I’m staring at his Adam’s apple, then the sooty smudges on his collar. ‘Can I wash your shirt?’
Why am I even thinking of burying my face in it? Of keeping all the doors shut, leaving it out on the sofa and capturing his smell for a day.
He shakes his head. ‘The hotel will do that. No point having a laundry service and not using it.’
Being crazily indebted when I’m not even supposed to be speaking to him makes me so uncomfortable, I’m being absurd. ‘Would you like some Fanta?’ Even mentioning something as small as that feels like an insult when he’s just saved my home. ‘Or a cup of tea?’ Now I sound like I’m ninety.
He shakes his head again. ‘I’m with clients, so I’ll leave you to get on.’ He frowns. ‘Just so I know for Rye, what happened here?’
I think on my feet. ‘Some unfortunate tips on kindling.’
He looks suitably unimpressed as he backs away. ‘You might like to invest in an extinguisher if the kids are going to play with matches.’
He has a point, but the way he puts it sounds so judgmental.
I fix my gaze on the girls. ‘We’ll get straight onto that now.’
He’s backing away, then as he stares at the crowd of faces, he pauses. ‘Is it my eyes, or have you all been hit by a cherry bomb?’
Milla clears her throat. ‘Notquiteall of us, Kit – I’ve gone from vanilla to bitter chocolate.’
Kit’s blinking. ‘So you have! For a moment there I thought you were Floss!’
I mutter, ‘Florence.’
The grin on Milla’s face is as wide as the bay. ‘Right answer, Kit! That’s exactly the look I was going for.’ She smiles across at me. ‘Once Scarlet’s mum gives me a choppy cut, you won’t tell us apart.’
However badly this afternoon is going, it just got a hundred times worse. And then, as Kit turns and I watch his back disappearing over the dunes, I’m kicking myself for not being more grateful. Before I know it, I’m calling out.
‘Anything I can do in return, just shout.’ Not cakes obviously. I already owe him brownies for life. I’m talking about far bigger stuff.
He turns and shouts over his shoulder. ‘I’ll get back to you on that.’
And then he’s gone, and I’m left with a stomach whizzing around like a washing machine on fast spin.
16
The Hideaway, St Aidan
Heroes and happy Mondays
Monday
‘Floss, you’re there!’
When Kit’s name flashes up on my phone two days later, the moment I pick up I can tell there’s a problem.
‘Are you free to come to the studio – like now?’
‘This sounds urgent!’ It’s a surprise he needs me so soon after my own emergency, but I want to arrive prepared. ‘Shall I bring an extinguisher?’
Not only did my own three arrive by next-day delivery, but every time I’ve dropped a box of ‘thank you’ brownies on the doorstep of Kit’s hut, he’s brought me a pile of firefighting equipment in return.
I sense his sigh. ‘You may need one. One half of this morning’s couple is having a meltdown. I hoped you could talk her down.’
I’ve never actually been in his studio, but if it’s anything like his trousers it’s going to be well upmarket so I’d better check. ‘Is there a dress code?’
‘Smart but speed is more important. She’s quite upset.’
