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“That’s the one.”

“So I asked you where in the world you wanted to visit, and you said Wales?”

“I didn’t say Wales,” Gemma protested. “I said Hay-on-Wye. You know, there are over twenty bookshops in that one little town. And it really is small. It’s got a population of two thousand. Maldon is over sixty thousand. By their calculations, we should have hundreds of bookshops. Besides, what’s the point of travelling anywhere in the world if you haven’t seen the best bits on your doorstep?” she replied.

She was about to carry on talking about all the other places in the world she wanted to see when she noticed the way Kent was staring at her in disbelief.

“What? What is it?” she said.

Was he disappointed? Had he wanted her to say somewhere exotic? After all, his parents had met on a river cruise in the jungle. That was probably the type of person he was interested in being with, too. Someone adventurous.

“You’re never going to believe this,” he said, pulling his phone out of his pocket.

“You’ve been there, I take it?”

“Hold on, one second.”

A minute later, he handed the phone to her. On the screen was the picture of the cutest little house she had ever seen, with a thatched roof and wisteria vines climbing up the outside wall—it was the epitome of a chocolate box cottage.

“What is this? Where is this?” she asked, confused about the sudden detour the conversation appeared to have taken.

“It’s a cottage in Hay-on-Wye,” Kent said. “And it’s mine. I own it.”

CHAPTER 63

Gemma was sure Kent had to be winding her up, but his face was completely serious.

“How? Do you live there? Have you ever lived there?”

“It belonged to my grandmother. Grandma Lulu.”

“That’s such a lovely name.”

“She was a lovely woman,” Kent said factually. “When she died two years ago, she left it to me.”

“I’m sorry,” Gemma said. “Not about the cottage. About your grandmother. Were you close?”

“We were. And we had a lot of good memories in that house. That’s where I first learned to cook. My parents would drop me off for the weekend, and we’d spend the entire time cooking together. She was the person who taught me to fillet a fish and to debone a chicken. She was an amazing woman. A chef, an artist. She had these vintage cars, too. That’s what she left my sister. Paintings and cars.” He paused, as if he’d somehow said too much, and for a second, Gemma assumed he was going to stop talking, but he didn’t. Instead, he carried on, a soft smile on his face. “I always envisioned moving up there with my own family. Teaching them to cook and bake. Keeping her memory alive.Does that sound ridiculous? It’s my big dream. It is ridiculous. The place needs so much work.”

“No, it’s not. Not in the slightest,” Gemma said, grateful for this glimpse of a man she had yet to learn about. “But why haven’t you moved up there straight away if that’s what you want to do?”

“The house is a state. A real mess. It’s barely liveable, and every year it’s getting worse. Basically, it needs a big influx of cash to restore it to its former state.”

At this, Gemma frowned in confusion. “If that’s the state of it, why didn’t you put the money you used to buy the café into it? Surely that would have made sense.”

For the first time, she noticed the way Kent’s hands were grasping one another so hard that his knuckles were turning white.

“It’s a bit complicated—tax and things,” he said. “Not to mention family politics. And what I paid Oscar for the cafe would have barely made a dent in what needs to be done there.”

“Hence, the cafe has to do better?” Gemma said.

She could tell from the way his eyes had lowered to the table that it wasn’t something he wanted to talk about at length, and so she reached her hand over and took his.

“Thank you for telling me.”

The smile that had previously vanished from his face returned.

“I like telling you things. And who knows, perhaps when we get a weekend off together, we can head there. I can teach you to debone a chicken.”