by Hannah Ellis
“You could’ve told me,” she said accusingly as she approached Max.
“Told you what?”
“That I was covered in paint!”
He smiled and reached to wipe a thumb across her cheek bone. The paint didn’t budge but he tried to wipe another splash of white at her hairline nonetheless.
When their eyes locked, he dropped his hand. “You might need a shower,” he said, taking a couple of steps away from her.
“I can’t believe I went to the shop like this,” she said.
“It’s only paint.”
“I know, but I’m a mess. My sister would be proud of me!” There was a pause. “What?” she asked in response to Max’s smirk.
“Nothing,” he said. “It just seems like you have issues with your sister.”
“I have! Josie would dress like this on an average day.”
“And that annoys you?”
“No.” Elizabeth shook her head, not sure how to explain her sister. “There isn’t one thing that annoys me about her. It’s everything.”
Max nodded slowly.
“I got beer,” Elizabeth said, in an attempt to change the subject. “And dinner too.”
“You’re cooking for me?”
“Well, I’ve got a pre-cooked chicken and a pre-prepared salad,” she said, passing him a beer and sitting at the worn patio table. “If you call that cooking.”
“For a minute there I thought you were going to whip me up some gourmet cuisine.”
“I’m on holiday; I don’t want to cook.” To be honest, she rarely cooked. It had never been her thing. “You didn’t have anything else planned for dinner, did you? I can—”
“No,” he said, cutting her off. “Chicken is great.” He watched her pick at the label on the beer bottle.
“What?” she said.
“Do you usually drink beer?”
She mulled it over, as though it was a difficult question.
“You seem like more of a wine drinker, that’s all…”
He was right; she rarely drank beer at home. Phil was a wine connoisseur, with a decent collection of what he deemed to be excellent wines. She’d always been happy to drink wine with him.
“The beer’s refreshing,” she said, skirting the question. “I like it.”
He nodded and didn’t comment further.
Dinner was relaxed and enjoyable. Max told stories about the mischief he’d got up to when he spent summers at Seaside Cottage as a child, and Elizabeth told him about her own childhood holidays, with her parents and her sister in France.
She beamed as she recalled locking Josie in an old wardrobe in a farmhouse they were staying in one year. The memory made her laugh so much that she struggled to finish the story. “I got into so much trouble,” she said. “But it was worth it for that half hour of peace!”
Max sat opposite her, his legs stretched out, watching her. It made her self-conscious, and she looked away.
Time had run away from her again. She found herself gazing up at the beautiful starlit sky, wondering how the sun had set and the evening drawn in without her noticing.
“I’d better turn in,” she said. “You’ve worn me out with all the painting.”
“You volunteered! Don’t go blaming me.”
She smiled as she stood and wished him goodnight.
Chapter 16
Generally, Elizabeth slept fitfully. She would toss and turn, and always rose early. There was always so much on her mind that she found it hard to turn off and go to sleep. At Hope Cove, however, sleep came easily and was deep and peaceful. It seemed the more sleep she got, the more she wanted. The bed was comfy, and it was hard to drag herself out of it the next morning.
She called Phil and put her phone on speaker as she dressed.
“All okay?” he asked.
“You didn’t call yesterday,” she said. Not that it had bothered her. She’d only realised when she was getting up.
“Sorry. Work’s crazy.”
“Don’t worry. You sound busy – shall we talk later?”
“Do you mind? I’m just in the middle of something.”
“No, it’s fine.” She actually didn’t mind at all. It meant she could be out enjoying the sunshine quicker.
“I’ll call you tonight,” he said distractedly. “Promise!”
She hung up and cheerfully made her way outside. Max was sipping a coffee on the patio. He seemed refreshed and relaxed as he waved to her through the hedge.
“I thought you’d be hard at work already,” Elizabeth said, wandering over to him.
“I’ve only just woken up.”
“Me too. I feel like I could sleep for a week. I’m usually up at the crack of dawn. I don’t know what it is about this place.”
“It’s the sea air,” he said. “But I’m glad you slept well. You’re on ladder-holding duty today.”
“Oh, really?” she said. “I’m on holiday, you know!”
“I know. I kept trying to tell you that. But you seem to like to work so I figure I’m doing you a favour.”
Was she cheating if she just substituted one kind of work for another? Painting was far too much fun to be considered work, though. Helping Max had definitely taken her mind off work, and she was proud she’d managed to avoid checking her emails. She was more than happy to help with the painting again. Her plan for the morning had been to drive to the gallery to collect her painting, and indulge in a scone while she was in the village, but that could wait.
“Okay,” she agreed. “I’ll get breakfast and then come and help.”
“Thank you!” he called as she walked back to the kitchen.
“Could you maybe take the ladder-holding business a bit more seriously?” Max asked later, from the top of the ladder. She rested one hand casually on a rung as she stared at the garden in a daydream.
“I’ve got it,” she said, standing straighter and putting two hands on the ladder.
“You don’t make me feel very safe.”
