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His eyes flicked up at her. ‘I told you: we’re not serious. Besides, I didn’t think I was coming until last week, until you all ganged up on me.’

Fury puffed up Temperance’s cheeks. ‘I didn’t do anything! Jesus. Sorry for asking just an innocent question.’

Abel snatched a beer glass of the shelf behind him and turned on the tap in the new barrel, drawing out a few inches of beer. ‘Here,’ he thrust the glass in Temperance’s direction .

‘Oh, peace offering, is it? I graciously accept your apology.’ She curtsied, taking the beer and swilling back a mouthful.

‘Nope. Just needed to test the barrel and I didn’t want to be guinea pig,’ A cheeky flash of the teenage Abel lit up his face with a smile for a split second.

She smacked her lips. ‘Charming!’ But she couldn’t stop herself smiling back in response to his very brief show of warmth. ‘Tastes OK to me.’

‘Good.’ He started screwing on the hose.

Temperance didn’t really know what to do with herself while he worked.

She suddenly felt totally incongruous in her skin-tight fifties pin-up outfit, her red lipstick and winged eyeliner.

Like she was a supermarket egg who’d stuck on some plastic gemstones and fancied herself a Faberge.

Abel would see through it all – he knew who she really was.

The girl who always had sand in her scalp from beach cartwheeling; the teen who’d tried to ‘style up’ her own goth fishnets and ripped one leg clean off.

She thought about making an excuse to go first and leave him to it, but she didn’t want to give Abel the impression that he was actually succeeding in bothering her, that his wall of grump was actually an obstacle in her day.

‘Done,’ he muttered, standing up and brushing his hands off on the back of his thighs. He kept his gaze on the wine racks behind her. ‘We should get back. After you.’ He motioned towards the door.

Temperance twisted the old ceramic handle. Nothing. She yanked her elbow back sharply. Not budging. ‘Of course,’ she said to herself.

Abel sighed behind her shoulder and leaned over, nudging her out of the way. ‘Here. Give it a bit of muscle.’ She picked up the smell of him again as he moved near: honey on almost-burnt toast, salty seawater.

Temperance stepped backwards, feeling the rough stone wall on her bare skin.

Although she tried not to pay attention to how Abel’s jaw clenched, how the muscles in his forearms jumped into action as he heaved at the door, there was hardly anything else to watch, seeing as she was squeezed into a tiny galley with him.

‘What?’ he spat. ‘No, we can’t be . . .’ He pulled and pulled but the ancient wooden door wasn’t even creaking.

‘It must have expanded after the rain last night,’ Temperance offered.

He glared at her, as if she’d drawn up the weather report herself to cause just this problem.

‘We have to get out,’ Abel said gravelly. He kept yanking and yanking for another five minutes before kicking at the door and throwing his hands into his hair. ‘Perfect!’

If Temperance had been looking for a final summary of just how much Abel Gulliver disliked her, before he packed his bags for the city again, this would have done the job nicely.

The idea of being cooped up in a cellar with her made him want to tear his hair out.

But Temperance fought back against the cold, clammy feeling behind her ribs.

‘At least we have plenty to drink,’ she said lamely.

‘It’s not funny!’ His face was pale.

‘I didn’t say it was!’

He strode back to the door, pummelling it with both fists. ‘Hello! Hey! We’re stuck! We need to get out.’

Temperance grimaced. ‘Susie might still be on tour guide duty, or already outside with the others.’

Abel growled and squeezed his eyes closed .

‘Alright, calm down. I’m not infectious or anything. Ten minutes won’t kill you.’

At the mention of ten minutes, his eyes pinged open, as if she’d said ‘three millennia’ instead. ‘It could be longer than that, you don’t know.’

A realisation suddenly jabbed Temperance painfully: what if this was the doom? What if it was sealing them into the pub so they’d be cooked slowly while a wildfire took the village and everyone in it? Temperance pressed her hands against her sides to stop them shaking. ‘You could be right.’

‘Let’s do it together, OK?’ He nodded her over to where he was standing.

Temperance walked closer, the fitted dress only really allowing her to take small, sauntering steps.

Abel cleared his throat. ‘You touch it first. The knob. The door knob,’ he stuttered.

