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You’re very good at getting out . ‘Of course. Right. We don’t have so much menswear, but it’s worth a good look all the same.

’ She turned on her heel and moved to the back of the shop.

‘Or you can bend the gender norms. We love a bit of that at Try Again.’ She yanked a sequin mini dress from the rail, it was rainbow striped but at least had a healthy line of purple.

‘Not sure I could pull that off.’ He stuffed his hands in his back pockets.

Temperance scrunched up her lips into an exaggerated knot.

‘No. I don’t think you could, actually. There are a couple of waistcoats on the rail behind you, if you want to have a flick through.

One might have some purple piping or lining inside.

Might get you through on a technicality, but not exactly in the spirit of our village.

There’s some men’s accessories out the back. I’ll go and grab them.’

When Temperance came in again with a large cardboard box that she could barely reach her arms around, Abel on reflex stepped forward to help her with it.

‘No, no. I’ve got it,’ she all but snapped, plonking it on the counter.

Her hands started to dig through, luckily not chancing upon anything as filthy as that red dressing gown.

Now was not the time for a bolt of sexual chemistry.

‘Black belt, brown belt, black belt. Menswear is so blah,’ she said crossly, as if Abel was responsible for all the men’s accessories that had ever been designed or made.

‘A red pocket square: closer to some sort of flair, but no cigar.’

‘You sure there’s no purple sweatshirt . . . or a hoodie?’

Temperance felt heat rise to her cheeks with that last word yet he had no reaction. Yet more proof that he’s forgotten everything about us .

‘Why don’t you have a look.’ She pushed the box towards him and with an eye roll he started searching.

‘If the theme was purple plus Antiques Roadshow expert, this would do.’ He pulled out a purple bow tie, silk with a fleur-de-lis pattern picked out in a darker, plummy shader. It was the kind of bow tie that came ready-tied and with a clip in the back to fasten it.

‘Let me see,’ Temperance took it carefully out of his hands. She ran her fingertips over the band at the centre, tracing the slight folds in the silk. Her skin warmed as a low hum of contentedness ran up her arm and into her rib cage.

Happiness and pride.

Temperance closed her eyes.

Charged wine glasses, a well-folded sheet of paper, a waistcoat that matched the tie .

Someone gave a father of the bride speech wearing this bow tie, and it had been the best day.

Temperance couldn’t deny that she was hoping that the tie might have slipped through the Molland net and was holding on to a depressing sort of drizzle of emotion that she could pass on to Abel with her very best wishes.

But she owed it to Margie to do better than that.

Her pseudo-granny would be so happy to have Abel there at her celebration, joining in with the theme, and even more so if he was in a good mood.

Besides, the thrill of pairing someone with the perfect vintage item they’d normally not look twice at always called to Temperance.

She loved not only rejuvenating clothes with her inherited magic, but also seeing the potential in something that hadn’t been loved for years and blind-dating it to just the right recipient.

If only her real experiences with blind dates were so productive.

‘You know . . .’ she trailed off, her hand still pressed over the bow tie in her palm, her heart swelling with its memories, ‘this could work.’

‘You’re joking . You’re joking? ’

She shook her head. ‘In shirts, you’re a sixteen-inch neck, right?’

Abel looked genuinely impressed. ‘Yes. How could you tell?’

‘Comes with the territory. But anyway – get in there and take your top off.’ She shoved him towards the changing cubicle with one hand, pulling the curtain around once he’d stumbled inside.

‘Tee, what—?’

‘It’s going to be a whole look, trust me.

I just need my scissors.’ She dashed into the office to grab her sewing kit and some purple thread.

‘And you need a white shirt.’ She dumped her mini haberdashery on the desk and went straight to a beautifully tailored white dress shirt, with pin tucks at the front.

In the next moment, she pushed it into the cubicle, her eyes averted.

Back at the desk, she snipped the threads that were holding the bow in place, setting the silk free. She then cut off the clasps at the back and speedily sewed the two ends together.

‘Do you have the shirt on?’

‘Hang on, just doing the cuffs . . .’

‘Come on!’

‘Alright!’ he growled. ‘I’m ready.’

Temperance swept back the curtain with an excited smile. ‘I’ve always wanted to be in one of those dressing room montages in movies, where they transform the geek to a cute soundtrack.’

