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    The Odette C. Bell Fantasy Bundle
    The Odette C. Bell Fantasy Bundle
    The Odette C. Bell Fantasy Bundle
    Ebook1,252 pages17 hours

    The Odette C. Bell Fantasy Bundle

    By Odette C. Bell

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    About this ebook

    Are you ready for four adventure-packed fantasies from Odette C. Bell?

    Consisting of the complete Gladys the Guard, Agent of Light, Superheroes Don't Wear Heels, and The Witch and the Commander, this bundle is over 300,000 words of action, adventure, and romance, so dive in today and soar free with Odette C. Bell adventures.

    Gladys the Guard

    Gladys is a mild-mannered girl, living in a mild-mannered town. Working in a local haberdashery store, she stacks pastel-colored yarns and sticks labels on jam jars. She's single, carless, and lives with her mad grandma. The only interesting thing about her is also the saddest: Gladys is unusually good at arcade games.

    But when strange, yowling, terribly violent things happen in town, Gladys soon finds out she might be the only haberdashery store attendant who can stop them, and that, luckily for everyone else, her skills with plastic guns extend to the real variety.

    …

    Agent of Light

    Agent Mira works for a shadowy agency called (imaginatively) the Agency. She forms part of the line of defense between good and bad - between Heaven itself and the fiery depths of Hell. When she's plunged into fights beyond her skills, they push her straight into the arms of the Agency's finest officer, Michael. From the sudden appearance of a childlike angel, to the unwanted attention of the police, Mira won't catch a break. Good – Hell doesn't want her to. It has a plan, and Mira will fulfil it or be bled dry of every drop of her light and life.

    …

    Superheroes Don't Wear Heels

    Annie hates superheroes, a fact she will freely and loudly admit to anyone who will listen. They are a drain on public resources and give people the mistaken belief that anyone can look good in stretch tights.

    If only the city spent less on keeping buffoons in capes and more on effective disaster planning, the world would be a better place. Superheroes aren't the solution; they're the problem.

    Annie's so sure superheroes aren't worth the colored plastic they've been molded from, that it takes a plot of the rather epic supervillain kind to prove her wrong.

    It's a hard lesson to learn, and one that involves far more kabooms, pows, capes, and dashing tights-wearing men than your average reality check. But at the end of the day, a lesson's a lesson, even if it carries a shrink ray.

    …

    The Witch and the Commander

    Abby is a witch; she has a broom and a cat named Charlie. But around these parts witches aren't popular. So when she finds herself at the mercy of an ancient spell with no one to rely on but a distant man, she must count on more than her magic to survive.

    Pembrake can't stand her at first. But her endearing charm and innocence soon grow on him. Dangerous, because it will drive him to protect her, and that may prove impossible.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherOdette C. Bell
    Release dateJan 16, 2017
    ISBN9781386437956
    The Odette C. Bell Fantasy Bundle

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      Book preview

      The Odette C. Bell Fantasy Bundle - Odette C. Bell

      The Odette C. Bell Fantasy Bundle

      THE ODETTE C. BELL FANTASY BUNDLE

      ODETTE C. BELL

      Odette C. Bell

      All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

      The Odette C. Bell Fantasy Bundle

      Copyright © 20018 Odette C. Bell

      Cover art stock photos licensed from Depositphotos.

