Chapter 2

Raucous laughter and the babble of voices hit him as soon as he pushed open the door. Adrian hesitated on the threshold of The Fisherman’s Arms. The pub was packed, and he fought the urge to turn round and walk away, but Harry’s words had hounded him until, grabbing his keys, he’d jumped into his battered Land Rover and made the twisting, turning journey into Love’s Harbour. Flexing his shoulders, Adrian pushed his way through the crush towards the bar.

“Adrian! Haven’t seen you here for pie night before.” Across the bar, Ryan, the young publican, grinned at him. “Pint of Badgers?” Before Adrian could answer, Ryan was already pulling the pint, the dark ale filling the glass. “What time did you book for?” Ryan pulled out a large book from beneath the bar, and ran his fingers down the page.

“Booked? No, I’ve not…” Adrian’s voice trailed off as he looked around him. There wasn’t a spare seat in the place. His big night out would be nothing more than a quick pint.

“Hmmm… We’re really busy, but if you’re on your own, I might be able to fit you in. You’re not with anybody, are you?” Ryan looked up from the page, his brows raised in question.

Adrian cleared his throat. “No, it’s just me.”

Ryan returned his attention to the page. “In that case, I think I can?—”

Adrian winced at the loud, braying laughter from the group standing next to him. “No, don’t worry about it. I should have?—”

“Bill on table four’s just about to leave. I can fit you in there if you like?” Ryan nodded towards a small tucked away table on the far side of the pub, near the toilets. An old man, whom Adrian recognised as one of the local farmers, swallowed back the last of his pint and pushed himself up on short, bandy legs.

A table for one, shoved in a corner and next to the gents’ toilet. A moment’s gloom settled over Adrian. Would he be like the weathered old farmer in a few years, alone in a corner?

“Adrian?”

Adrian dragged his gaze back to Ryan, who held a pencil aloft over the notebook. “We’ve got…” Ryan reeled off a list of pies, all with chips and peas. Adrian made his choice, the last one he heard, and Ryan nodded.

“Give me a mo, and I’ll get the table sorted. Best to book next time, though.” Ryan laughed and gave him a quick wink before he disappeared out from behind the bar.

A couple of minutes later, Adrian settled himself at the small table. Although in a corner, it commanded a good view out across the pub. The Badger’s, short for Badger’s Arse ale, began to relax him, as the muscles in his neck and shoulders softened. The noisy pub, which at first had been deafening, had smoothed out to a good natured background hum.

He recognised several of the other customers, some the owners of local businesses he supplied with veg, along with his regulars at the weekly market. A good number were the newcomers who’d made Love’s Harbour their home in recent years.

The village, which had been a dull backwater when he’d been growing up, and one of many rural communities struggling to survive, had by some miracle reversed its fate. Tatty fishermen’s cottages were now bijoux harbour front residences. Where uninspiring shops selling uninspiring goods had stood, there were now good restaurants, cafés, and a couple of upmarket delis most of which, like the pub, were his customers. There was even an art gallery and a shop selling Wicca friendly bath products and healing crystals. His lips twitched a smile. Increased prosperity had its downside.

“Adrian, my love. It’s good to see you here.”

Christ Almighty.

A small, stocky woman stood beside the table holding a tray with his order. Eva, the pub’s landlady, and Ryan’s gran. Her smile was open and friendly, which was a distraction from the mass of lemon and lime coloured curls balanced on top of her head, and adorned with a bright pink bow.

Don’t look at the hair…

“Steak and mushroom pie, chips and peas, and some onion rings which are on the house.”

“Thank you, Eva, but there was no need?—”

She batted his words away. “It’s just nice to see you somewhere other than the market, or when you’re dropping off a delivery. Made with your own onions.” Eva beamed at him as she nodded at the pile of deep fried goodness.

With a command for him to eat up, Eva bustled away through the busy pub, her back ramrod straight, impressive for a woman who must easily have been in her eighties.

Adrian concentrated on his food. He’d eat quickly and go, giving somebody else the chance to take their place at the table for one. He slowed his chewing. A table for one… It had been the choice he’d made, when he’d watched the sleek, expensive car trundle down the track from the farmhouse, and disappear around the bend. He forced down mouthful after mouthful, the succulent home cooked food no longer quite so appetising.

Rowdy laughter, accompanied by some whoops and whistles, snagged his attention. Ryan and his fiancé, Alex Love, the two of them welded together in a passionate kiss over the bar. Adrian’s fork hovered between his plate and his mouth, his breath hard and heavy in his lungs. He’d once kissed and been kissed like that, as though there was nothing and nobody else in the universe, as though nothing else mattered. Once, but not now. He put down his cutlery in a noisy clatter and pushed away the half eaten meal.