His face remained stony. ‘I am not a geek. And those movies are actually fun . What am I doing in this? I know Gran will have me on pot-washing duty, but looking like a waiter feels like a step too far.’

Temperance tutted. ‘I’ll have you know this is a very fancy shirt – Saville Row.’

‘But it’s white?’

‘Obviously. But then you loop this around your neck.’ Temperance handed over the altered purple tie, its happy buzz dancing in her palm again.

‘Like you’re Daniel Craig, all rugged and handsome after some Bond shenanigans in a casino.

’ Heat flared along her collarbone as she realised she’d just compared Abel to one of the sexiest men alive.

Abel lowered an eyebrow, threading the tie under his collar, apparently letting her comment slide.

Temperance blustered on to cover up her embarrassment. ‘No, no. The shirt needs to be open at the top for the whole thing to work.’

‘Ugh, it just took me five minutes to get those buttons done up, fiddly little berks.’

‘Some Bond you’d be. Fine, let me.’ Without thinking, Temperance stepped into the cubicle, toe to toe with Abel.

Her hands set to work pushing the buttons out through tiny, stiff holes.

She could feel the warmth of Abel’s breath hitting the bridge of her nose.

His back seemed to stiffen, making him stand even taller.

With the buttons undone, she pushed the collar open and arranged the ends of the tie just so, smoothing them down over his pecs for maybe a second too long.

Temperance was so far into her ‘work’ mode, that it took a minute for her to clock just how totally she had put herself in Abel’s personal space, and this was no dream – she was actually doing it.

She should really pull her hands away. She should really put distance between them.

But Abel wasn’t moving. He was just watching her fingers as they pressed the tie into his shirt, picking up his body heat.

All at once she had his smell in her head again – toast, honey, but something else a little sharper cutting through now. Furniture polish.

A memory of Saturday chores set by Margie came flooding back – spraying and wiping down the leather seats in the pub.

Only Abel and Temperance, sixteen and fifteen then, thought it would be hilarious to load the banquets with so much polish that people slipped right off them again.

Temperance still got a fuzz of that stomach-creasing laughter whenever her bare legs touched the leather seats, to this day.

There’s no subtle way to drench a pub chair in sea water and basil to clean away the memories, and no way she’d even risk annoying Margie to that degree.

‘Margie’s still using Mr Sheen then?’ she murmured under Abel’s chin.

‘Yes.’ He half-cleared his throat. ‘But she rations me to three sprays a day, now. Seeing as I’ve got form.’ A smile drew in just the corner of his mouth, giving him a dimple.

Abel released a slow breath – not a sigh, not a huff, which is what she mostly seemed to hear from him these days. But a slow, shallow exhale, almost too quiet to hear. The sound you might unconsciously make when you get into a hot bath or sink into the sofa after a long, busy day.

Temperance realised she was still there, in his space. The perfect distance to let her hands skim down his chest or up over his broad shoulders. His smile was still there too, and the dimple.

So many of last night’s dreams came her way all at once, at just the hint of his lips curling in such a knowing way.

Abel’s voice just a growl in her ear, his mouth against her neck, going down, and down . . .

But then came the twist of guilt in her stomach again – she was painting him into fantasies he wanted no part of.

It wasn’t right. And besides, it was pointless.

He lived in Bath now, where he had a girlfriend.

A whole other life. Where moments before she had felt the warmth of nostalgia and safety, a chill now ran over her skin.

Temperance stepped away and forced herself to lace her fingers tightly behind her back. ‘See what you think.’ She gestured to the floor-length mirror.

‘Ah. Oh.’ Abel licked his lips, then craned his head back as if seeing a stranger from a distance and trying to work out if it could be his identical twin. ‘Right. I see what you mean. Not sure I’ve ever looked so . . . stylish. Thanks. This will do perfectly.’

‘I think your Gran will be impressed.’

He nodded and rubbed his hands together. ‘I should send a picture to Cass. She’d hardly recognise me.’

‘Right. Of course!’ Temperance fidgeted with her bracelets, her eyes darting around the shop – looking at anything but Abel. ‘I’ll leave you to get changed then, and I’ll ring those things up.’

‘Cool. Thanks again, Temperance.’ He pulled the curtain back around, hiding himself away behind a wall of moss-green velvet.

It was exactly the boundary Temperance needed – Abel was off the market and she needed to remember that.