THIRTY-TWO
He took her to a corner café in the little seaside town of West Kirby. The rain beat down and the afternoon shopping brigade had sought shelter in the cramped space. The air was thick with voices and the smell of coffee and toast. Johnny edged through the tightly packed tables, bringing her a buttered scone, just to be different. She ignored it, choosing to gaze out of the misted window, occasionally brushing hair from her face. He sat down, noting the lines under her eyes and the tiny broken veins around her nose and cheeks. Despite the lack of makeup, she looked sensational. Every muscle of her lean body pressed against her tight-fitting clothes and he gazed at her, aroused, stirring his coffee mindlessly, engrossed.
“I bought you a scone,” he said at last, and pushed her dr
