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crossing my arms back over my chest. ‘I seem to be at a disadvantage.’

      ‘I’m …’ A fleeting frown crossed his brow. ‘I was Gigi’s neighbour, Gabe McKinley.’

      He must have assumed I’d popped up from the cabbage patch if he thought I was going to buy that one. ‘Ha! I don’t think so,’ I said, laughing. ‘I mean, nice try, but I know for a fact that my grandmother’s neighbour was a respectable local doctor, not some surf-dude handyman. I don’t know what you want but I think it’s best if you leave now before I really do call the police.’

      ‘You mean you haven’t already?’

      ‘I was busy checking that you hadn’t killed yourself on my patio.’

      ‘Actually, the half I ended up on is mine.’

      I rolled my eyes. ‘Oh, of course. And just why were you painting my window frames? Surely as a doctor you have plenty more important things to be getting on with.’ I made sure to emphasise the word ‘doctor’.

      ‘I have the weekend off, and I’m painting them because I made a promise to Gigi that I’d look after the house for her for as long as it was necessary. She told me she’d left it to you but didn’t know if, or when, you’d use it. It’s been empty for months and the frames needed repainting. I did half last weekend and thought I’d get the rest done today.’ He paused and looked at me directly with eyes the colour of a Mediterranean summer sky. ‘I’m sorry if I frightened you. If I’d realised you were here, I’d have let you know. It’s just that it’s been so long, I really didn’t expect anyone. I just assumed you had no interest in—’

      ‘I do have an interest in it!’ I snapped, cutting him off.

      But he was right, and it was that knowledge that was making me extra snappy. It had been too long. My grandmother had passed away early last summer, a little over a year ago now. We’d just spent a week together in London and had the most wonderful time. Two days later, I’d had a call from my brother to say that she’d passed away in her sleep. It was another three days before I stopped crying. For the first time in ten years, bar a couple of holidays, I’d taken a few days off work and sobbed practically the entire time.

      My grandmother was the one person in the world I had felt totally understood me. And now she was gone. The reason I hadn’t come back to Wishington Bay before was not because it held little interest for me, but entirely the opposite – because it meant so very much. The walls themselves were infused with all the happy memories and laughter and love that being with Gigi, as I called my grandmother – she was far too glamorous to have ever settled for something as ordinary as “Gran” – created. It was beyond painful to know that she was gone and that no more of those memories would ever be made and if I was honest, I knew I still hadn’t come to terms with losing her. And this stranger – whoever he claimed to be – had the cheek to stand there and say that I had no interest! He knew absolutely nothing about me. Except what my underwear looked like, of course.

      ‘Look. I don’t know who you are, but I think it’s best you leave.’

      ‘I’ve told you who I am.’

      I glanced over at him and rolled my eyes.

      ‘Oh. Yes. The doctor. Right.’

      Honestly, he couldn’t have looked less like a doctor if he’d tried. His dark blond hair was streaked where the sun had kissed it, not to mention in need of a good cut. Glancing around at his side of the house, I could see a surfboard propped up and there had definitely not been a car in the driveway last night when I’d got here. I mean, what doctor didn’t have a car?

      I blew out a sigh and looked up at him. He looked back at me with those intense eyes again. I met his gaze. For a moment my mind drifted as I considered that had this been a different situation I might well have agreed with anything he said. He could have told me the moon was made of cheese and I’d have happily handed him a cracker. I gave myself a mental shake. Looks weren’t everything. I was the last person who needed to be told that. The fact that he was so downright gorgeous was my first reason for not trusting him as far as I could throw him. And bearing in mind he had about a foot in height on me and looked to weigh about twice as much as I did, that wasn’t likely to be very far at all.

      ‘Right. Perhaps if you’d come down to visit Gigi occasionally, we might have been introduced.’

      His voice had a tone to it that I didn’t appreciate.

      ‘I did visit her! I spent plenty of time with her, thank you. It just often worked better if it was in London, rather than down here.’

      ‘Worked better for whom?’

      I glared at him, astounded by the absolute cheek of this man.

      ‘You think it was better for an elderly lady to get onto trains and travel up to the city than for you to get in your swanky car and drive a couple of hours?’

      ‘How dare you! Gigi loved coming up to town. And I didn’t want to put her out by coming here. And if you really had known her at all, you’d also know that describing her as an elderly lady would definitely not have been the path to her good books.’

      He paused a beat. ‘OK, fair enough. I did actually say something along those lines once and she didn’t talk to me for two days, so I’ll give you that one.’

      I made a sort of huffing noise that told him how grateful I was to have been bestowed such an honour.

      ‘But as for the rest? You can keep telling yourself that, but those journeys took it out of her. You never saw her when she got back.’ He shook his head and bent to pick up the empty can that had once held paint for the window frames. ‘I’ll finish the painting when you’ve gone.’

      ‘Don’t bother! I don’t want you anywhere near my house.’

      He turned and walked back towards me. I stood my ground, returning his glare.

      ‘Look. I made a promise to someone I cared about and I’m not about to break it.’ With that, he turned and strode off. A minute later, I heard the door on that side of the house slam. Great! A perfect start to my summer in Wishington Bay.

       Chapter 2

      I went back inside and stomped up the stairs. Flinging off my robe, I marched into the bathroom, pulled the blinds back down with a force they didn’t deserve, and finished cleaning my teeth. Rinsing the brush, I noticed my knuckles were white and dropped the brush back into the glass. I flexed my hand and stretched my neck from side to side, trying to ease the stress that now filled my body. I couldn’t help my mind replaying the exchange with my neighbour. And it kept getting hooked on the fact that this man – Gabe – had called my grandmother Gigi.

      Now dressed, I went back downstairs and dropped a pod into the coffee machine I’d brought down with me last night. As I waited for it to brew, I drummed my fingers on the counter. I checked my phone for messages, glanced over the financial headlines, scanned the FTSE 100, plus all the other main markets I dealt in, opened my personal email app and deleted some junk, before logging into my work one. Of course, I’d set up an out-of-office on it, saying that I was on sabbatical for the next few months and who to contact instead, but it was always best to check, just in case. People relied on me. But apparently my colleagues were handling things well and there were no messages awaiting a reply as yet. I took the mug from the machine, walked through to the living room and sank down into the overstuffed pale pink velvet sofa.

      How many times had I sat here with my grandmother, my beloved Gigi, talking things over? Crying, laughing and feeling something I’d never felt anywhere else – home and loved. Gigi wasn’t her real name. That’s why it had taken me by surprise when Gabe McKinley had used that particular moniker. Her real name was Betty and to the village, and the rest of the world, that’s who she was. Gigi was the nickname she reserved for very special people, those absolutely

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