A gust of wind lifted the corner of his paper, and Marcus pressed it flat with his palm.
He would not beg Rowan to stay.
He would not make himself easy to leave, either.
If Rowan wanted a place in Seagull Bay, in Marcus’s life, then Rowan would have to choose it.
Marcus lifted his chin and looked back across the beach, taking in the bunting, the marquees, the stalls, the people who had shown up because he had finally let them.
The competition was almost ready.
Now, apparently, so was his heart.
Ready to find out whether Rowan was brave enough to stay.
Chapter fifteen
Not the greatest of cooks, Marcus looked down at the cottage pie steaming on the top of the counter. He beamed with pride. With curls of potato, that had taken him ten minutes to perfect, now slightly browned and crisp, it looked delicious.
He leaned in closer and inhaled deeply. It smelled good too. Marcus could smell the rich gravy he’d made to coat the minced beef, even though it was buried under a mound of mash. Later, he’d sit down to a good hearty lunch, the first since the house had officially become his, after living off take aways and food from either The Cheese Wedge and Pickles, or Tammy’s Tearoom.
Covering the cottage pie with a clean tea towel, then filling the pan of vegetables he’d just peeled and diced with cold water, ready to boil later on, he placed the lid on the pan and put it next to the pie. Picking up his water bottle, he headed back outside to finish what he’d started.
Looking up at the sky, it was clear overhead, but in the horizon, he swore he could see what looked like grey clouds—or was he imagining it—he was after all, overdue an eye test? Still, now that the undercoat was dry, nothing was going to stop him getting the first coat of paint on today.
Yapping caught his attention, and he tried to place the yap with the dog. A smile crept on his face when it registered, and Marcus turned around and walked to the edge of his small frontgarden, craning his neck as he looked down the lane, in the direction it was coming from.
Little Rosie came into view on the end of an extended lead, followed by Christine and Tom, arm in arm. Christine’s cheeks were ballooned as she blew out hard, obviously worn out from the effort to make it to the top of the steep lane.
Marcus chuckled and curled his hands around his mouth. ‘Come on! You can do it!’
Christine spotted him and waved.
A minute later, Christine, Tom and Rosie were standing on the opposite side of Marcus’s garden gate.
Christine held onto it as she caught her breath.
Marcus reached out an extended hand to Tom. Tom shook it with a huge smile, as he glanced Christine’s way. ‘Morning, Marcus.’
‘Good morning, you two. What brings you all the way up here?’
Christine held up a finger, and both Marcus and Tom looked at each other and laughed.
Licking her lips, Christine looked at Marcus. ‘Could I trouble you for a drink, love?’
Marcus offered his water bottle. ‘This is fresh, I’ve not drank from it yet.’
Christine gratefully took it, and drank greedily.
Marcus looked from her to Tom. ‘Can I offer you a drink, Tom.’
Tom shook his head. ‘I’m fine, thanks, Marcus. I’m used to walking these hilly streets with Rosie here. But this is Christine’s first time. We usually just walk along the beach.’
Marcus nodded and laughed heartily. ‘Ah, no wonder she’s practically dying on my doorstep.’
Christine stopped drinking and smiled sweetly. ‘Oi, I’m still here you know.’ She turned and looked at Marcus, eyes narrowed. ‘How the heck do you manage that hill every day?’
‘It was a killer at first, but now I’m used to it. What I can’t understand is, how did Morgan manage it with her walking stick?’ Marcus shook his head. ‘No wonder she chose to stay in the living accommodation above the pub with her brother-in-law.’