      For free fiction and details of current and upcoming titles, please visit

      www.odettecbell.com

      CONTENTS

      Gladys the Guard Episode One

      Chapter 1

      Chapter 2

      Chapter 3

      Chapter 4

      Chapter 5

      Chapter 6

      Chapter 7

      Chapter 8

      Chapter 9

      Chapter 10

      Gladys the Guard Episode Two

      Chapter 1

      Chapter 2

      Chapter 3

      Chapter 4

      Chapter 5

      Chapter 6

      Chapter 7

      Chapter 8

      Chapter 9

      Chapter 10

      Chapter 11

      Chapter 12

      Chapter 13

      Epilogue

      Agent of Light Episode One

      Chapter 1

      Chapter 2

      Chapter 3

      Chapter 4

      Chapter 5

      Chapter 6

      Chapter 7

      Chapter 8

      Chapter 9

      Chapter 10

      Chapter 11

      Agent of Light Episode Two

      Chapter 1

      Chapter 2

      Chapter 3

      Chapter 4

      Chapter 5

      Chapter 6

      Chapter 7

      Chapter 8

      Chapter 9

      Chapter 10

      Chapter 11

      The Witch and the Commander Book One

      Chapter 1

      Chapter 2

      Chapter 3

      Chapter 4

      Chapter 5

      Chapter 6

      Chapter 7

      Chapter 8

      Chapter 9

      Chapter 10

      Chapter 11

      The Witch and the Commander Book Two

      Chapter 1

      Chapter 2

      Chapter 3

      Chapter 4

      Chapter 5

      Chapter 6

      Chapter 7

      Chapter 8

      Chapter 9

      Superheroes Don’t Wear Heels Episode One

      Chapter 1

      Chapter 2

      Chapter 3

      Chapter 4

      Chapter 5

      Chapter 6

      Chapter 7

      Chapter 8

      Superheroes Don’t Wear Heels Episode Two

      Chapter 1

      Chapter 2

      Chapter 3

      Chapter 4

      Chapter 5

      Epilogue

      Forgotten Destiny - Sample

      www.odettecbell.com

      More Fantasy Series by Odette C. Bell

      GLADYS THE GUARD EPISODE ONE

      1

      Gladys sneered. She redoubled her grip on her gun, pressing herself further into the unyielding, wooden wall behind her.

      Great, this was just great. Not only was this bloody building soon to be full of fiends of the underworld, but she wasn’t alone either.

      She wasn’t talking about the horde of zombie-esque lords of death that were winding their shadowy way toward this rundown farmhouse. No. They couldn’t technically be classed as company. Rather, the heavily armed incursion team that was very noisily making their way through the front door was definitely company. But they were very unwelcome. The little situation developing here – a very dangerous, very terrifying situation – was just about to hit boiling point. And five heavily armed, steel-capped scouts would be the match to the gas-filled oven.

      Gladys heard the silent patter of feet behind her. She heard the silent patter because she could feel it reverberating down each of her vertebrae. She twisted on the spot. Dropping to her feet and punching the gun to the left, she fired off two shots in one smooth move. The familiar hush of sand cascaded into a pile on the floor.

      Oh, this was even better. Now those machine-gun-toting ballerinas would know she was here. She could see them in her mind’s eye, frozen on the stairs waving their hands about in a silent holy crap, boys, we are not alone sort of way.

      Now what was she going to do? She could have played the innocent little who me? game if they’d caught her. Oh, hi there, I just wandered into this deserted farmhouse in the middle of a military training ground… yeah, I was looking for the bathroom… got a bit lost… no, I can’t read signs….

      That clever plan could no longer work. They would see straight through it and to the shiny gun in her hand. Whoopee, now she had to think of something else.

      Gladys put one finger to her chapped lips and let the other hand drop to her waist, the firm butt of the gun brushing lightly against her worn cargo pants. Practiced footfall avoided the creaks in the wooden stairs, the almost imperceptible shake in the floor beneath her the only indication she had that her new visitors were moving up.

      This room was blocked off, with no windows and only one door that led out onto the landing beyond. That’s why she’d picked it – only one entry… only one entry?

      She turned quickly to survey the rest of the room. She hadn’t been thinking clearly. How the hell had that Sand Jackal found its way in here? She’d been guarding the door, and no seven-foot gray shadow of a man with the head of a jackal had slipped past her.

      Righty-oh. Gladys parted her lips to form the words, careful not to give her exact position away with a flippant one-liner.

      There was a hole in the ceiling that led to the rafters, rat-eaten insulation, and wiring of this decrepit house. Gladys stared at it. She really shouldn’t have missed that. So what if she’d had other things to think of? If she wanted to stay alive in this game, she had to play with her eyes wide open.

      This did, however, present an opportunity. She knew the incursion team was seconds from bursting in on her – time to get rid of the gun.

      She took one quick stride into the middle of the room and, clipping the safety on the gun, threw it up into the small opening above her. It landed with a dull thud above.

      She quickly threw herself against the far wall in direct sight of the door.

      She watched it open as she dropped to her feet and huddled against the wall.

      Stay where you are. Five guns pointed at her.

      They’d filed into the room in classic action-movie style: two crouching by the door as the others followed the leader in. It was a small room, though. She hoped they’d appreciate how cramped they’d made it.

      Lie down on the floor, hands behind your head.

      Sheesh, did they really have to shout so loudly? She was right here, for crying out loud! Gladys slowly uncurled herself and went to lie on the dusty floor.

      Hold on, said the soldier in the lead.

      Captain? asked Mr. Shouty McShouty.

      Gladys? the Captain’s voice, though strong and determined, wavered slightly.

      She knew that clipped Scottish brogue. How could she possibly not know it?

      She lifted her head slowly and looked up at the hulk in shades of navy blue and black above her.

