coffee and cakes arrived – Tim had opted for a slice of brownie that looked about as impressive as the table – she noticed that the initials TL were inscribed on his cufflinks, and also, confirming what Molly had told her, that he had no ring on the fourth finger of his left hand. Tim thanked the waiter and turned just in time to see her looking. His gaze was penetrating, a hint of a smile on his lips.
‘Tell me about London,’ he said. ‘What made you come back here after all this time? Your plan was always to stay in the big smoke. Unless of course you couldn’t resist your feelings for me any longer?’
Robin stuck her fork in the Bakewell tart and tried to organize her thoughts. Someone cycled past, ringing their bell to scatter the seagulls. He was being flippant, she knew, but she felt the flush of her cheeks all the same. ‘We didn’t exactly end on the best of terms, did we?’ She met his gaze with her own. She wasn’t going to let him overwhelm her. She waited for a flicker of unease, but none came.
‘And if we hadn’t,’ he said, leaning forwards, ‘we’d still be together today, nearly fifteen years later.’
‘You sound like you actually regret what you did.’ She sipped her coffee, eyeing him over the rim.
‘I do. Seeing you again, Robs, here in Campion Bay, it …’ He shook his head. ‘I’d heard you were back, and I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t been looking forward to us meeting again, to seeing you in the flesh.’
Robin’s stomach fluttered unhelpfully. She’d been lost in Tim’s blue-eyed gaze and his carefully crafted compliments for five years. At the time it had been the most real thing in her life, but after what he’d done to her, it had all seemed like an act. He was gorgeous and charismatic and successful; he had many good things going for him, but she had to remind herself of the negatives. She had to remind her senses that feeling betrayed and heartbroken made the rest worthless.
‘It’s good to see you too,’ she said, keeping the emotion out of her voice. ‘Are you still surfing?’
He grimaced. ‘I haven’t for a while, but I’m hoping to get back into it. I broke my coccyx a few months ago, landed badly on a submerged rock. It was a real pain in the ass.’
Robin rolled her eyes, resisting the laugh. ‘It sounds awful. But at least you didn’t do it slipping on a banana skin or falling drunkenly out of a taxi.’
‘What’s your point?’
‘I don’t think you can lose any cool points for a surfing injury.’
‘Pretty sure your dignity is affected when you can’t sit down for three weeks.’
‘Oh, come off it, Tim, you’re—’ She stopped, caught herself. She would not feed his already overinflated ego. ‘You’re lucky it wasn’t a worse injury,’ she said instead, and then wished she hadn’t, her thoughts drawing the inevitable, unhelpful comparisons. She cut off a slice of Bakewell tart with her fork, but before she could bring it to her mouth Tim’s hand was over hers. The contact was warm and familiar, and unsettling in the unspoken comfort it provided.
‘Did something happen in London, Robs?’ He was suddenly sincere, his bravado hidden behind concern, and she felt herself being drawn towards it.
‘My friend died,’ she said, not shrugging his touch off. ‘Neve.’
Tim’s eyes widened, and for the first time since she’d seen him he looked less than composed. ‘Neve, who you met in your first year? The – your business partner?’
She nodded, her throat closing as Tim’s features clouded with shock. He’d met Neve on a couple of occasions while he and Robin were still going out, and he’d travelled up to London to see her in her first-year halls of residence.
She and Neve had hit it off instantly, and Robin had often wondered what would have happened if their rooms hadn’t been next door in halls, if they would still have found each other and come up with the idea of Once in a Blue Moon Days. She’d thought a lot about fate and destiny, and not only since Neve’s death. Her friend had been a big believer in those intangible things, in finding meaning in the cosmos, divining who you were meant to end up with from a horoscope. It was part of the reason Starcross was so special, with its focus on stars, on looking beyond the immediate.
‘Are you OK?’ she asked softly, wondering if she’d been callous in firing this bombshell at him, for using it, somehow, as a shield against his charm.
‘God, I’m so sorry, Robin.’ He moved his chair closer to hers, squeezed her hand. ‘I had no idea.’
‘Why should you have?’ She thought of the rumour mill, which had clearly kept him informed of some, but not all, of her news. She waited a few beats, grateful that he didn’t try to fill the silence, allowing her composure to return and her heart rate to settle. ‘I hadn’t planned to come back here, but then, afterwards, it was where I needed to be. And when Mum and Dad said they were moving away …’ She shrugged. ‘Molly’s helping out. She’s roped Paige and Adam in, and offered some builder friends haircuts for life if they’ll help with the redecorating. It’s a long way off being finished, but I’m excited. I’ve just bought a painting.’
‘A painting?’ Tim raised his eyebrows, matching her new enthusiasm, the solemn moment gone. It felt good, talking about the guesthouse again. It had become her safe place. Of course it would be hard work, it would be challenging, but she was ready for that. After all, Once in a Blue Moon Days hadn’t always been easy. The clients had been demanding, wanting – understandably – sheer perfection. As she told Tim some of her ideas, her mood lifted. The coffee and the sugar gave her a boost of energy, and she felt suddenly, overwhelmingly excited about the future. She was embracing the guesthouse as if it was her salvation. In lots of ways, it probably was.
‘When can I come and see it?’ Tim asked once Robin had finally run out of steam.
‘Not yet, it’s not ready.’
‘I don’t get a sneak peek?’ He pouted, looking so ridiculously crestfallen that she laughed.
‘No. What made you think you would?’
‘Our history.’
‘Not all good history,’ she reminded him, but she felt a flutter of unexpected longing. She risked looking at him. He was sitting perfectly still, his blue eyes trained on her.
‘The course of true love never did run smooth,’ he said quietly.
She shook her head, incredulous, but her heart was racing. She stood, catching her fork with her knee and knocking it to the floor. She bent to pick it up, but Tim was already there. They rose to standing together, so close that she could feel his breath against her cheek.
‘I have to get back,’ she said quickly.
‘Repurposing some furniture?’
‘Endlessly, for about the next four months.’
‘It’s been great catching up.’
Tim refused to let her pay the bill and walked her to the door. The cold was bracing, and Robin welcomed it; she needed to clear her head.
‘When can I come and see the rooms?’ he asked.
‘When they’re finished, not before.’
‘Robin Brennan, ever the perfectionist.’
‘Takes one to know one.’
‘I wouldn’t have it any other way.’ He smiled, their eyes catching hold of each other’s. Tim was first to look away.
‘I’d best get on,’ Robin said. ‘Thanks for coffee.’
‘Next time let’s make it a glass of something celebratory to toast your new business.’ Before she had a chance to protest, Tim’s arm was around her and he was kissing her cheek, smelling of spicy, no doubt expensive, aftershave and filling Robin’s senses with heady nostalgia.
She