Eva reappeared, sudden and unexpected. She glared at the plate, to him, and back to the plate.

“Don’t you like it?”

“It’s wonderful, but too much for me.” The lie slipped easily from his lips, which was better than saying that the sight of so much unadulterated happiness was too strong a meat for him to stomach.

Eva looked dubious. “Never known a farmer who couldn’t eat his own weight in good honest food,” she muttered as she collected up the plate. A further burst of unrestrained laughter made her look towards the bar, a loving and proud smile lighting up her face.

“Young Alex was the best thing to have happened to my Ryan, and I dare say Ryan was the best thing for Alex. It’s hard to believe my only grandchild will be a married man before the end of the year — and marrying into the Love family, no less.” Eva quivered with pride. “I’ll bring you another Badger’s.” She turned and left before he could say no, he was leaving. Resigning himself to staying longer than he wanted, Adrian settled back in his seat, his gaze returning to the two men.

He had no interest in the gossip that was always swirling around the village, but it was impossible to not pick up on some of it during his weekly visits.

Alex Love, the wealthy property developer who’d returned to the village to bulldoze out of existence his despised inheritance, hadn’t reckoned on the determination of the villagers to stand up to him — or on the young publican who’d been adopted as their leader in the battle to stop Alex getting what he wanted. They were the most unlikely couple possible, yet somehow they made it work.

Adrian’s second pint of Badger’s appeared unseen. He’d have a couple of sips, before he’d leave the money on the bar and slip away. His gaze wandered around the pub, landing on the door just as it opened, and Adrian’s grip on his glass tightened.

A guy paused in the doorway, and Adrian was powerless to look away.

Dark blond hair fell forward over the new arrival’s brow, which he pushed back, only for it to flop forward again. Dark, narrow legged trousers were teamed with a crisp duck egg blue shirt and, thrown over one shoulder, was a pale violet coloured jumper, the soft pastels a perfect match for the man’s blond good looks. Even amongst a crowd which mostly comprised well off urbanites who’d made their home in the village, the man radiated understated sophistication.

The guy’s gaze settled for a moment on Adrian. Even from across the pub, his blue eyes were startling, the colour of cornflowers. His sudden smile, wide and bright, animated his poised expression, and Adrian watched, unable to tear his gaze away, as he waved and made straight for the bar, where Alex wrapped his arms around him in a tight hug. Ryan said something to one of the staff, before he came out from behind the bar, the three men making their way to a waiting table.

Adrian sipped his drink, and studied the trio, but his attention was constantly dragged back to one man only. That Alex and the fair-haired guy were easy in each other’s company was plain to see. The quick and constant smiles, the ready laughter. Ryan joined in, before slinging his arm around Alex’s shoulders. The act, whether conscious or not, was proprietorial. Ryan was staking his claim, and Adrian couldn’t blame him, because the blond guy, whoever he was, could have had any man he wanted.

The group of three, intent on their conversation, were joined by an older man, stocky in build and with swept back dark hair, showing silver at the sides. Snagging a spare chair from a nearby table, he sat down next to the fair-haired guy, giving him a light kiss on the cheek before resting a hand on the guy’s shoulder.

Adrian ground his teeth together so hard his jaw cracked. Neither of the men was any business of his, but he was powerless to rip his gaze away as the short hairs on the nape of his neck stood up, prickling and tingling. The newcomer’s easy familiarity with the fair-haired guy twisted the muscles in his stomach, and Adrian forced himself to roll his shoulders to release the tension that had flared up out of nowhere. Stupid. They were a couple, that much was obvious, and they were no business of his.

He brought one hand to the back of his neck, squeezing and massaging at the tight little knots. He had no idea who the dark-haired man was, and he sure as hell had no interest in finding out, because he already knew enough. A newcomer to the village, he had the label stamped all over him: affluent, groomed, smug.

The older man said something, and the fair-haired guy leant forward. Whatever he said in reply, the other three laughed as he swirled a glass of red wine in his no doubt well manicured hand. Adrian glanced down at his own hand, clutching the pint glass. Calloused, dirt ground in no matter how hard he scrubbed, and his nails chipped, they were the hands of a man who worked the land every single day. He looked up, his gaze finding the fair-haired guy once more, now lounging back in his chair. Lounging? How could anybody lounge in a rickety pub chair and look good as he did it?

It wasn’t a question he had any intention of dwelling upon. He set aside the rest of his pint. It was time to go. Pushing his way through the crowd, he resisted the urge to look back as a small twinge pulled in his chest, which he refused to believe was anything more than rich food and strong ale.