In the distance, they heard the French doors slam. Hanna looked up to see a tall man with light-blond hair walking toward them. Shielding her eyes with her hand, she could see it was Tom McLean, waving a piece of paper in his large, tan hand.
“Hi Tom,” Ruby shouted, falling out of her hammock and running to give him a high five. He was the grandson of Mary, their cleaner. He had been in and out of the cottage all week doing small jobs. Hanna suspected Ruby had formed a tiny crush on the blond teenager.
“Hey, little Rube. How’re you doing?” He winked at the small girl, then looked up at Hanna, his lips unfurling into a slow, lazy grin. “You look a little too comfortable right now.”
With that, he reached out and grabbed Hanna’s arm, catching her easily as she tumbled off the hammock. Her book crashed into the dirt below.
“Tom!” she shouted crossly. “Put me down. And if you’ve ruined my book, you will pay with your life.” She swatted at his arm, hand meeting flesh with a resounding ‘thwack’.
“Hey! Mind my guitar-playing arm. I haven’t insured it yet.” He looked at her with a mock-injured expression. “I only came over to invite the prettiest ladies in town to our gig tonight.”
Hanna snatched the flyer from his hands. “It’s at a pub, Tom. I can’t take Ruby to a pub. Her parents would kill me.”
At the same moment, Ruby piped up. “Please can we go? I’ve never seen a band play before.”
“There’ll be loads of kids there. At least five of my nieces and nephews are coming. Come on, I’ll even treat you to a coke.” Tom put on his best puppy-dog expression.
“With an offer like that, how can we refuse?” Hanna replied dryly, and an expression of delight formed on Ruby’s face.
At least she’d managed to keep somebody happy.
THE CROWDED PUB echoed to the sound of clashing chords and deep vocals. On the stage, Tom glanced up through his eyelashes and smiled directly at Hanna. She found herself biting her lip in an effort not to smile back. She wasn’t sure how she felt about the attention he was giving her. From the moment they met, Tom had flirted with her outrageously. He told her how much he loved her style. Hanna rolled her eyes in response. When he asked her out for a drink, she used Ruby as an excuse to refuse his offer. Now, surrounded by local groupi
es and a couple of A&R men from record labels, it seemed he only had eyes for her.
“Do you want another coke?” Hanna asked.
“Yes please. Can I have a straw, too?” Ruby’s mid-Atlantic accent sounded strangely out of place in an English country pub.
“Of course, milady.” Hanna gave a mock curtsey, made her way up to the bar, and placed her order. When she came back, the band had moved on to a cover of Coldplay’s Yellow. Tom began to strum the soft introductory chords on his electric guitar, and leaned toward the microphone, his bright, blue eyes firmly fixed on Hanna’s.
His voice was deep and gravelly, perfect for the song. She watched as his sandy hair fell into his eyes, and his lips curled into a smile. A few heads in the room turned to follow his intense stare, some of them looking surprised when they saw him gazing at the petite girl sitting in the corner with her young friend.
Ruby, oblivious to his blatant staring, continued to sip at her coke.
“This is our final song. I’d like to dedicate it to the beautiful girl with the perfect smile. This one’s for Hanna.”
She felt her face heat up as blood flooded her cheeks. Tom flashed her a brief smile, and then winked when he noticed her blush.
“Do you and Ruby spend a lot of time in the pub?” Hanna’s attention was drawn to the deep voice to her left. Spitting out her mouthful of cider in surprise, she looked up with horror as Richard Larsen walked toward her.
“Richard.” Ruby jumped off the bench, nearly spilling the remnants of her Coke bottle in her haste to greet him.
As he held his sister tightly to him, Richard’s eyes met Hanna’s.
She stood up straight, placing her hands on her hips, and looked him over for the first time since New Year’s Eve. He was smartly dressed in tailored black pants, the sleeves of his pale blue shirt rolled up to his elbows. She tried not to look too closely at his muscled forearms; skin stretched over tight tendons, and covered with a dusting of dark brown hair.
He looked out of place in the pub, among the jeans, the cargo shorts and the band t-shirts. Like a Renoir hanging on a wall of lurid graffiti.
“I couldn’t find you at the cottage, so I called Mary McLean. She told me that her grandson had invited you out on a date.” Richard’s nose turned up as he finished his sentence.
“I didn’t know you were coming to England.” She decided to ignore the date jibe.
“I’ve been in Europe for a few days. I’m working for my stepfather over the summer. He’s got a few things going down in Paris.” Richard smiled at her for the first time. His lopsided grin reminded her how much she’d liked him at New Year.
“You should have called us. What if we hadn’t been here?”
“It’s only a couple of hours by train, Hanna.”