      Max? she responded, her voice shaking with the smallest hint of amusement. This was totally ridiculous.

      What are you doing here? His question was a command, a snapped demand for her to explain very quickly how she had found herself in such a very compromising situation.

      Gladys ground her teeth, maintaining eye contact – or goggle contact, at least – with the heavily armored bulk of Captain Max Angus Cook. She knew better than to get up; Max may know her, but the very angry and confused soldiers beside him would be happy to shoot and ask questions later.

      Well… she managed, blowing a thick cloud of dust off the ancient timber floor with every breath. You’re not going to believe— she paused.

      Yes? he prompted.

      But Gladys wasn’t listening. Her eyes widened slightly, her brow furrowed, and her arms and legs tensed. There was something moving above her – and no, it wasn’t a rat or a rowdy cockroach.

      A little cloud of dust fell from the attic opening in the ceiling. She watched, almost in still frame, as Max slowly lifted his head and looked up.

      Gladys blinked once then quickly rolled to the side as a huge, sinewy guard of the underworld flung itself from the rafters above. A giant, gold scimitar sliced into the floor where she’d been lying. The wave from the sudden action blew her tangled, dull brown fringe into her eyes as she walked her feet quickly up the wall in front of her, using the traction to push herself into a backward roll and onto her feet.

      The three soldiers in the room had all taken a collective step back at the sight of a 7ft giant dog-headed man jumping from the ceiling.

      What the hell? Mr. Shouty McShouty offered.

      These highly trained men may have been prepared for anything – but they weren’t prepared for a dusty Sand Jackal of underworld doom. In fact, the tensed, obviously frightened stances of their bodies – their guns raised in automatic freak-out – would’ve made her laugh if she’d had a gun herself. To their credit, though, barely a moment passed before they composed themselves, but that was all the Sand Jackal needed.

      Gladys pivoted on the ball of her foot and faced the beast, which was now between her and the wall. The soldiers behind her wouldn’t shoot… well, she hoped they wouldn’t shoot. So it was up to her to bring this one down.

      She watched and waited as the thing grabbed the scimitar, which it had driven deep into the floor, one contraction of its long arm muscles plucking it up with ease. It lunged at her, the glint of gold held at head height. Gladys brought an arm up to meet the hilt of the blade clutched tight in the beast’s viselike grip. She pivoted again, dropping quickly and curling her back. The momentum of the monster brought it over her, and she sharply kicked up with both legs, landing a hard blow to its stomach and catapulting it behind her.

      If Gladys had been wearing a tiny slit dress and a studded collar with her hair in two side buns, she could have put Street Fighter to shame. Though she doubted whether she could do a handstand on the spot and twist-kick her assailant repeatedly, a little judo flip was still pretty impressive against a creature not even H. P. Lovecraft could have imagined.

      As she jumped back to her feet, she noticed with half an eye that she had accidentally hurled her assailant into the equally foreboding form of Mr. Shouty McShouty. The two lay sprawled near the far wall, a tangle of gray and black.

      Gladys seized the opportunity and seized a gun. The force of a giant muscle-bound dog of death slamming into him had separated Mr. Shouty from his assault rifle. The other soldiers, though they were now coming to terms with the situation, would not risk shooting at the creature when their comrade lay firmly entangled in its bulk. She didn’t have the same qualms.

      She could see Max finally catch up to the situation. To be fair, it was a pretty odd situation. Someone he held to be a very pathetic, weak, total geek had just thrown the hulking form of a mythical creature across the room and was now going to shoot its monstrous form for good measure. It must be quite challenging for him, Gladys reasoned, as she darted clear out of his reach.

      She aimed the gun at the creature’s chest as it quickly untangled itself and rose to its feet. Perfect chance, she squeezed off two rounds….

      Except nothing happened. The gun did not fire.

      Gladys’ face snapped to a deathly white. This was not supposed to happen. She was not prepared for any countermove. She was too close to use the creature’s momentum against it. She didn’t even have time to squeeze her eyes shut.

      Someone slammed into her back, knocking her out of the creature’s path and heavily to the wooden floor below. She felt the person twist around and fire off two quick, sharp shots. A waterfall of sand exploded over her back.

      Near-fatal situation averted… almost. Now she was going to have to explain herself to Captain Max Angus Cook.

      …

      Several months earlier

      Gladys pushed her glasses further up her nose as she idly shot at the zombies with the gun in her other hand. This was a very cool move – she would have looked very swanky indeed if it weren’t for the fact she was a short, stumpy 23-year-old in her moccasins, threadbare t-shirt, and trackie dacks, standing in an arcade full of weedy teenagers. Yeah, check her out – hell, she could even twist the gun around in her grip and blow the smoke away… well, she could if it wasn’t attached to the game by a cord.

