Page 55 of Love Letters on Hazel Lane

Beware of men bearing gifts, she thought, remembering Si. But this was Ras. Different kettle of fish. A gift from Ras would be rather lovely.

‘Hi,’ she said, stepping aside for him to come in.

‘Look what I’ve brought.’ He reached into one of the bags and pulled out some kind of electrical power tool. ‘I thought I might fix your door. If you’d like me to?’

So that explained the outfit.

He rummaged in the bag again and pulled out a screwdriver. ‘I’ll take it off and plane it. It won’t take long and then you can update me about the festival over a game. How does that sound?’

‘Sounds amazing,’ she said. ‘Thank you.’

She watched him take the door off its hinges, then she held it steady whilst he shaved off slivers of wood from the bottom. She watched him work, hoping the landlord wouldn’t mind,and fighting the urge to make some kind of double entendre about liking a man with a big tool.

‘That should do it,’ he said, screwing the door back into position. ‘I was worried about you. I mean, what if there was a fire and you couldn’t get out?’

‘I’d escape through a window.’

Even with this arse, she added mentally, before saying out loud, ‘But Ras. I am grateful. It’s so kind of you.’

‘Well, I’d hate anything to happen to you, Jo.’

He’d been worrying about her? And would hate anything to happen to her?

Was he…?

Did he…?

‘And I’m so grateful for all the effort you’ve put into organising the festival.’

No, this was one favour in return for another.

‘I’m enjoying it,’ she said.

‘You are?’

‘Yeah. And I like spending time with you.’

Love spending time with you.

‘In fact,’ she added, ‘I haven’t had this much fun in ages.’

Make that ever.

‘Me neither,’ he said.

There was a pause. For a second, Jo thought again that he was going to kiss her, right there and then, in his overalls. But then he said, ‘I’ll put my tools away. Is there somewhere I can change?’

‘Bathroom’s upstairs. Shall I get the kettle on?’

I’d hate anything to happen to you.

What did that mean exactly? she wondered as she put the kettle on. She opened the kitchen cupboard, pulled out two Mr Men mugs – Mr Tickle and Mr Perfect – and made two mugs of strong tea. So strong, it might have been described as builder’s tea. Rather apt after he’d fixed her door.

Did he care about her?

Or were they simply the words of a friend? A good friend?

She was going round and round in circles thinking about it. She took the mugs through to see Ras coming downstairs in chinos and a white T-shirt, looking decidedly smarter than he usually did. He sat down on the sofa, right on top of the stain, and Jo handed him the steaming Mr Perfect mug.