at Mike as they drove back towards Sturcombe. “I love the Viennese Waltz — or I will when I get the hang of that turn. What did you call it? The flicker?”
“The fleckerl. It is a bit tricky to do, but I’m sure you’ll get the hang of it with practice.”
“I hope so. I wouldn’t want to be holding you back.”
“You’re not.” His eyes were warm. “I really enjoy dancing with you.”
“Really?” She felt a glow around her heart. “I’m glad about that.”
He turned down Church Road. “How’s Debbie?”
“Oh, she’s so happy in the cottage!” She sensed that he was deliberately changing the subject. Thank goodness. It was a struggle to keep her feelings under control. “It’s just lovely, and so cosy. And it has a garden. Little Amy’s over the moon about that. She’s already planning on planting nasturtiums and sweet peas in the spring.”
“That’s nice. Do you miss having them at home?”
