Move Over Darling by Christine Stovell Page B

Just as well his hectic schedule had kept him so busy since then or he might have been tempted to remind one or two of them about that.
    ‘The vintage look just suggested itself when I did my first craft fair,’ Coralie continued, reclaiming his attention. ‘It works well with the products and it’s popular with customers, too. They like the association with old-fashioned values and the nod to more innocent times.’
    Old-fashioned values were overrated in Gethin’s opinion. Despite Alys’s claims to the contrary, he was willing to bet that if you scratched at whatever visitor-friendly face Penmorfa tried to put on the same long-held petty resentments would still be festering underneath. Fair play to Coralie for believing she could tap into the tourist market, but he didn’t want a bottle of over-priced bubble bath, and all his memories of the place were unhappy. He couldn’t think of a single thing that would draw him back to the village.
    ‘Besides, we throw too much away,’ she said, furrowing her brow. ‘Sometimes it’s good to save what other people might have rejected or discarded.’
    Was she speaking from experience? Had someone broken her heart and put her on the scrap-heap? He glanced at her and thought about what she’d said to him in her shop; if she’d escaped to Penmorfa, she must have left something pretty bad behind. Not that he had any intention of asking her what it was, because that would be dumb.
    ‘Like Rock?’ he suggested, before she got too serious.
    ‘I suppose so,’ she agreed, nodding.
    ‘And butt-ugly vans and Bambi glasses.’
    ‘Hey!’ She shot him a look. ‘You were doing really well for a while there.’
    He was pleased to see some colour returning to her cheeks; that had to be a good sign.
    ‘All right,’ she admitted. ‘So I might have developed a bit of taste for kitsch, too. When I was a little girl, my grandparents had a glass-fronted cabinet in their front room which was filled with all kinds of treasures: blown-glass animals, dolls in national costume, souvenirs from their holidays. I longed to open it and handle the contents, but I was never allowed. Perhaps I’m making up for it now? What started as a marketing strategy is at risk of becoming a serious eBay habit.’
    A small smile lifted the sad set of her mouth. Then she raised her hand to a disobedient curl that had uncoiled and was brushing her cheek. The soft swell of her breasts beneath her black angora cardigan caught him off guard and made him catch his breath. She wasn’t a little girl anymore. She turned to him and he found himself meeting her questioning tawny gaze.
    He was dimly aware of the hiss of the wood burner and Rock purring to himself, but they were being drowned out by the sudden thudding of his heart. Her eyes held his and the room grew still. Gethin swallowed and dropped his gaze to her mouth. A voice inside his head ordered him to back away before things started getting messy. Even the sofa creaked a warning as he shifted his weight to get comfortable. Jesus! He really had become a monster, he decided, leaning back quickly and reaching for his glass of Tia Maria. The poor woman was in shock and here he was thinking about making a move on her!
    ‘“Less is more” can be good, too,’ he advised before draining his glass. ‘Possessions only make life complicated.’ So did families and one house too many. And women. He stood up to leave, but she got up at the same time and he nearly walked into her. And there was her mouth again, all soft and enticing. Keep it simple, stupid, he reminded himself and wished her good night.
    Pausing on her doorstep to allow the cold air to dissipate some of the heat he’d built up, he reflected that little had he known, as a small boy, that he’d have reason to be grateful to Mair for drumming the Welsh alphabet into him. When Coralie had looked at him with eyes he could have drowned in, it was only by reciting the letters very slowly in his head that