Pleased to be wanted, I smiled. “Me too.”

Then I felt Roane’s hand on my knee again and shivered at the feel of his calloused palm on my skin. My gaze flew to his, and he squeezed my knee. “I’ll see what I can do to make sure you get that visa.”

The flutters in my belly went wild. “What could you do?”

“I know people,” he said.

He’d said that before. “Who are these mysterious people you know?”

“People who help me get what I want.”

My breath caught at the heat in his eyes, and he gave my knee one last squeeze before releasing me. Roane smirked as if he knew how he affected me and wrenched his gaze from mine to say to Caro, “If I invite people to The Anchor to celebrate Evie’s prolonged stay, you’re coming. No arguments. Helena can go to hell.”

Ten

I’m staying in England for another three months.”

At the deafening silence on the other end of the line, I slumped onto the sofa and stared out at the dark sea. Broken streams of moonlight glinted off the water, moving with every gentle wave like fluttering silver fairy wings dancing across the surface.

Yet not even the beauty of my surroundings could ease the rising tide of concern as the silence continued.

To my shock, I received an email along with my digital work visa that day. Only nine days after I’d spoken to Penny. Last week, I’d called Greer and told her I was staying for an extra week because Penny offered me a deal. I hadn’t seen any point alarming her about the prospect of my staying in England for longer until it was for certain.

Now it was certain.

“Greer?”

She cleared her throat, and then her words came out tight, as though she were clenching her teeth. “How is that possible?”

Quietly, as though I were afraid a loud tone would spook her, I explained Penny’s situation, her proposition, and the arrival of my work visa.

More silence followed the explanation.

“Greer?”

“I knew it,” she replied sadly. “I knew you would go there and not come back. I just felt it in my gut.”

Guilt that I was hurting her, worrying her, made me flinch. “Oh, Greer, that’s not true. It’s just these past four weeks flew, just like a vacation, and I didn’t have time to figure anything out. Now I have three months to do that, and I am certain I’ll know what my next step is going to be when I get back to Chicago.”

“Yeah but you might decide Chicago isn’t your next step.” She huffed. “And please don’t tell me your decision to stay has nothing to do with the hot farmer.”

“It doesn’t,” I snapped.

It didn’t.

Not really.

Not like that.

I’d posted an Instagram photo of Roane holding an impressive pair of melons to his chest beside a fruit stall at Alnwick Markets last week, with the caption “Some people are just blessed by nature’s bounty ;)”

Almost as soon as I’d posted that photo, I was inundated with comments from friends. Who was the mysterious hottie, and what was he to me? Mostly I ignored the comments, but I couldn’t ignore Greer’s phone call later that day.

I’d explained who Roane was and that we were just friends.

I thought she’d bought it.

Not that there was anything to buy. We were just friends. Even though he constantly flirted with me and was generally making every day harder to resist the temptation he presented.

“Oh, please.” I could practically hear the curl in Greer’s upper lip. “You went to England to get some distance from your life, met a gorgeous guy, and are allowing your vagina to dictate the next three months.”

For a moment I couldn’t speak. I was hardly ever on the end of Greer’s sharp tongue, but I knew she had one. She used it to eviscerate lazy colleagues at her design firm. Greer was a UX designer, specializing in the design of digital products like websites and apps. We’d shared the experience of working in a male-dominated office, and Greer had decided that to be seen, heard, and respected she’d be the resident ballbuster.

It worked for her.

I just never thought it would be directed at me one day.

The urge to snap back was great, but I reminded myself my best friend was pregnant. Shouting at your pregnant best friend was not cool.

“That’s not what I’m doing.” I kept my voice gentle, calm. “This is about me. What I want.”

“Then tell me this guy hasn’t got something to do with you wanting to stay?”

“You know not everything has to be about a guy, but if you want the truth, yes, he factored into the decision but not the way you think. We’re friends.” My chest ached whenever I thought of Roane. “And not just acquaintance friends or good friends but friends like you and I are friends. We connected immediately in a way I can’t explain. So, yes, part of staying for a little longer is so I can have more time with him.”