would have before moving to the Cotswolds. She’d merely have brushed it off and looked forward to enjoying his company the next time they were both in the mood.
Floating along Little Biddington’s adorable streets, on a bubble of orgasmic euphoria, aware of the soppy smile on her face, and lost in X-rated musings, she started as she heard Eleanor calling her.
‘Another lovely night last night, wasn’t it?’ the older woman gushed, as Connie approached the newsagent’s. ‘I don’t know about you, but I’m still so full I haven’t managed any breakfast.’
Connie blushed as a memory of her and Liam tucking into a huge plate of cheese on toast in the early hours rocketed into her head. ‘I, er, just had a little nibble,’ she heard herself saying. ‘Of toast,’ she added. Rather unnecessarily. Then, even more unnecessarily, ‘With a bit of ch—’
‘Where do you want this chalkboard, Eleanor?’ interjected a deep male voice from inside the shop.
A deep male voice Connie had a faint recollection of having heard before. Her heart stuttered. Oh God. It couldn’t be. Could it?
It could.
‘Out here, please, Max,’ replied Eleanor.
As Max Templeton’s long, jeaned legs emerged from the shadows, Connie drew in a deep breath, bracing herself to finally meet the driver of the black Porsche with red wheels and tinted windows, who’d almost flattened her and Eric a couple of weeks ago; the man outside whose house she’d found herself lurking; the man she’d snatched glimpses of, but had never seen properly. Raising her gaze from those long legs as he stepped out of the shop into the dazzling sunlight, Connie’s eyes roamed over tanned strong arms, a broad chest, a chiselled, shadowed jaw, and thick brown hair, finally settling on a pair of warm hazel eyes, framed with jet-black lashes. Her stomach flipped. The overall effect was quite… breathtaking. In fact, she would go so far as to say that Max Templeton was completely and utterly scrumptious.
‘Sorry, Max. I’m just chatting to Connie here,’ apologised Eleanor. ‘Have you two met yet?’
‘Er, no,’ blustered Connie, attempting to regain something of her severely displaced equilibrium, while not permitting Mr Templeton the slightest whiff of just how displaced it was.
‘We haven’t met properly,’ explained Max, setting down the easel he’d carried out. ‘But we’ve seen one another around. Actually, I owe Connie a huge apology. I almost ran her and Eric over a couple of weeks ago.’ He bent down to stroke the dog. ‘I’m very sorry,’ he said, straightening up and looking Connie directly in the eye. ‘My normal car – a knackered old brown Audi, which I’ve had for ten years and am completely in love with – required some TLC. And a new clutch. The garage gave me that stupid Porsche as a courtesy car. Which, compared to my old banger, was so fast it took me two days to learn how to control it. Honestly, only in the Cotswolds.’
At this unexpected confession, Connie could do nothing but gape.
‘I’ve wanted to apologise every time I’ve seen you,’ he rattled on – Connie noticing, for the first time, just how deep and melodious his voice was. ‘But, typically, there was never anywhere suitable to stop the car. Realising an apology was long overdue, I popped round to the house on Wednesday evening, but there was a decorator’s van outside and I thought you might be… busy. So I, er, didn’t bother knocking.’
Blood rushed to Connie’s cheeks. She had a horrible feeling she and Liam had been rolling about on the sofa on Wednesday evening. With the curtains open. In full view of anyone approaching the front door.
‘Anyway,’ Max continued, the flicker of embarrassment which had flitted over his features fuelling Connie’s mortifying suspicions. ‘I really am very sorry. And if you want to shout and scream at me, you have every right to do so. I am guilty as charged and have but a pitiful defence.’ He held up his arms in surrender.
Connie laughed, adding “funny” to his growing list of positive attributes. ‘It’s okay. Although it’s probably just as well you’ve caught me this far after the event. I can’t pretend I wasn’t furious at the time.’
‘I don’t blame you,’ puffed Eleanor. ‘Sounds like you’ve had a near escape there. And I must admit, Max, that Porsche wasn’t you at all.’
‘Thank you, Eleanor,’ replied Max, feigning indignation. ‘So, what you’re saying is that old, brown and knackered suits me far better than black, sleek and shiny.’
‘Yep. I am. You’re definitely a knackered old brown Audi man.’
Max snorted with laughter as he rolled his eyes at Connie. ‘See what I have to put up with? It’s a wonder I don’t go elsewhere for my jelly babies.’
‘Don’t you dare. At least not before I’ve bought my little villa in Benidorm.’
His mouth stretched into an affectionate smile. ‘Okay, I’ll wait. But only because it’s you. Right, must dash. Annual medical for work today. Anything else you want me to do before I go?’
Eleanor shook her head – gold earrings swinging from side to side. ‘No, thank you. Really appreciate your help this morning, though. I would never have moved all that stock on my own. At least not before a week next Friday.’
Max laughed. ‘Pleasure as always. And I really can’t apologise enough,’ he added, turning to Connie.
‘Thanks. Apology accepted.’
‘Good,’ he said, before flashing them both a disarming smile and loping off down the street.
‘Say hi to Sarah for me,’ Eleanor called after him. ‘His wife,’ she explained to Connie.
With his back to them, Max held up a hand in acknowledgement.
‘How’s it going?’ Connie asked Anna’s beaming face on the iPad screen that evening.
‘It’s totally amazing, Con. I can’t tell you. But I’m missing the old man. How is he?’
Connie picked up the computer and zoomed in on Eric, snoring soundly in his basket.
‘Well, I suppose I should be glad he’s not pining for me,’ Anna giggled. ‘And obviously neither are you. You look great. Have you caught the sun?’
‘A bit,’ muttered Connie, cursing the traitorous blush that swept over her face.
‘Connie Partridge. You can’t get anything past me. That glow isn’t from the sun, is it? You’re having sex.’
‘No I’m not,’ demurred Connie, now as red as one of Eleanor’s stuffed tomatoes.
‘Liar! Who is he?’
Connie puffed out a breath. ‘Blimey, there are no flies on you, are there?’
‘I am a dedicated fly-free zone. Now come on. Fess up.’
Connie rolled her eyes. ‘Well… if you must know… it’s the decorator. He’s twenty-five, drop-dead gorgeous, and a complete demon between the sheets.’
From the other side of the globe came an almighty squeal. ‘Oh. My. God. That’s amazing. Good for you.’
‘Thanks. It’s nothing serious. Just a bit of a laugh. Which, frankly, after the last crappy few months I’ve had, I think I deserve.’
‘You so do. Well, well, well. And there was me thinking you’d be bored out of your tree.’
‘Just the opposite. I don’t know where the days go. I’m loving it, though. And not just because of the decorator. It’s such a different way of life here. And it’s given me a chance to indulge my cooking passion. The club is going brilliantly. It’s so much fun.’
‘Ah, but not as much fun as the decorator, I’ll bet. Has he missed any bits?’
‘Ha ha. And if you make any jokes about stripping, or filling in cracks,