Page 64 of The Christmas Fayre on Holly Field

‘That water will be freezing,’ Harriet pointed out. She had no idea why she was being so insistent. Washing in cold water for a couple of days wasn’t going to kill him. And he was right about being able to manage not having a loo. As he said, he could ask Aled or he could go to the pub. It wouldn’t be convenient, but it wouldn’t be the end of the world.

‘I’ve washed in cold water before,’ Owen told her with a smile.

‘I still don’t like the idea of you not having a loo. Please stay, just for tonight, at least. You can have that bath Bobby was on about.’

Owen didn’t answer her for such a long time that she thought he wasn’t going to, but when he said quietly, ‘I’d like that,’ the pleasure that coursed through her took her by surprise.

All she had to do now was stop herself from sneaking down in the middle of the night to accost him while he slept.

Owen had slept in some truly uncomfortable places in his time, but Harriet’s sofa wasn’t one of them. So why was he finding it so difficult to drop off?

The sofa was a long one, which meant that his feet weren’t sticking out over the end, thankfully, and it was lovely and squidgy. Harriet had found him a pillow and a spare duvet, so he was all warm and snuggly, but sleep continued to elude him.

Who was he kidding? He knew exactly why he couldn’t get to sleep. It was the thought of Harriet in bed upstairs, just a few vertical feet above his head.

He hadn’t taken her up on the offer of a bath; although the thought of immersing himself in hot bubbly water sounded divine, it didn’t feel right somehow. He might have a quick shower in the morning, but that would be more functional than pleasurable; he simply couldn’t see himself lying full length in the bath with the children and Harriet just outside the door. He wouldn’t be able to relax.

He wasn’t able to relax now, though, was he? So maybe he should have had a bath. It might have soothed him enough to allow him to drop off. Restlessly, he pushed the duvet back and sat up, reaching for his phone. He didn’t want to lie there, staring up at the ceiling, so he might as well do some work.

As a matter of habit, he googledPlanet B, just to check that everything on the website and the blog looked OK. No matter how careful he was, sometimes things didn’t look quite as good on a mobile as they did on a laptop, so he always checked it on a daily basis. Not only that, he wanted to see if there were any comments, because if there were, he liked to respond to them as soon as possible.

He noticed with satisfaction that many of his followers were getting into the spirit of not buying new and there seemed to be a lively discussion around the subject, with many readers offering hints and tips. There were several comments about the designer dress that Harriet had bought her daughter to wear to the party, with most people applauding the purchase, although one person had completely missed the point and wanted to know where they could buy the exact same dress.

Owen responded by saying that people needed to be more fluid in their purchasing decisions and not go out of their way to look for a specific item, brand or colour, but to see what was available and how they could use that instead. Keeping an open mind to possibilities was his message, and he signed off feeling pleased with how the blog was going. It was by far the most popular subject he’d written about that year, and he was chuffed he had thought of it. Although, in the back of his mind, a part of him wondered whether he was taking advantage of Harriet and her situation, and he debated coming clean and telling her about it. But things were going so well between them that he didn’t want to jeopardise it, despite knowing he was probably betraying her trust. He should have asked her permission, and although he had considered it at the time, it was too late now.

He told himself no one in Foxmore was ever likely to read it, and Harriet certainly wouldn’t. Although she had accepted the challenge and was doing remarkably well, she was by no means as dedicated to reducing, reusing and recycling as he was. She was just someone who was trying to do her bit to the best of her ability. It was only diehards like him who followed his blog, despite concern about the environment having grown steadily over the past few years, and gradually gaining more traction along with more interest from mainstream publications and websites; he had even sold an article or two toTheTimesandNational Geographic.

Sighing, he put his phone on the floor and settled down, pulling the duvet up around his shoulders, and tried once more to get to sleep, but it was no use. He was too strung up, too conscious of Harriet’s relative nearness, and every cell of his body burnt for her. He couldn’t stop thinking about her, and he realised too late that staying tonight was a bad move. He should have gone back to the van, where he wouldn’t have been surrounded by the very essence of her. He could smell her perfume in the air, hear echoes of her in the creaks of the house settling, feel her in the softness of the pillow under his head. And when he closed his eyes, he could see her face in his mind.

God, how he wanted her. Not just her body, he wanted her heart, too.

He stared unseeing into the darkness, marvelling at how daft he was. He hardly knew her, yet she seemed to have touched him more deeply than any woman had before, and he was definitely falling for her. The question was, how far would he fall and would she be there to catch him? He still wasn’t sure how she felt, despite Pen telling him that Harriet had a soft spot for him.

But one thing he did know: he was going to hang around in Foxmore until he found out.

Chapter 14

‘Owen, Owen, why are you asleep on our couch?’ Bobby was shaking him, and when Owen opened his eyes, he found the boy’s face was inches from his own.

He blinked owlishly and turned over to lie on his back, trying to remember where he was and what he was doing there.

‘What time is it?’ A small furry body jumped onto Owen’s lap and attempted to lick his face. ‘Get off, Etta,’ he groaned, pushing her away. It was dark and he wondered whether it was still the middle of the night. He felt stiff, his right knee was aching, and his brain felt muzzy and slow.

‘Half-six. I can tell time really good,’ Bobby said. ‘I’m hungry. What’s for breakfast?’

‘I don’t know, you’ll have to ask your mum.’ Good grief, this child had an impressive appetite.

‘She’s asleep. So is Sara. They won’t be up for ages.’

‘Why are you up?’ Owen asked.

‘I like snuggling on the sofa with Etta,’ the boy said. ‘And I want to watch telly.’

‘Are you allowed?’

Bobby nodded emphatically. ‘Yes, Mammy says if I’m awake and I want to come downstairs I can, as long as I’m quiet. Would you like to watch cartoons?’

‘Er, OK.’ Owen hadn’t watched cartoons since he was a kid.

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