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He waited a beat before replying. ‘Silence. I think Margie is upstairs.’ He tugged on Susie’s hand to spin her around.

‘You look glorious in the fairy lights. Like a real Devon sprite.’ Mark moved closer towards her.

‘Please don’t say I’ll wake up tomorrow and this was all some sort of magical dream. ’

Susie could barely see him, just his outline as he closed the last centimetres between them and she felt the warmth of his lips on her neck.

‘Promise me you won’t disappear into the mist for a hundred years?’ he murmured against her skin.

‘Mmhm. But that’s . . . Scotland,’ she sighed.

Mark trailed his kisses up her jaw, to the outline of her lips. It was so late that yesterday’s clean shave was starting to prickle with new stubble, and she could feel it on the delicate skin of her bottom lip. ‘Just don’t go anywhere, Susie Molland. I need you right here in East Prawle. Always.’

Before Susie could reply again, his lips had covered hers and their tongues met in perfect synchronicity. It could have been their hundredth kiss, not their second.

The scrape of a chair against the floorboards upstairs broke the spell and Susie pulled away, swallowing a happy laugh. Men did not usually make her go this ditzy, but there was something about Mark. Something different.

They walked through the porchway and out into the crisp, jet black night. After being so close, Susie now felt the empty space all around her body – and resented it .

Mark blew a gust of breath up above his head, watching as it turned into a faint mist. Dragon’s breath, she and Temperance called it when they were kids. ‘This place is unbelievably beautiful,’ he said, almost to himself. ‘I just can’t believe hardly anyone knows it’s here.’

‘We do all right, given our size. Only dust bunnies left in Margie’s cellar tonight. That crowd drank the place dry.’

‘Of course. I meant . . . this place is so brilliant. I want everyone and their milkman to know it. It’s a rare gem. It’s like you’ve opened an oyster shell and there’s a pearl. Priceless.’ He shook his head, as if waking up from a daydream.

An unfamiliar tingle crept around Susie’s ribcage.

Despite the chill of the night, she felt full of warmth inside her bones.

Mark felt just the same way she did about her village: it had a breathtaking beauty all of its own but beyond that the people, the community, made it one in a million.

You could stroll between a beach, a pub, a café, a vintage store, saying hello to everyone you passed – what more could anyone want? !

‘Sometimes, when I’m away , the other people I meet are trying to leave behind their hometowns. They can’t stand them. But I never leave to escape . I go and have some mini adventures, knowing this is always here, waiting to welcome me back. That’s what makes going easier, in a weird way.’

Mark reached out and curled his fingers around Susie’s wrist gently. ‘I wish I had about a tenth of your guts. You’ve gone and done the things you’re curious about.’

Susie laughed nervously. She wasn’t used to having such intense talks with guys that made her heart beat erratically. She felt like she was glowing under a spotlight all of a sudden. ‘I’m not sure about guts. I haven’t made it all that far yet.’

He shook his head, his face earnest. ‘It’s not about the miles: anyone can hop on a plane and get a stamp in their passport.

You’ve uprooted yourself, tried new jobs and ways of living.

You haven’t just accepted the path laid out in front of you by other people.

’ He frowned for a beat. ‘But don’t head off on another adventure too soon, right?

I’m going to need to see you again. Dinner? ’

Susie leant her shoulder against him, enjoying the feeling of the crisp cotton of his shirt against her skin once more.

She didn’t really usually ‘do’ dinner with the guys she saw.

That all felt a bit too proper, too grown-up, too dull.

With another man, Susie might have countered with clubbing or a pub crawl, or an afternoon spent on the beach.

But she surprised herself with how much she wanted to sit across a table from Mark and talk until the small hours.

There was so much more she wanted to know about him.

‘Dinner after you’ve done a busboy shift doesn’t feel exactly fair, but I’ll take it. I’ll give you my number.’

Mark patted his back pocket and his face fell. ‘Oh – my jacket. I left it inside, by the fireplace, I think. Will Margie have deadbolted the place by now?’

‘To be honest, she never really locks it – never has the need. Hold on.’ Susie nipped back inside, aware of a pair of steely grey eyes on her as she went.

Through the door, Susie moved forwards, her fingertips outstretched into the gloomy dark, fairy lights flashing at her back as she shuffled past tables to reach the fireplace. She could just about see a solid shadow draped on the back of one chair.

She turned her palm up and the well-worn leather, buttery soft but with the occasional crack, flew into her hand. Suddenly, it was like all the floodlights came on in Susie’s head. But it wasn’t Margie on the light switch this time: it was what Mark’s jacket was telling her.

Her fingers stung with the strength of the emotion suffusing the leather.

Her whole body flinched in response to the sensation.

A blinding white burst of excitement and energy and .

. . something new Susie had never read before in any clothing she’d ever felt.

What was it? Not hunger exactly, but a craving for sure.

A need, but not to fill a hole. More like the giddy satisfaction of an online shopping spree.

Clicking ‘checkout’ times a thousand. Susie didn’t want to read deeper, she was afraid to.

But this startling feeling was like coming across an old landmine washed up on the beach: she couldn’t just walk away from the chance it could blow up in someone else’s face.

With a deep breath, she closed her eyes and pushed her fingers deeper into the fabric.

A map was laid out on a table. No, not a map exactly – not like an old timey novelty up on the pub walls, all ochre yellow and smudgy lines. This looked official, clinical. It was like an architect’s plan.

Susie calmed her mind, let the energy flow through her, so she could channel it and focus on the detail written in the top right: East Prawle Development .

Two tanned forearms leant on the table, a crisp shirt rolled up to the elbows.

Curly hair and energetic eyes. Mark held a thick black marker in one hand.

With bold swipes he circled one of the buildings on the plan and scrawled underneath it: Witch’s Nose.

Housing?! He put down the pen, crossed his arms and leant back in his chair .

Susie dropped the jacket and wrenched her eyes open, her breathing ragged.

What did Mark want with The Witch’s Nose ?

Susie gave herself a minute to catch her breath and then emerged into the night air again, holding Mark’s jacket with a bar jaycloth.

He turned as he heard the heavy oak door shut behind her. The moonlight caught the devil horns still gelled into his hair.

‘Hey, it’s not that bad, is it?’ He laughed lightly.

Mark held out his hand and Susie passed the jacket over, the cuff catching the sensitive skin of her wrist in that moment.

This time she could name that powerful white buzz of energy coursing through her, and the desire she’d had not ten minutes before of talking Mark into a nightcap back at hers disappeared like dragon’s breath in the air.

Ambition. Dedicated, driven, relentless. Ambition.