“They had to give John Nettles something to do. Poor man.”
We’ve passed the last shop and are standing at the end of the street. Ahead of us are fields, the lights of the village behind. We gaze at the sky, and then, in synch, we both draw in a startled breath.
“What isthat?” I breathe.
The moon is huge and full and the most beautiful pink colour. It’s like the pink gin my mum loves. The pale orb rides high in the sky, bathing the fields in light, and even as I watch, a bat flits across it.
“It’s a strawberry moon,” Harry whispers. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen one so bright.”
“What is a strawberry moon?”
“It happens every year. In some cultures, it’s seen as a symbol of love and prosperity and a time to savour life’s sweetness. Like the first strawberries. Others see it as…”
I edge closer. “See it as what?”
He turns to me, the moonlight highlighting the sharp angles of his face. “It was believed that the strawberry moon could bring a change to a relationship, making it more meaningful.”
I wait a few beats and then screw up my courage and say quietly but firmly, “I would like that to happen with us, Harry.”
Silence fills the space between us, and my bravery slowly seeps away like the air in a popped balloon. “Oh,” I say quietly and go to move away.
His hand stops me. “Wait,” he says urgently. “I’m sorry. I was trying to find the right words.”
“For what?” I look longingly back in the direction of where we left the car. My biggest wish right now is to be home and away from this.
He tugs me. “Let’s walk. Please.”
I nod reluctantly and fall in at his side as we start walking again.
“My conscience is arguing with me at the moment.”
“Conscience?” I say, stopping dead and putting my hand on his arm to stay him. “What on earth would you need that for?”
“Cradle robbing,” he offers in a dry voice.
I roll my eyes. “Hardly. You’re only fifteen years older than me.”
“Only?” he groans. “That’s a lot of years, Clem.” He strokes my hand, looking down at my fingers as if he’s never seen any before. “I like you very much,” he finally says. My spirits rise, but I repress them. There’s more to come. “But the thing is, I’m your boss.” He’s still staring down as if he can’t meet my eyes. “We have two strikes against dating—I’m in a position of authority over you and I’m old enough to know better.”
I tear my hand away and pace a few steps. Then I spin around. “So what?” I hold out my hands. “Who the fuck cares?”
“Icare.” The words are firm and stop my rant. “I care a great deal about you, Clem.”
“You do?” I whisper.
He nods, the breeze blowing his hair around his beautiful face. “Enough to say I want everything for you.”
“But what if that’syou?”
He huffs. “A bookshop owner who can’t hold down a relationship to save his life?”
“To be perfectly frank, if I’d been dating the men you’ve picked I’d have opted for death,” I snap. “There must be better conversationalists in the graveyard than Tony, who started every sentence with, ‘Not to be rude but…’”
A ghost of a smile flickers at the corner of his mouth and then his face resumes its troubled expression. “I think you should look for a younger man. Someone who’s lively and lovely like you.”
His words are firm, and I can already see him gathering the metaphorical bricks to start building a wall between us. I want to throw myself at him and kiss him, but I know that won’t work, and I rack my brains for what to do next.
A scene from the book comes to mind, and before I can stop myself, I take two steps towards him and then wobble. “Oh,” I cry.
