Page 125 of The Sugar and Spice Bookshop Bakery

‘Never have I ever made love in a shed.’

She punches his arm lightly. ‘They aren’t just sheds. They’re book nooks.’

‘Come on, then.’

Like excited children, they run through the back door and out into the garden. It’s barely four o’clock, but it’s dark already. Small, glass lanterns light the paths that weave between the different book nooks. Hand in hand, they make their way to the Love Shack and Louise opens the door. Inside, it’s warm and cosy; the heater is still on – she’s grateful that she hasn’t had time to close everything down for the night. She flicks off the bright reading lights beside each armchair, leaving only the fairy lights on.

Her hands are shaking as she reaches for him.

‘I’m nervous,’ she whispers.

‘Me too.’ He cups her face, kisses her slowly. ‘We can stop any time. Just say the word.’

‘Thank you. But I’ve a feeling that this time I won’t want to stop. This feels so right. So…’ She searches for the right word, but her editor’s brain isn’t quite working right now.

‘So us,’ he says softly.

‘Yes! So us.’ Delighted, she stands on tiptoes and plants a kiss on his cheek.

He doesn’t kiss her back, but instead reaches for the wicker basket full of throws and blankets that Maddie has thoughtfully placed in one corner. He pulls out a fake sheepskin throw, and lays it on the floor, grabs the pink heart-shaped cushions from the chairs, and a couple of soft blankets too. He kneels, arranging them this way and that, and Louise crouches down beside him.

‘You’ve made a little nest,’ she whispers.

He wraps his arms around her, lowering her onto the sheepskin, his eyes never leaving hers. Propping himself on one elbow, he lies over her, tracing the contours of her face with his fingertips. Louise gasps. The sensation is exquisite, like nothing she’s ever experienced. If this is how it feels when his fingers caress her face, how will it feel when they touch her breasts, or when he reaches between her legs? That thought, that anticipation, heightens the sensation of his touch even more, so much so that it’s almost painful, and Louise feels like she’s going to burst.

Jack is taking things slowly. Achingly slowly. His fingers creep down her neck, in tiny circles. He reaches her collarbone, still making eye contact, clearly relishing the effect he knows he’s having on her. She feels shy again, closes her eyes.

‘Look at me, Luisa,’ he says.

She looks up at him, and then his fingers are on her collarbone and then they’re sliding under her blouse, undoing first one button and then another, and all the while he’s whispering Italian words she doesn’t understand.

‘What does that mean?’ she manages.

‘It means you’re beautiful. Luisa, tell me what you want.’

What does she want?

Louise thinks of every romantic bedroom scene she’s ever edited. The ones where things are just getting interesting and then the bedroom door closes. The ones with throbbing members and heaving bosoms. The ones with so much ‘he stuck this there’ and ‘she put her hand there’ that she feels like she’s reading instructions for a game of Twister.

And then there’s the ones where two characters have this connection, on some deeper level. Where despite all the obstacles that the author throws at them, they’re right for each other. They know it. The reader knows it. And when they make love, whether that’s behind a closed door or on the page, it’s beautiful. It’s meant to be. It’s just right somehow.

‘I just want you,’ she whispers.

His response is to kiss her, slowly again, as if she’s something precious. Then he pulls away, looking down upon her, and deftly undoes the rest of her buttons. She feels self-conscious as he pulls her blouse open, vulnerable in just her bra, grateful that it’s a decent one and not a scraggy one that went grey in the wash.

He traces the lace edge of her bra with one finger, then moves it aside, and lowers his lips to her nipple. Louise gasps, arching her body up to meet his, sliding her hands under his jumper, under his T-shirt, till her fingers find his bare skin.

‘You’re wearing too many clothes,’ she murmurs.

He grins, sits back on his heels and pulls his jumper and T-shirt over his head in one smooth motion. ‘So are you.’

She sits up, removes her blouse and bra. Then he stands up, takes her hand and pulls her to her feet. In the soft warm glow of the fairy lights, they look at each other for a few moments, Louise admiring his broad shoulders, his muscles honed, no doubt, from all that shed-building. Then she reaches towards him, unhooking the buttons of his fly with fumbling fingers, then tugging the jeans till they fall to his ankles. He steps out of them, as she unzips her skirt and slides it off, pulling her tights off too, and wishing she’d known this would happen today. Great though they are in Yorkshire winters, tights aren’t the most glamorous of garments.

Now clad only in knickers and boxers, Louise and Jack stare at each other.

‘Does this live up to the fantasy?’ he says.

‘More than,’ she laughs.