Page 22 of Finding Love in Micklewick Bay

‘Ooph! No thanks, I’m stuffed right now.’ She laughed. ‘Might be a different story in half an hour, mind.’

‘Coffee then? Or tea?’

Stella shook her head. ‘No thanks; too warm. And I’m awash with sparkling water.’ Stella had only had the one glass of wine, with a view to working later. She was keen to keep her wits sharp.

‘Okay, how about a stroll along the beach? You mentioned earlier that’s what you had planned for this afternoon. How d’you feel about a couple of well-behaved companions joining you?’ He glanced down at Fred, who was looking up at him adoringly, his tail swishing over the floor. ‘Hmm. Having said that, I’m not so sure I can guarantee this one will be well-behaved. He tends to lose all sense as soon as he gets near the sea.’

‘Funny, he said the self-same thing about you when you were getting the drinks,’ she said with a giggle.

They settled the bill with a brief argument over who was paying – Stella reluctantly backed down and let Alex pay.

‘I’ll get this one and you can get the next,’ he said.

‘Ah, that’s confidence for you. You think there’s going to be a next time?’ She gave an amused grin, her gaze locking on his. Much to her surprise, she found herself secretly thrilled that he was thinking along those lines.

They made their way down to the beach, negotiating the bank of pebbles before heading to the shoreline. Alex had thought it best to keep Fred on lead until they got closer to the sea and the Labrador trotted along, his ears pricked as he watched the seabirds bobbing about on the waves.

‘Did you grow up in Micklewick Bay?’ Alex asked, looking around him appreciatively, the background sound of the waves rushing up to them.

‘I did; spent hours down here as a kid.’ The gentle breeze lifted Stella’s hair and she drew in a fresh lungful of the salty air.

‘I love the sea, always wanted to live beside it, which is why I jumped at the chance when I got it.’

‘Yeah, I can’t imagine living anywhere else.’ Her hand brushed against his, sending a jolt of electricity through her. Their eyes met and she knew he’d felt it too.

‘So do you have lots of family here? I’m guessing you’re about fifth generation, or something like that. Unlike my family, who are scattered all over the place.’ He turned to her, smiling.

‘Not at all. My mum moved here when I was a very small baby. We’ve got no relatives here, it’s always been just the two of us.’ Rhys’s face filled her mind but she pushed it away. Now wasn’t the right time to think about her mum’s relationship with him.

‘What? No siblings?’

Stella shook her head. ‘Nope. No father, no grandparents. Just my mother and me.’

‘Oh, okay.’ A frown flittered across Alex’s brow as they paused to let a handful of children race down to the sea, squealing as the chilly water lapped over their skin. ‘I can’t imagine not having Zara around, though I suppose that could be a twin thing.’

‘I don’t feel deprived, if that’s what you’re thinking.’ Her pride suddenly kicked in. ‘My mother is an amazing woman, she was both mum and dad to me when I was growing up – my father did a runner when she told him she was pregnant and she didn’t let that faze her. We didn’t need anyone else. She’s been a wonderful role model, built her business up from nothing and now it’s a huge success with multiple employees. She instilled her work ethic into me, encouraged me to strive to be the best I can be.’ Though she meant every word, she hoped she didn’t sound like she was ranting or preaching.

Alex paused, as if absorbing her words. ‘She truly sounds like an amazing woman. I’m not surprised you’re so proud of her.’

‘I am,’ she said, her tone softening.

‘And you’ve never met your father?’ He turned his head to her. ‘Tell me to mind my own business, if you like.’

‘It’s okay, and no, I’ve never met him.’ Stella wasn’t keen to share that she didn’t even know his name. Her mum had always appeared a little shifty whenever Stella brought the subject of her father up, so Stella hadn’t pushed it, fearing it could cause a huge argument, the sort from which there’d be no going back. She couldn’t do that to her mum, and she didn’t want to be responsible for creating a rift between them. Her mum had a determined stubborn streak, and Stella had learnt when to back down. ‘My mum’s always been enough, plus, I’ve had the same tight-knit group of friends since primary school; they’re like family.’

‘I take it that’s the group you were with on Friday night?’

‘That’s them. Maggie’s the newest recruit. Florrie met her at university but she slotted in like she’s always been there. She lives at Clifftop Cottage on Thorncliffe.’ Stella turned to Alex, smiling. She brushed her hair out of her eyes, ‘So, tell me about your family.’

‘Well, you’ve – albeit briefly – met Zara. We’re thirty-four and I’m the oldest by ten minutes. We’re very close and have always looked out for one another. She’s a research doctor and is based in London. We’ve got a younger brother called Leo, he’s thirty-two and is currently working in IT in Germany; he was always the wild one, always up to mischief when he was younger. Our parents now live in Cumbria and our grandparents live in a village called Skeltwick on the edge of the moors. And we’ve got aunts and uncles and cousins all over the place; Scotland, Australia, Canada, Cornwall.’

‘Wow! I see what you mean about being spread far and wide.’ Stella secretly thought it must have been overwhelming if they’d all ever lived closer together in this country. She would have found it stifling.

Arriving at the pier, Alex stopped, his gaze travelling to the ice-cream shack on the bottom prom where a small queue was snaking its way over the path. ‘Don’t suppose I can tempt you to one now?’ He nodded towards it, grinning.

Stella didn’t need to think twice. ‘Mmm. You certainly could.’

Ten minutes later, ice creams in hand, they walked along, Stella filling Alex in on the history of Micklewick Bay, how Old Micklewick was steeped in stories of smuggling, the most infamous smuggler being Jacob Crayke whose decommissioned pistol hung in a glass display cabinet in the Jolly. He’d been arrested and tried in York, then hanged for his many crimes against the tax man. She went on to tell him of the local gentleman, Benjamin Fitzgilbert, who’d led a double life as a member of the local landed gentry and a prolific smuggler. ‘Rumour has it there’s a tunnel that runs from beneath the Jolly right up to what was once his rather fancy home.’

---