She put both her hands on the handle and his hands came around them, engulfing her fingers in warmth and a locked-tight grip.

‘On three, we turn and pull. One, two, thr—’

‘Eeee!’ With their combined action, somehow the door popped open like someone had magically buttered its hinges, sending Abel and Temperance crashing into the wall behind. Temperance’s head snapped backwards, catching her cheek on one of the stones that made up the ancient basement. ‘Ow, shit!’

Trying to untangle themselves from each other’s limbs on the floor, Temperance felt Abel’s hand snake up her neck, this thumb moving gently over her cheek. ‘Are you OK? Is it bleeding?’

She sat herself up. ‘I think it’s . . . ’

‘Was it your head? You didn’t black out, did you?’

His hand was still there, cupping the back of her head, holding her upright almost. She felt herself sink back slightly into the strength of his arm.

It felt good to let go for just that moment, not have to put on an act around him, not to pretend to be the steady one in this whole mess.

She reached out one hand out to touch his crisp white shirt, the bow tie hanging loose just like she’d styled him to wear it, the slippery satin contrasting with the hard wall of muscle that hid underneath.

‘Tee? You don’t feel sleepy, do you? Don’t fall asleep. Look at me.’

Abel’s face filled her vision: squinting, looking between her eyes intently, his top teeth biting down on the corner of his mouth.

How could anyone feel sleepy when their heart was rattling in their ribcage like it had just been jump-started with a car battery?

She could see the rise and fall of his chest; wondered how his heart was behaving behind his ribs right now.

There was a fuzzy light around the edge of her vision but it wasn’t any kind of head trauma, it was because her lungs were too scared to move and break this spell, so now she was running out of air.

Temperance looked deep into the green-grey eyes that she knew almost as well as her own.

Almost-slate grey flecked with bursts of moss green.

So much about Abel Gulliver was just as it had been.

He cared about his family, he loved to surf, his smile – when it broke free – was just as luminous.

That adventurous, open-hearted boy had to be in there somewhere, he had to.

Still there behind the glares and the awkward silences and the staring into space.

And as much as Temperance wanted to find any trace of her first love, that irrepressible teenager, she also wanted to explore the man he now was.

The width of his shoulders, the strength in his back, the texture of stubble on his more angular jaw.

Because as much as she told herself she didn’t care that he was curt and aloof and bored around her, that it would be great when he finally left the village again, when she got this close to Abel all she could think about was the crackle in the air between them, the invisible rope that he did his best every day to unknot.

But they were in a tangle there was no way out of.

‘I’m here,’ she just-about whispered. She wrapped her fingers around his wrist.

‘Tee, I . . .’ Able let out a long, deep breath, looking down at her hand. His eyes half-closed, as if he’d felt a small jolt of pain. Then he shook his head just once, as if denying an argument going on inside his mind. Abel tilted his chin to one side and slowly pressed his lips against hers.

Her lips pushed back eagerly, feeling his fingers now moving through her hair.

She moved up onto her knees to face him fully, never breaking contact, not caring that a stray piece of gravel was digging sharply into her skin.

Here was the new Abel that she wanted to explore, now inviting her in.

She wasn’t going to hesitate, the door could be shut in her face again in another heartbeat.

Temperance ran her hands along his forearms, over his biceps and to his shoulders, gripping him tight, fixing him in place so this moment would never end.

Their mouths worked furiously together, picking up pace: tentative kisses swapped out for hungry ones.

Temperance wanted to consume him: his lips, his skin, his muscle. She wanted to know every inch of him.

Abel’s hand cupped her chin, his thumb rubbing along her cheekbone, the rough callous on his palm now on her neck. He crushed his chest against hers, wrapping his arm around her waist to pull her tight, all the way in. His hands roamed over her back as he murmured through his kisses.

Temperance wasn’t sure she was remembering to breathe, but her fingers were moving, tugging the shirt away from his waistband. Feeling the skin at the base of his spine and hearing his responding groan as she touched him.

Please don’t let this be a dream. Please don’t let this be a dream.

Suddenly, without saying a word, they were moving in seamless sync, lying down on the cold floor, Abel’s body moving to cover hers. It was like her fantasies on the sofa that night but better: it was real.