Grace had forced herself to wait the traditional three days between their date and seeing Paul again. When she had jokingly told him what she planned, he had shrugged and told her he would be waiting. Last night, when she had finally cracked and stood outside the Low Anchor to pick up a Wi-Fi signal, he had replied almost straight away that he would be waiting with breakfast.
The museum and library didn’t officially open until ten o’clock, but when Grace arrived at seven-forty-five, parking her pink BMX against the wall outside, she found an arrow taped to the glass doors bidding her to go up the stairs. On the second floor, more arrows led her through the modest exhibits to the balcony terrace that had a view over the valley below.
Paul was standing beside the glass doors that opened on
