Page 4 of Strawberry Moon

“You’ll find out.” He offers me a fond smile. “You’re like human sunshine, lad. Spread a few rays around. It’s what you do best. And look after Harry. I’ve a feeling he might need it.”

“Okay. You know I will.” I kiss his wrinkly cheek, and, clutching my instruction manual, I head down the stairs.

We spend most of the drive chatting about the bookshop and books, and it’s as easy and lovely as it usually is. He’s incredibly easy to talk to, and he’s warm and funny. My perfect man.

He sits in the driving seat with his big hands steady on the steering wheel. They’re good hands, with long fingers, neat nails, and those lovely veins that I have a weakness for.

We’ve been driving down narrow country lanes for the last half hour and through little villages with grey stone cottages. Norfolk is pretty. Not as pretty as Cornwall , I think loyally. But nice all the same .

“Where do your parents live?” I ask.

“Just outside Holt.”

“It’s lovely around here. Why did you leave?”

“I bought the bookshop with my ex before he decided that monogamy and books together were just too much to deal with.”

“He was a mahoosive tool. Did you ever hear from him after he left?”

“He rang me a few months ago.”

“Did he? Oh my god.” I stare at him. “Was he trying to get you back?”

He laughs. “He made a half-hearted try but gave up when I said I wasn’t interested. Then he asked if he could stay with me while his house was being renovated.”

“Cheeky twat.”

“He is that.” He sighs, his face pensive. “My boyfriends have been crap.”

“Not all of them.”

“Name one who wasn’t.”

I bite my lip.

“Exactly,” he says in satisfaction.

“Give me a bit of time. I’m sure I can think of someone.”

“If I gave you the week, you wouldn’t manage it.” He shrugs. “Just for once I wanted to take someone home who wasn’t a complete tosser. Someone who my family wouldn’t whisper about and add to their funny stories.”

“The bar is set low, then.”

“It’s actually on the floor, but if it was up to the sky, you’d still step over it.”

I give him a startled look. “Flattery is your superpower.”

“I thought it was my ability to divine when you need tea.”

“You can have two superpowers. I don’t think that’s being particularly greedy.”

A comfortable silence falls, and I look down at my book sitting innocently in my lap, the boring cover hiding the bright pink secret underneath.

I startle when he suddenly says, “ The Rise and Fall of the Roman Empire . That’s not your usual reading material.”

“I like history books.” I tighten my grip on it, as if he’s going to snatch it off me.

“Only if they have gory murders attached to them.”

“True.” It feels like Jared and Fiona are trying to burn my hands with guilt, so I quickly change the subject. “So, tell me about your family.”

He scratches his head. “My mum is Holly. She’s an artist and a little bit eccentric.”

“Really?” I say with interest. “I love people like that.”

He scans my face quickly, but his gaze lingers on my mouth for a moment.

I lick my lips, and he returns his attention to the road. His cheeks are a little flushed, and I realise my heart is hammering. Wow! Maybe Fiona and Jared are more potent than I realised.

“She’ll love you,” he says.

I struggle to remember what we were talking about. “Really?”

“Yes. You’ll fit in very well with my family.”

“I am a little nervous,” I confide, turning in my seat to face him. “I’ve never met anyone’s parents before. I know it’s fictional, but I want to be the best pretend boyfriend you’ve ever had.”

He snorts. “Well, there isn’t much competition. You’ll be the only pretend boyfriend I’ve ever had.”

I grin. “I like having an empty playing field.”

“Not level?”

“Nope. Completely devoid of any competition.”

He laughs and then sobers. “You’ll be perfect,” he says quietly. “You’re bright, clever, and very funny. You light up a room, and they’re going to love you.”

I open my mouth to say something sassy, but then I notice the red tinge on his cheekbones. Even his ears are scarlet, and I feel a wave of protectiveness towards him, so I say quickly, “So your mum is Holly. Your dad?”

“Graham. He owns an engineering firm. He’s a big bloke and a bit gruff, but he’s very kind underneath.”

“I like people who are a surprise. What about sisters or brothers?”

“Ah, I have four brothers and one sister.”

“How did I not know that? What the fuck?” I gape at him. “Are there no televisions in Norfolk?”

He laughs. “I don’t wish to think too closely on why I have so many siblings. Anyway, you won’t meet them. I’m doing the family wedding duty because it’s my turn.”

“You take turns? We just have to go to everything. A wedding invitation is like a three-line whip in our house.”

“Not in ours. There are too many of us. My mum was one of eight and I have thirty cousins.”

