Wish Upon a Cornish Moon by Amanda James

Author:Amanda James [James, Amanda]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780008605759
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

The sound of laughter and the clink of glasses spills out of the beer garden; a warm welcome to passers-by. I look at the time on my phone and then back down the street. With a jolt, I see that the taxi’s turning round in the car park, dependable, safe, ready to whisk me back home. Away. Away from the nerves in my gut, currently riding on the crest of a wave of nausea. Would it be okay if I decide to just pass on by, too? Come on, Merrin. It’s just a drink, as Faye had said the other day, and as Lucy had also said earlier, when she’d put the finishing touches to my hair.

Moving my reluctant feet a few steps closer to the beer garden, I carefully finger the soft waves in my hair that my daughter so lovingly fashioned with straighteners. Have they fallen flat on the short journey to Perranporth? No, they appear to be in place. Maybe I shouldn’t have let Lucy put so much eyeliner on though, along with the crimson lipstick. Lucy, bless her, had insisted I put on my matching red and white checked summer dress, but it was too low cut for a casual drink with a friend, wasn’t it? I never listen to my cautious side, do I? But it had been hard to do it earlier when my cautious side had whispered that I was trying too hard as Lucy, a proud smile on her face, had stood back and admired her handiwork. The cautious side was shoved back in its box, because there was no way I could have changed and taken off some of the make-up, after all Lucy’s hard work. Bugger it. Get a move on.

At the entrance to the beer garden, I scan the benched wooden tables for a sign of Pete. There he is looking relaxed and handsome as ever, sitting under a blue and yellow umbrella, dressed casually in a white open-necked shirt and light blue jeans. He’s nursing a pint, and opposite him on the table is a glass of white wine. He remembered one of my tipples. Sweet of him. Bet he didn’t remember my preference for spritzers in summer though. As I approach, he jumps up and gives me that big warm smile that used to make my heart turn to mush back in the day and flings his arms wide. Will it be more awkward to remain at a distance, or to step into them? Ah sod it. Friends hugged, didn’t they? As his arms close about me, he says, ‘Wow! You look absolutely stunning.’

Any awkwardness scurries away into the shadows at his words when I feel the warmth of his embrace and inhale the familiar scent of his skin. The cologne’s new though, as are the breadth of his chest and his muscular upper arms. ‘Thank you. You don’t look so bad yourself.’ Stepping back might be a good idea, however, before he can plant those kissable lips on mine.

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