Page 70 of The Weekend Getaway

Her eyes burned with the threat of tears. “I’m embarrassed enough without you paying for dinner.”

“I don’t mind,” he said, but she was already handing her bank card to the waitress.

Tears pooled in her eyes as she took the receipt and shoved her purse back in her bag.

“Are you all right?” Noah asked, resting a hand on her back.

“No. I’m completely humiliated and I’m really sorry you had to listen to my dad going on.”

“It’s not a problem.”

Standing, she pulled her handbag roughly onto her shoulder. “Let’s go.”

Outside, her parents were huddled together, the smell of cigarette smoke clinging around them.

“Can you get the bus?” Keira said. “I want to get straight home.”

“You need a holiday.” Her dad exhaled a steady stream of smoke. “You seem very tense. These high-flying professional types never switch off. It’s not healthy if you ask me.”

“No one asked you,” Keira grumbled, then moved to hug her mum.

Her dad squeezed her cheek and she swatted him away, having completely run out of patience with him. All she wanted was to get away.

“Any chance you can help your old dad out until payday?” he asked, not even bothering to be discreet in his request.

Keira’s shoulders sagged. Stupidly she’d thought he might be too proud to ask in front of Noah. A lump formed in her throat, so large that she couldn’t get any words out. Turning her back to Noah, she rummaged in her purse and slid the notes over as though carrying out an illicit transaction.

“You’re a good un,” her dad said, dropping a kiss on her hairline. “I’ll pay you back as soon as I can. When those lottery numbers come up I’ll remember all the times you’ve looked after me and your mum.”

As tears threatened to spill, Keira took Noah’s hand and set off in the direction of the car.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Neither of them spoke until they were settled in the car.

“Do you often lend your parents money?” Noah asked as he turned the engine on. His tone was neutral but the judgement was clear regardless.

“Sometimes.” Turning to the window, she caught a tear at the corner of her eye.

“Where do you want to go?” he asked, laying his hand gently over hers in her lap.

“Home,” she said, through the lump in her throat.

“It’s early. We could go somewhere else.”

“I just want to go home.”

His hand on her face forced her to look at him, and some of her tension left her when he softly kissed her lips.

“Can I take you somewhere?” he asked. “There’s a place I want to show you.”

“I don’t care,” she said. “I’m probably not going to be good company.”

“You don’t need to be.” He clicked his seatbelt into place and pulled the car away. After twenty minutes he turned into a petrol station and stopped the car in the forecourt. “I’ll be right back,” he said, then hopped out and headed straight for the kiosk.

“What’s this?” she asked when he handed her two takeaway mugs as he got back in the car.

“This place does the best hot chocolate.”