“I should have warned you – I’m not very strong, so if the ladder starts to fall, there’s probably not much I can do about it.”
He chuckled. “You’re filling me with confidence! But you realise you’re supposed to hold the ladder so it doesn’t start to fall?”
“Oh, right.”
The ladder juddered as he climbed back down. He moved it to the next window. “Maybe you should paint. I don’t feel safe with you holding the ladder.”
“You had nothing to worry about. If you fell, I’d be there to call an ambulance. I’d even hold your hand until it arrived.”
“I feel much better knowing that,” he said dryly. “You want to paint?”
She hesitated and then took the tin of paint from him. It was a fresh tin and she almost dropped it as her muscles complained at its weight. The real reason she’d been relaxed about holding the ladder was because her arms ached so much that she couldn’t lift them higher than her waist. The previous day’s painting had left her in agony. She wasn’t used to so much physical work. But she didn’t like to complain, worried that Max would shoo her away if she said anything.
It was painful carrying the paint up the ladder and she was glad when she carefully hooked the handle over the prong which stuck out from one side of the ladder. If it weren’t for that clever little device she’d never manage the painting. Her muscles screamed with every stroke of the paintbrush, but she pushed through and managed to get it done.
“Now look who’s only got one hand on the ladder,” she remarked, glancing down at Max.
“You’ve got nothing to worry about,” he called up to her. “Well, the ladder’s not going to fall. But you might if you try your Catwoman moves again!”
“You’d catch me, wouldn’t you?”
“I doubt it,” he said playfully. “I’d get out of the way quick.”
“Thanks!”
“Don’t worry; I’d hold your hand until the paramedics arrived.”
She started down the
ladder. “I think that’s the main job of the ladder-holder.” Back on the ground, she massaged her right bicep. “Are we done yet?” she asked hopefully.
“Not quite,” he said. “But if you’ve had enough…”
“It’s fine,” she said. “I was kidding. I’m going to hold the ladder for a while, though: my painting arm aches a bit.” It was possibly the greatest understatement of all time. Every tiny movement sent a searing pain through her arm. But she didn’t want to leave Max.
Max painted the remainder of the upstairs windows while she made some pretence of ensuring ladder safety. When he stepped off the ladder for the final time, sweat had soaked through his T-shirt. He rolled his shoulders and stretched his neck.
“Okay,” he said, flopping into a chair and leaning back. “I’m done in. I think I’ll go for a quick swim. Do you want to join me?”
“No, I’m okay,” she said. “I’ll get started on the downstairs.” Truthfully, a swim sounded great but she was feeling guilty again about all the time she was spending with Max. Helping him paint was one thing, but hanging out with him in her bikini was something else. She wondered how she’d feel if she thought Phil were off frolicking in the sea with another woman. Not that she’d be frolicking, obviously. But still.
She picked up a paintbrush and got started on the downstairs windows, trying to paint left-handed to give her right arm a rest. When Max returned, his T-shirt was slung over his shoulder, and seawater dripped down his toned torso. He grabbed a paintbrush and started to work on the window next to Elizabeth.
She enjoyed the painting, despite her painful muscles. It felt therapeutic. She smiled at Max and then looked away, not daring to linger too long on the sight of his bare chest.
They made good progress, stopping for a quick lunch of chicken sandwiches made from the leftovers from the previous evening’s dinner. It was late afternoon when they finally downed tools.
“All done,” Max said. “And I think it looks good.”
Elizabeth wiped her hands on her shorts and pushed a strand of hair behind her ear. “I just hope the new owners like white.” She felt an odd sadness at having finished the job. It had been very enjoyable and she could’ve happily spent another day at it. Although, come to think of it, she’d probably struggle to lift her arms for the next day or two, never mind paint anything. Besides, she still had lots of sightseeing and exploring to do.
“Come on,” Max said. “I’ll treat you to dinner.”
“Oh,” she said, surprised. “I need to jump in the shower.”
“Don’t worry about it. We’re not going anywhere fancy.” There was an air of mischief about him as he set off down the garden, glancing back to check she was following.
“Okay,” she agreed.
“You won’t feel out of place where we’re going, I promise.”
She knew she had at least a few flecks of paint on her face and more in her hair, but decided it probably didn’t matter.
At Hope Cove she waited on the seawall as Max had instructed. He appeared five minutes later and gave her a tray of fish and chips, then sat on the wall beside her.
“The best dinner around,” he said. “And you’re definitely not underdressed.”
She picked up the wooden fork and tucked in with gusto. “This is amazing, thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” he said. “Thanks for all your help with the house.”
“I think it’s me who should be thanking you. It’s been fun. I didn’t realise how much I needed a break from reality.”
“Me too,” he said thoughtfully.
“I haven’t checked my phone all day,” she said, surprised that it had only just occurred to her. “Phil reckoned I couldn’t manage without checking in at work.”
“Why would you check in with work when you’re away?”
“It’s not always so easy to switch off.”
“Ah,” he said. “You’re one of those people.”
“What people?”
“People who think the company will fall apart if they’re not there! What do you do, anyway?”
