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“Yes,” I say softly. “Come on.”

We lock up the shop, and the three of us start walking home.

I listen to Millie and Mitch chatting for a bit, but my own thoughts drift away, and I look out to sea. My spirits feel a little low. It’s probably because I’ve been working hard, and I’m tired. Part of it, though, is the fact that even though I enjoy flirting with Mitch, I don’t feel it can go anywhere, even if I wanted it to. I don’t live alone, and it would be crass to invite him into my bedroom with my father in the house. I think we’re both a little too old to be tiptoeing around avoiding the squeaky floorboards.

And of course I have Millie. I could ask Dad to look after her while Mitch and I went on a date, but where would we go if we wanted to get physical? Book a room in a hotel? I know practically everyone in this town, and word would soon get around, and that would be embarrassing for everyone involved.

I suppose we could go up to the flat and just get down to it on the floor. It’s not exactly romantic, though.

You’re too old for romance, I tell myself, and you read too many novels. Life isn’t like that. I’m at the age where I need to take my thrills where I can get them.

But whatever I tell myself, it doesn’t change how I feel in my heart. I long for romance. To go on dates, to look into a man’s eyes across the dinner table, to hold hands, and to lie in a big warm bed and make love. I don’t want a five-minute quickie up against the wall.

Hmm… mind you, it doesn’t sound so bad when that’s the only option…

“What’s for dinner?” Millie asks.

I look back and discover Mitch watching me thoughtfully. I clear my throat. “Lasagne.”

Millie skips. “I love lasagne. Do you like lasagne?” She looks up at Mitch.

“I love sausages and I love lasagne. Vix?”

I chuckle. “I love shepherd’s pie, and I love sausages, and I love lasagne.”

Millie beams. “I love fish fingers, and I love shepherd’s pie, and I love sausages, and I love lasagne…”

We carry on like this for the rest of the journey, reminding each other of the options when one of us forgets. When we get home, Millie goes through the gate and runs around the back, but Mitch catches my hand and brings me to a halt.

“You okay?” he asks.

“Yes, thanks.”

He cups my face with his painted hand. “You look a bit down. It’s not like you.”

I shrug. “I’m tired, that’s all. It makes everything feel like you’re pushing a boulder uphill, you know.”

“Yeah.” He lowers his hand.

“I half wish I hadn’t organised the girls to come over, but it’s too late to cancel now.” The Sleigh Belles are meeting tonight—Blair’s going to design some Canva posters for me for the book sale on Saturday, and then we’re going to have our first choir practise.

“I had a text from Ollie,” he says. “He, Jake, and Bear want to go out for a drink.”

“Oh, that’ll be fun for you.”

“Something to do,” he says. “Although I’d rather spend it with you.” He lifts his hand to cup my face again and brushes his thumb across my cheek. I give a little shiver.

“Your eyes…” he whispers. “They’re so beautiful.”

I just stare helplessly up at him. I want to tell him that I like him, I desire him, I want him to stay, I want him in my bed, but I don’t feel I can express any of those things. I can’t see a way through the trees—it’s all just thick forest. So I don’t say anything, even though my throat tightens with emotion.

“Mum!” Millie yells. “I’m starving.”

Mitch lowers his hand and chuckles as I give him a wry look. “Come on,” I tell him. “Probably best if you have a bath first while I make dinner.”

“Only if you promise to scrub my back.”

I sigh as we go in. “Don’t tempt me.”