Seven
Russell wasn’t sure what to do next. Hanna seemed to be in a world of her own. He had been standing on her doorstep for what felt like an eternity, a smile fixed firmly in place, and yet she hadn’t invited him in.
‘Erm. I can come back later if this isn’t a good time,’ he said.
‘Good time?’ She was definitely flustered. ‘For what?’
‘To have a chat with you. Erm. I’ve come home for the Summer Fayre this weekend. And I realised that the last time I saw you was when I was home at Easter. For the Grand Opening of Betancourt Bay Café. Erm. I was on my way to the pub. No. The café. Erm. I was out for a walk and I found myself in Oak Street. So I thought, why not go and say hello to Hanna Shaw. She lives on Oak Street. So here I am. To say hello.’
‘Hell-o,’ she repeated, giving him the strangest look imaginable.
But then she would, wouldn’t she? He was behaving like a complete buffoon.
What on earth was wrong with him?
He’d felt perfectly in control until she had opened the front door. He’d managed to get out the few sentences he’d repeated over and over again on his way here, without any trouble. He’d even been able to say a few more things that sounded reasonably sensible.
But now … well, now … he didn’t seem to be in complete control of his faculties.
When Tabby had first mentioned Hanna earlier that day and had told him about the gossip, he had been shocked as well as surprised.
But he hadn’t thought about why he was so shocked and so surprised.
Even during lunch, when he and Griff and Grace were discussing it, he hadn’t let himself wonder why there was a tightness in his chest. Or why he was a little annoyed about the gossip. He, like Griff, had tried to make light of it.
As if Hanna would be in love with Griff! It was ridiculous.
But was it?
Lots of women were in love with Griff. Griff was the epitome of tall, dark, and handsome. Women sometimes literally swooned when Griff bestowed one of his intense gazes and sensational smiles on them.
Yet Hanna had never seemed that interested.
Or had she?
The truth was, until this year, Russell had hardly noticed Hanna because he had been so in love with Hope.
He had thought Hanna was pretty when they had first met, a few years ago now, when she had moved to Betancourt Bay. He had known she was a talented artist. Both he and Griff had bought her paintings. And she had always been easy to talk to whenever they had seen one another. But other than that, he had given Hanna very little thought.
And yet, since Christmas, he had thought of Hanna once or twice. A few times, in fact. Since Griff and Grace’s engagement in February, he had thought of Hanna far more often than he had thought of Hope. And since Easter, he had hardly thought of Hope at all, yet thoughts of Hanna had frequently popped into his head, and he had found himself smiling, yet he wasn’t sure why.
They were merely friends, and he had enjoyed his time with her that day at the Grand Opening of Betancourt Bay Café.
He had been disappointed not to have come home in June. Yet he had also been slightly relieved that he could stay away. He wasn’t sure what was happening to him but he had felt a change somehow. He couldn’t put his finger on it but something was different. There was one thing he was certain of though. He was no longer in love with Hope Eversley.
Even during his chat with Tabby today, and then the conversation with Griff and Grace he hadn’t understood why this latest gossip was playing on his mind. It didn’t involve him in any way, other than the fact that he was Griff’s younger brother.
But was that all it was? Why did it make him cross to think that everyone was spreading gossip about Hanna? And was it simply the gossip that was irritating him? Or was there something more?
It was only as he walked down the drive of Betancourt and crossed the road into Oak Street that light seemed to dawn. And when he had seen Catkin Cottage a surge of excitement had grown inside him. His footsteps had quickened and he had felt light headed as soon as he had seen Hanna’s front door.
And as he had stood on her doorstep and she had opened the door to him, all he could think about was how pleased he was to see her again.
And now all he could think about was how beautiful she was, with her hair tied in a sort of loosely tangled bun, and howthe yellow T-shirt she was wearing showed off every curve to perfection. How her cropped pale blue jeans clung to her long and shapely legs.
Did her tan go all the way from the tips of her bare feet to the outline of her gloriously lustrous auburn hair?
Was it an all over body tan or were there patches of soft white skin outlined in the shape of a swimsuit? Or of a skimpy bikini, perhaps?