“I’m a magazine editor,” she told him.
“That’s understandable, then. If you take too much time off, people won’t have magazines to read. Disaster!”
“You’re such a tease,” she said, popping another chip into her mouth. “I still can’t believe how my week’s turning out. Isn’t it weird that I just met you and ended up helping you paint?”
He shook his head and swallowed his mouthful of fish. “It doesn’t feel weird at all. It feels like I’ve known you forever.” He held her gaze for a moment and then resumed eating.
Elizabeth’s appetite had vanished. She moved her attention to the waves rolling onto the shore while she waited for her heart rate to return to a normal rhythm.
When Phil called that evening and asked about her day, she found herself omitting critical details because they were too difficult to explain: Max, and painting the cottage next door. Instead, she said she’d enjoyed the sunshine, and she’d walked into the village and had fish and chips for dinner. She wasn’t actually lying.
And when she went to bed with those annoying pangs of guilt, she told herself it was all entirely innocent, and it wasn’t a big deal that she hadn’t told Phil the truth about her day.
The painting was all finished anyway, so she wouldn’t be spending any more time with Max.
Chapter 17
Elizabeth beamed when Max appeared at the kitchen window the next morning. “Don’t tell me the cottage needs another coat of paint?”
“No,” he said. “I promise I’m not going to rope you into any more work.”
“Phew!”
“I wondered if I could take you to lunch later? A proper lunch, not chips on a wall.”
“Erm…”
“I wanted to thank you properly for all your help.”
“You don’t need to,” she said. “I was happy to help.”
He leaned on the doorframe. “You’d be doing me a favour. The restaurant at the golf club does great food, but I hate eating out alone.”
She glanced out of the window as though something had caught her eye, stalling for time. Should she really go out for lunch with another man?
“The food’s amazing,” Max said. “We could head up to the driving range too, if you fancy it. Not sure I can manage a round of golf, but I wouldn’t mind a few swings.”
There was a little voice in her head which was adamant she should be saying no. She was engaged and it really wasn’t appropriate for her to spend so much time with Max. But it was hard to resist when he was such easy company.
“Lunch sounds good,” she said, ignoring the voice in her head. “But I’ll pass on the driving range. I’m more of a crazy golf kind of person.”
“I’m sure you’re teasing me with the crazy golf. I bet you’ve got a wardrobe full of fancy golfing outfits and would show me up on the green.”
“I wouldn’t,” she assured him lightly.
“I’m still not sure I believe you! Anyway, I’ve got some stuff to do first. Is a late lunch okay? We could walk up there.”
“Sounds lovely.”
The pesky voice in Elizabeth’s head insisted she shouldn’t be going out for a lovely walk and fancy lunch with an attractive man who wasn’t her fiancé. But she convinced herself that it was innocent. Max only wanted to say thank you, and it did solve the problem of eating out alone. They were both spoken for, so there wasn’t any harm in it. Surely.
That’s what she kept telling herself when she drove over to pick up her beautiful painting from the gallery, and as she enjoyed a cup of tea and a scone loaded up with strawberry jam and cream. She’d had a good natter with her friend in the café who Elizabeth learned was the owner of the place and called Verity. It was another pleasant morning and Elizabeth marvelled at how warm and welcoming the people in Hope Cove were.
“Are you sure you don’t want to spend half an hour at the driving range?” Max asked whe
n they approached the clubhouse.
“I’d really rather not.”
“Please…” He stuck his bottom lip out. “I haven’t swung a club in ages. It’ll be fun, I promise.”
His big blue eyes were hard to resist. “Go on, then. But we’re getting the smallest bucket of balls. I’m hungry!”
The driving range was empty apart from an older guy at the far end. Elizabeth rolled her eyes when Max offered to give her some tips. Moving past him with a nine iron, she placed the ball on the tee. Her swing was perfect, starting at her hips and moving through her shoulders. Her backswing was crisp. The club swung neatly and connected with the ball to send it far out into the field.
“Oh,” Max said, in obvious surprise. “Beginner’s luck?”
Elizabeth couldn’t help but feel smug. He’d been right about the golf outfits; she had several. Phil had insisted she learn when they first got together, to ensure they had a hobby in common. She was a natural and it irked Phil that after only a few months of lessons she was more skilled than he was, even though he’d been playing since childhood. He also took the game very seriously. Elizabeth enjoyed golf for the fresh air and social aspects, whereas Phil tended to be competitive.
“Why didn’t you want to play?” Max asked. “Did you think it would hurt my ego?”
“It’s not that,” she said, wincing slightly as she put the club aside. “My arms are agony from the painting. I was worried I’d struggle to lift a knife and fork, never mind swing a golf club.”
“Why didn’t you say so?”
“I didn’t want to seem like a wimp!” She rolled her shoulders to release some of the tension. “I’ll just watch you.”
“You might be able to give me some tips,” he said sheepishly.
“I see. You wanted to show off!” She gave him a playful nudge when she passed him. “Now you’re embarrassed that I’m better than you?”
