His eyes snapped open. Their gazes met.
Silence.
Then…
‘Don’t say a word,’ she ordered.
‘I’m saying nothing,’ he replied, amused, as she disentangled herself and made a run for the safety of the bathroom.
* * *
An hour later, Fern stood leaning on the kitchen counter watching Daniel fry eggs. The air smelled of coffee and toast, and for a fleeting moment, she let herself enjoy the warmth of the scene, the normality of it. She couldn’t remember the last time she had cooked breakfast with anyone. Every time she had ended up in Jax Devlin’s arms, she had been kicked out of the hotel room in the early hours without even the cab fare home, just so the paparazzi didn’t get a photo. She was thankful to have dodged the embarrassment of being caught, and her face plastered all over the tabloids, but there was always a lingering sting of knowing she was probably just another of the many– many– secrets he refused to acknowledge in daylight.
Here, at the back of No. 17 Curiosity Lane, things couldn’t be more different. There was no pretence, no carefully curated façade. Just the two of them, bustling around the cramped kitchen, nudging each other out of the way with playful elbow jabs and lots of conversation, with the sound of the antique radio playing feel-good tunes.
‘Pass me the butter, would you?’ Daniel asked, glancing over his shoulder.
Fern reached for it, but her fingers closed around empty air as he snatched it first. ‘Too slow,’ he teased, grinning as he held it just out of reach.
‘Very mature. What are we, seven years old?’ She shook her head, suppressing a smile as she grabbed the butter from his hand then began to spread it over thick slices of toast. The butter melted instantly, pooling into golden pockets. She took a sneaky sideward glance at him, realising it felt like she had known him for years.
‘I know you’re watching me.’
‘I’m not,’ she protested as she placed the toast on two mismatched plates.
Daniel slid the eggs on top then handed her a plate. ‘Look at us,’ he mused, sitting down at the table. ‘We’re like a proper domestic couple,’ he said with a twinkle in his eye.
‘Aren’t we just,’ she replied, cutting the corner of the toast and dipping it in the egg before taking a bite, all the while watching him.
Daniel’s hair was doing its best impression of a bird’s nest, sticking up at wild angles like it had staged a rebellion against gravity. His stubble was just the right amount of scruff to make him look good, and he wore a well-loved Blondie T-shirt, the graphic cracked and faded from years of devoted wear. They ate in companionable silence, the occasional clink of cutlery the only sound filling the space between them.
Every now and then, Daniel took a slow sip of his coffee, looking so completely at ease. There was no hurry to his movements, no performance; it was just him existing. Jax had never been like that. With Jax, everything had been about image, about carefully orchestrated moments, about control. As Daniel reached over to steal the last bit of her toast, grinning as she swatted his hand away, she thought, maybe, just maybe, there was a better life out there for her without Jax.
She wondered what it would be like to be in a relationship with Daniel, but pushed that thought from her mind. She needed to have a serious chat with him and this seemed like as good a time as any, so she took the plunge.
‘We need to talk.’
‘That phrase never leads to good things.’
‘I’m going to call the estate agent today, get this place valued, and then I’m putting the shop up for sale.’
She had Daniel’s full attention now. ‘No, you can’t.’
‘Excuse me?’
‘You can’t sell this shop. Matilda wouldn’t want that.’
‘She’s no longer here, and I don’t really want or need an antique shop.’
‘This is my home, my job. I’m not going anywhere.’
Fern sighed, rubbing her temples. ‘Daniel, this isn’t your decision.’
‘Actually, it kind of is.’ He put down his knife and fork. ‘I live here, I work here and I know this place inside out. You have no idea what you’re getting rid of.’ He held her gaze, and there was something about the way he looked at her, his hazel eyes steady and unwavering, that made her pause.
‘Please don’t make any hasty decisions.’
‘Daniel, I don’t want an antique shop on an island I didn’t even know existed a day or so ago. My life is in London. The best I can offer is to give you first refusal.’