      Gladys sighed. Yep, another day drawing to a close. Another day spent at her boring, lifeless, dead-end job topped off with a half-hour on the machines. The arcade machines, not the gaming machines – no, she was way sadder than that. She didn’t throw her money away on the slim chance of a windfall. She threw it away so she could shoot the same old crappy, pixelated monsters on the same old crappy arcade machines. Monsters was a generous term – they looked like brown blocks with vaguely angry faces. Still, it wasn’t the graphics that kept her coming back, she just… well… there wasn’t anything else to do. She didn’t have a boyfriend; she didn’t have a cool gang of buddies; she didn’t even have a dog. In fact, Barney, the 60-something guy who owned this fine, terribly smelly and aging establishment, was probably the closest thing she had to a friend. Wait, no, back up – that sounded really sad. She had friends; they just weren’t here in this stupid little coastal village in the middle-of-friggin-nowhere England. Why would they be? There was nothing here for a self-respecting 20-something except for an arcade. Okay, technically there were several pubs and some sort of seafood restaurant. But they only constituted a good time if drunk, 6ft, beefy, ye-old fishermen were your idea of fun – it certainly wasn’t hers. In fact, the only men here who were vaguely her age looked like they could nut a crab clean open. There were no women her age, well none she’d care to mention. They had no doubt wised up and moved to the big smoke – not much in this village that didn’t have scales and smell of ammonia, after all.

      Gladys rammed the worn, blue, plastic gun back into the holster attached to the side of the game machine.

      Great, now all she had to look forward to was a short walk home, toast, and a bit of Eastenders. Or just bread; the toaster was broken, wasn’t it? She’d have to tell Myrtle to get that fixed, or rather, she’d have to ring the repair guy and get it fixed herself. Her grandmother would likely poke it with a screwdriver until it erupted in sparks and smoke. She was sweet enough, but for crying out loud, how many grannies had a workshop full of electronic equipment and a PhD in physics? It was frankly terrifying to think of her in her soldering helmet, a purple-rinsed curl slipping free as she played with fire.

      Myrtle tried to fix everything, Gladys noted as she nodded to Barney and, hands thrust firmly in her pockets, walked out the door. Hell, Myrtle had even tried to fix Gladys. Fix her up, that was. Myrtle would constantly insist that a nice walk by the nice pier in a nice dress would be nice. Damn, if her granny actually thought she’d consider tarting up for a walk along the pier, then Myrtle’s ship had well and truly sailed.

      A cold blast of salty sea air whipped the ends of Gladys’ long plait over her shoulder. She’d always been a bit of a no-hoper – she didn’t have a life plan, wasn’t terribly good at anything (other than Zombie Master 3000) and wasn’t anything much to look at. She didn’t have charisma, long legs, or a winning smile. Her hair was long and dark brown, her eyes a dull hazel, her face too round. She could touch her toes, though, and shoot a zombie at 40 paces. But that didn’t count.

      Regardless of her lack of potential, she hadn’t exactly helped herself. She could have gone to uni – could have made something of her life. Instead, she’d just stayed in Sunny Bay.

      Gladys jammed her hands further into her pockets as she tried to recede into her t-shirt. The sea breeze was blowing a cold one tonight. She quickly marched along the cobblestones that lead out onto the pier with its view of the blue-gray ocean beyond.

      …

      Morning, chirped the 70-something, curly-haired blur invading Gladys’ morning fog.

      Hi, she mumbled in reply. What’s for breakfast?

      Toast! Myrtle declared as if she were proclaiming the freedom of the enslaved.

      Nice…. Very nice. Gladys shifted herself on the hard wood of the kitchen chair, its legs grating against the worn lino in protest.

      So, what are you going to do today? chirped Myrtle as she pottered around the kitchen bench, shoving very stale bread into the dangerously hot toaster.

      Gladys could have shouted at her: the same thing I do every day, Granny M: absolutely bloody nothing! but her grandmother was making her toast, and that would be rude.

      Not much, Gladys said, just going to work.

      Oh, tell Matilda I adored that mint jelly. Myrtle flourished the knife she was using to butter her toast, adding more enthusiasm to the phrase mint jelly than it justly deserved.

      Will do. Gladys blinked, letting her eyes wander around the small kitchen. It was poky, dark, and musty. Its only feature – in the same way lava was a notable feature in a volcanic eruption – was the collection of brown and orange tiles above the bench. The ‘70s had a lot to answer for in terms of kitchen design.

