Page 23 of Short Stack 3

“Not overkids,” Gideon exclaims. “I’m off before we can have any more of this frankly quite disturbing discussion.”

I wave at him. “I’ll ring Eli,” I say as he opens the patio doors and steps out, the wind blowing his hair around.

“Looking forward to it,” he says, and with a wave, he’s gone.

“Were you just winding him up, or do you know something?” Asa says curiously.

I grin at him. “Just a feeling. Eli loves kids.”

Asa shrugs. “And Gideon loves Eli.”

I wander over to the kettle. “Well, there you go, then. Fancy some toast?”

Over French toast with loads of golden syrup, we chat and laugh about a book we’ve been reading and Dean’s visit last week. I eye him as we sit over cups of tea in the vast kitchen. I love our home, but I have to admit that Asa is right. It’s wonderful for it to be just us for a bit.

Eventually, he pushes his cup away. “So, what do you fancy doing?”

“Why me? What do you fancy doing?”

“I’m doing it,” he says, shoving his chair back. He smiles as I get up and settle in his lap. “I just wanted to spend time with you. I don’t particularly care what we do.”

“I know,” I say excitedly, feeling the strength of his arms around me. “Why don’t we take a boat trip and see Daphne du Maurier’s house? It’s along the river near here.”

“Oh, dear. I now feel the need to clarify my previous statement,” he says solemnly.

I laugh and tap his nose. “No take backs. You said anything, and that’s what I want.”

“But it’s rainy and windy as hell. Who in their right minds would get on a boat?”

“You and me,” I say, nodding for emphasis. I stand up and wander over to the windows. “Those railings really are awful,” I observe. “Such a pretty house too.” Having pronounced judgement, I wander off upstairs. “I’m getting changed,” I shout. “Do you think jeans are okay?”

“Only if you didn’t pack your wetsuit,” he says gloomily.

His gloom intensifies as we wait to board the small boat, which is moored off a busy square. “Do you notice something, Jude?” he says.

I look around. “The boats?” I offer. He shakes his head. “That nice fish restaurant over there?” He gives me the thumbs down. “That your expression is wetter than the rain, my love?”

“No,” he says patiently. “We’re the only ones waiting here. Do you know why?”

“Because everyone else has seen Daphne’s house,” I offer, biting my lip to contain my smile.

“No, because you are nuttier than a squirrel’s breakfast.”

I break into laughter, and he shakes his head, but he can’t hide the smile on his face, and within minutes of being on the boat, he’s on first-name terms with the captain and engrossed in a discussion on fishing and river life. I eye him affectionately.There aren’t many people who can resist Asa Jacobs. It’s not just his good looks. It’s the kindness in his face and the boundless interest he shows to everyone. No matter who you are or what you do, he displays the same interest. It’s infectious and completely irresistible.

A gust of wind shakes the boat, and the rain hits us full in the face.

“Reckon you’d have to be barmy to do this today,” the captain observes.

I grin at him. “Bet you say that to all the tourists, you sweet talker.”

“Only the nutters who insist on going out in a storm,” he says.

Asa breaks into laughter. “We’re on a mission to see Daphne du Maurier’s house,” he says. “Jude’s a big fan.”

“We’re coming up to it now,” he observes. “There it is.”

He points to the other side of the river. Straight at a big house with bright blue railings that’s located near the ferry crossing. Straight at the house we’d been looking at this morning. Straight at the house directly opposite our cottage.

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