Page 8 of The Allotment on Willow Tree Lane

He took a step towards her, and she glanced at the marquee, estimating the distance, worry pricking at her with warning thorns. She was out here alone; she hadn’t told anyone where she was going and although the other guests weren’t far away, would anyone hear her if she screamed?

The man looked harmless enough, but she knew looks could be deceiving. Just because he wore a suit, the jacket slung casually over his right shoulder, it didn’t mean she shouldn’t be wary.

He must be a guest, though, because why else would he be standing in this field, at this time of night, wearing a suit?

Despite the hour being late, there was enough light from the marquee to make out his features, and she tried to recall seeing him at the wedding. He was rather striking – black curls tumbling to just past his shoulders, dark eyes that glittered, reflecting the tent’s twinkling lights. He had a strong jaw, nice-shaped lips, and a tattoo that she couldn’t quite make out on the side of his neck.

Surely she would have noticed him? But then again, she had taken her role as maid of honour seriously and her focus had been on Rowena and Nia, and her brother too, to a lesser extent.

She was noticing the guy now though, and she liked what she saw.

The face, the hair, and the tattoo were at odds with the suit, but he didn’t look uncomfortable in it. On the contrary, he looked very much at ease, and she wondered whether he wore one on a regular basis. Because of his job, maybe? Which led her to ponder on what he might do for a living. And whether he had someone waiting for him in the marquee.

All this just from a ‘hi’?

Ceri tried to count how many drinks she had downed, but she couldn’t remember. It hadn’t been that many, surely? But even if she had drunk more than usual, there had been a three-course meal and a buffet to soak up the alcohol.

‘Good wedding?’ he said.

Ah, so hewasa guest.

‘It was, wasn’t it?’ she enthused, feeling a trickle of relief that he wasn’t some random bloke. She still couldn’t remember seeing him at either the church or the wedding breakfast, but she knew that Huw and Rowena had invited more people to the evening celebrations, so that was probably why. He must be on Rowena’s side, she assumed. Or maybe he was a friend of Huw’s from work?

‘The DJ is playing some sweet tunes,’ he said.

‘He is now,’ Ceri replied. ‘I take it you weren’t here for the “Macarena”?’

The man laughed, a rumble that sent a shiver of lust through her. Good lord – she fancied him!

‘Thankfully, no. I missed that treat.’

‘Lucky you, I wishIhad.’ She pulled a face, eliciting another rumbling chuckle.

‘Simon and Garfunkel, eh?’ He raised an eyebrow.

‘You saw that?’

‘I did. You looked as though you were enjoying yourself.’

‘I didn’t realise anyone else was out here,’ she said.

‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude.’

‘You’re not. After being forced to do the “Macarena”, I’ve got no shame left. Nothing can embarrass me ever again.’

Neither of them said anything for a moment, and Ceri fully expected him to make his excuses and return to the party. She wasn’t quite ready to dive back into the fray yet, so she would wait for him to leave. She had been enjoying wandering around the meadow, the darkness heightening the feel of the grass under her feet and her sense of smell.

Then she became aware of a new scent in the air. It was coming from the stranger, and the woody aroma with undertones of musk made her tingle.

‘What’s your name?’ she asked abruptly. She found she didn’t want to think of him as ‘the stranger’. She wanted a name to go with that handsome face and enticingly fit body.

He hesitated for so long that she thought he wasn’t going to tell her. ‘Damon.’

‘I’m Ceri.’

‘A good Welsh name. But you don’t sound like you’re from around here.’

‘I’m not. Born and bred in Cardiff.’ She was aware that her Welsh accent was milder than the more musical north Wales lilt, tempered by the cosmopolitan feel of the city. ‘What about you?’

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