LITMIR.BIZ

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thought of the batch of Bakewell tarts she should get in the oven and of the apricots she needed to soak before making another four lots of the tray bake.

      Jed filled in the gap left by her hesitation. ‘If you have, may I suggest getting some supper in the White Bear? I hear their food isn’t too bad.’

      ‘The food in there is lovely.’ Millie hopped from one foot to the other. She was freezing. Her nose was like ice. The thought of hot food in the company of an even hotter man was tempting beyond belief. Tessa’s words from the other night reverberated. Since when did she have gorgeous men asking her out to eat? Since when had she had some fun? Sod it, she decided, the customers would have to make do with scones tomorrow and she had some tea bread she could defrost. Some nice salty farmhouse butter would make it special. ‘I’d love to,’ she smiled up at him.

      ‘What about Trevor?’

      ‘Oh, he hasn’t eaten either.’

      Jed laughed. ‘That wasn’t quite what I meant. Do they allow dogs in the White Bear?’

      Millie nodded, as much to keep warm as to answer. ‘Oh yes, in the public bar, anyway. It’s cosy in there too; they’ll have a roaring fire going.’

      ‘Sounds perfect. Shall we?’ He held out an arm and Millie took it. ‘Let me,’ he added and relieved her of the books. ‘Perhaps we can dissect Herman Melville some more?’

      ‘Blimey, could we not?’ Millie, very aware of how close he was, giggled. She leaned nearer, thinking that he smelled heavenly. She breathed in spice and lemon. It wasn’t dissimilar to the cardamom lemon-drizzle cake she made sometimes.

      ‘Maybe stick with Gaskell, then?’

      They retraced her steps back down the hill, the sleet now at their backs, making their passage easier. Unusually cold weather aside, Berecombe looked beautiful. White lights strung across the narrow shopping street blew gently in the salt-laden breeze coming off the sea. Most shops had closed by now but had kept their window displays lit against the deep indigo of the night. It was postcard pretty.

      Millie was overcome by a wave of affection for her home town. She’d never lived anywhere else and had never wanted to. Never needed to. She’d had everything she ever wanted here. Until recently. Risking a glance at Jed’s profile, she wondered how long he was going to stay around. With his long upper lip and sharp cheekbones, there was definitely something of the Eddie Redmayne about him. He was posh-boy gorgeous. She breathed out a white cloud of hot breath in longing.

      He looked down at her. ‘Cold?’

      Millie nodded. ‘Freezing. Spring can’t come soon enough. You?’

      ‘God yes.’

      He pulled up the collar of his overcoat. The wind had whipped high colour into his smooth, tanned complexion. The line where his skin met the deep black of his coat made Millie’s insides melt with tenderness.

      ‘The Bear’s just down here, isn’t it?’

      When she didn’t answer immediately, he said, ‘Millie?’ and looked penetratingly at her. He put an arm around her shoulders and hugged her closer. ‘Warmer now?’

      Don’t gaze into my eyes like that, Millie begged silently, and then forced herself to get a grip. ‘Um yes, thanks. And the pub’s just along the passageway off the high street.’ She clicked her tongue at Trevor and pointed the way.

      ‘I love these small towns. So complete in themselves.’ There was yearning in Jed’s voice. ‘A couple of pubs, some cafés and restaurants. Enough shops to buy what you need but not necessarily what you want. A strong sense of community. Have you always lived here?’

      ‘Always.’

      ‘And you never wanted to leave? To live somewhere else?’

      Millie shook her head as best she could against his shoulder. ‘No. As you say, everything I need is here. I’m really happy living here. Settled.’ Or I was until recently, she added to herself. She stared up at him. How can I long for a man I know nothing of? But I do. I long, long, long for him.

      ‘Where do you live, Jed?’

      ‘Me? Here and there. Hotels mostly. I go where the work is. I move around so much there seems little point in settling anywhere permanent. Occasionally I rent an apartment, but that’s rare. I’m in London mostly. New York sometimes.’

      ‘And you go wherever the company you’re working for is?’

      As an answer, he nodded.

      It all seemed impossibly glamorous to Millie. And alien. She couldn’t imagine the life he had.

      Trevor halted to sniff at something interesting, forcing them to stop.

      Jed turned to face her. ‘But nowhere I’ve lived has had quite the same appeal as here.’ He came closer, only a breath apart. ‘You have a tiny bit of sleet on your eyelashes,’ he said and, with the gentlest of touches, he smoothed it off.

      He was very close. If Millie reached up an inch, she could kiss that mouth, with its generous upper lip, could caress that square chin, nuzzle against his strong throat.

      ‘I thought it was never supposed to be this cold at the seaside,’ he murmured, his eyes locked on hers.

      ‘It isn’t usually.’ Her eyes dropped to his mouth again. She ached to kiss it. ‘It might snow, they say. At the seaside, it’s a once in a lifetime experience.’ Like this man. She had the strongest instinct she would never meet his like again.

      Trevor, oblivious to what was going on above him, tried to trot off and yanked at the lead in Millie’s hand.

      ‘It’s too cold to stand around, anyway,’ she breathed and wondered if she saw regret in Jed’s dark eyes.

       Chapter 8

      The White Bear was packed with early-evening drinkers and with those having come into town for the festival. It exploded around them as a colourful warm fuzz in contrast to the chilly monochrome outside. Dean the landlord spotted Millie and said he could find them a table in a corner, away from the loudest of the revellers. When she thanked him, he simply shrugged and added that it was the least he could do for someone who made the best flapjacks this side of Weymouth.

      After letting Trevor drink his fill from the bowl of water at the door, they threaded their way through and settled on an old church pew in front of a tiny table. There was only just enough room if they sat tightly thigh to thigh. Millie found she didn’t mind one little bit.

      Trevor tucked himself underneath and collapsed with a sigh as Dean brought over their drinks. ‘Half a Thatcher’s, Mil, and the gent requested a pint of the local beer.’ He put the cider and the pint of Black Ven onto the table. Without ceremony he barked out, ‘Two steak and ale pies do you?’

      Millie hardly had time to reply, ‘Yes please,’ before he disappeared back behind the bar. ‘I hope that’s alright for you?’ she asked Jed, who was eyeing his glass suspiciously.

      ‘Sounds delightful. Not sure about the beer, though.’

      ‘It’s a porter, a dark beer,’ Millie explained. ‘It’s brewed in Lyme Regis, not far away.’

      Jed took a cautious sip. ‘It’s good.’ He took another. ‘No, really very good.’ He leant back against the pew, making it creak. Looking around at the worn slabs on the floor, at the two-foot thick whitewashed walls, at the heavy beams, he sighed with pleasure. ‘This place is great, isn’t it?’

      ‘It is.’

      ‘So, you know about beer too?’

      Millie grinned, thinking that beer probably wasn’t his usual tipple. ‘Only the local stuff. I make a

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