“You’ve got the numbers for a cult.”

“It would be a very polite one where we made a virtue out of looking on the bright side.”

I laugh. “And it’s your cousin getting married. What’s her name?”

“Coco. And beyond that piece of info, I don’t know anything more. I haven’t met her since she was a baby.”

“If you’d had more time to concoct a plan, you could have paid someone to go instead of me. Like a hooker.”

“Were those my only options in life?” he says, smirking. He shoots me a quick glance, his eyes twinkling. “I don’t think a hooker would be better than you.”

“Your bar seems to be set alarmingly low. And what’s with the think ?”

He laughs but then stops and clears his throat. “You won’t need to worry about sleeping arrangements.”

My mouth grows dry at the very thought. “I wasn’t?—”

“My parents are a bit old-fashioned,” he interrupts in a nervous tone. “And they don’t let you share a bed under their roof until you’re married. So, you’ll be put in the spare room.”

That is possibly the worst news I’ve heard all week, but I keep that thought to myself.

He clicks the indicator. “We’re here.”

I sit up and look out the window as he turns down a narrow, gravel drive.

It’s edged with trees and huge hydrangea bushes with flowers that are a blaze of colour.

The drive comes out in front of an old house made of grey stone.

After Harry stops the car, I note more details.

The house is three storeys tall with a sloping roof and windows that sparkle in the late afternoon sunlight.

Loud birdsong drifts into the car’s open windows.

“You grew up here ?” I say in awe.

He turns to me. “We did. It belonged to my mum’s family and was a farm at one time. We were all born here.”

I pluck my jeans nervously. “I knew I should have kept on the banker outfit,” I mutter. I jump as his hand comes down on mine.

“Don’t ever think that,” he says fiercely, an intense look on his face. “It might be a big place, but your house is just as nice. I promise you will feel at home here. I wouldn’t have agreed to this otherwise. But even if it was Buckingham Palace, you would still fit in because you are wonderful.”

I gape at him. “I am?” I whisper.

He cups my chin with his hand. There’s something absentminded about the gesture—as if he’s done it many times before and his palm knows the curve of my face. This close I can smell his spicy cologne and a faint trace of sweat. It makes my mouth water.

“You are.” He licks his lips.

My gaze follows the gesture, and I want so badly to kiss him. I’m leaning towards him when there’s a knock on his window that saves me from making a fool of myself.

We both jump, and I put my hand to my chest. “Jesus Christ, where did she come from?”

A lady is standing grinning at us. She’s tall and thin with a massive swathe of brown hair that’s pulled back haphazardly in a bun with strands falling out everywhere.

She’s wearing jeans and a painting smock over which she’s layered numerous scarves, and on her feet are bright pink wellies.

Her face is angular with a snub nose and very pale green eyes.

When I see them, I know instantly that this is Harry’s mum.

Harry throws open the door and jumps out. “Ma,” he says, and she engulfs him in a hug, her scarves floating around him.

“How are you, darling? Dad’s on the phone. He won’t be a sec.” Her voice is light and posh. She pulls back and cups his face. “It’s been far too long,” she says firmly.

“I know. It’s just been so busy getting the shop running properly.” He pulls back. “Come and meet Clem.”

“Clem?” Her face clouds in confusion. “I thought his name was James.”

Harry clears his throat, looking slightly panicked. “Erm no. It’s Clemo. James is his…James is his middle name.”

“Oh.”

I wink at him and then step out of the car. His mum studies me, and her pale green eyes somehow make me relax, even though her scrutiny probably should make me tense. Maybe it’s because her eyes are so much like Harry’s, and so I associate them with all good things.

“Hello,” I offer, grinning at her.

For a few seconds she carries on staring and then she suddenly offers me an impish grin. “Clemo, is it? What a gorgeous old Cornish name.”

“I’m just Clem, actually. There’s only my grandad who calls me Clemo.”

“Well, Clem, welcome to Ivy House. You’re very welcome.” She heads back towards the house, calling over her shoulder that she’ll open the wine.

Harry opens the boot and pulls out the luggage.

I grab my own suitcase which looks very battered next to his leather holdall.

It’s a case my family all use, and the last one to have it was my brother on a college trip.

I had to air it outside all day yesterday to get rid of the weed smell.

Thank god, Harry’s parents don’t live in Spain.

We’d never have got through customs, as the sniffer dogs would all have been stoned within seconds.

“Your mum is lovely,” I say.

His smile is his big wide grin that pulls out his dimple and makes his eyes crease attractively. “I’m glad you like her. She seems to have taken to you.”