      Oh dear, Myrtle interrupted, looking at Gladys as though her face had suddenly exploded in a poxy rash.

      What?

      You’re being cynical again, aren’t you? Myrtle clucked her tongue. Chin up, dear; you’ll find Sunny Bay isn’t such a bad place after all!

      I’ve practically lived here my whole life. Gladys smiled wanly. She may be totally insane, but Grandma Myrtle was still as sweet as sugar. I reckon that’s enough time for Sunny Bay to deliver all it can.

      Oh, pluck up, dear. You’ll have an adventure soon. Myrtle passed her a plate of toast and marmite.

      An adventure? I don’t want an adventure, Gran – I just want something to happen! Which wasn’t entirely true; if said adventure involved aliens and spaceship captains, she was well up for it.

      Well, anything’s possible, dear. You’ll see. Speaking of which, your cousin Brittany rang for you last night.

      Gladys furrowed her brow. Myrtle may as well have told her that Flash Gordon had called and had left a message that he’d be getting around to kicking her butt later that day. Oh good, she managed after a large bite of toast. Whash did she wansh? she managed through a mouthful.

      She’s taking you somewhere next Saturday. Didn’t say where, though. I’m sure it’ll be fun! Myrtle added with a virtual thumbs-up sign ringing in her voice.

      Gran, the last time Brittany took me somewhere, she treated me like her backward, freakishly geeky cousin who she was doing the charity of introducing to the real world.

      Oh yes, she can be a bit of a chump.

      Gladys spluttered as she choked back her laughter.

      But she is your cousin, dear. And you never know, she might take you someplace exciting.

      Gladys grinned a Mr.-Sheen-esque smile over her toast. Quite an imagination you’ve got there, Gran.

      Ever hopeful, dear. Oh! You better be off! Myrtle cried with one look at the oven clock. You’ll miss your early morning entertainment.

      Entertainment? Gladys thought. Then she felt a blush warm her cheeks. Gran, she rebuked.

      Go on, lass. Myrtle gave a stage wink. He should be jogging by any moment now.

      Gladys rolled her eyes and made a point of slowly putting down her plate. However, with one glance at the clock, she realized she really did have somewhere to be. With half a smile and the kind of speed available to only the most dedicated arcader, Gladys grabbed her toast and ran.

      …

      Today was not going to be a good day, Gladys noted as she placed another label on another rhubarb jam jar. Not only had she missed the aptly named Jogging Man through her feigned ambivalence, but it was Thursday. Thursday was alarmingly close to Friday. And Friday was far, far too close to Saturday. And on Saturday, she would likely die of boredom and/or embarrassment from whatever hellish play-date Brittany had organized.

      Gladys took a deep, belly-shaking sigh as she scooted the labeled jar over to join its friends at the other end of the counter. She had all the evidence she needed right here that nothing ever happened in Sunny Bay. Nothing but boredom, fish, and rhubarb jam – which was an utterly unappealing combination. Her Grandma was well and truly bonkers if she thought an adventure could happen to anyone originating from or inhabiting this locale. The people in this sleepy village were imbued with the kind of lethargy that defined clinical catatonia. Well… her sample size was a little skewed, wasn’t it? Gladys conceded as another old dear walked in.

      Hello, dear! Mrs. Arnold piped up as she shuffled into the store.

      Gladys managed what she hoped was a cute smile. Nice to see you, Claire.

      And you, dear. Patsy told me Doris has just finished another batch of rhubarb.

      Well, Patsy sure as heck wasn’t lying, Claire. Gladys held up the freshly labeled jar in her hands as if it were the Holy Grail.

      Ooh! Claire chirped.

      Yep. This was about as exciting as it got in Sunny Bay, Gladys accepted as the door closed behind a contented Claire Arnold.

      All Gladys had to look forward to in this tiny little fishing village was an arcade… that smelled like fish.

      She stared blankly out of the window of Vera’s Haberdashery. It offered a great view of the town slipping away to the port and the vast ocean beyond. One thing she was happy to concede was that this town was quite picturesque. If she were 70 and wanting to retire, she may consider one of the little bungalows on the hill overlooking the bay. But she wasn’t 70; she was 23, for god’s sake. She shouldn’t be anywhere near this place.

      The only reason she hadn’t moved away to make something of herself yet was she had to look after her grandmother.

      Gladys reached a hand forward and parted several stray strands of lavender fastened on a drying string across the ceiling. They were obstructing her view of the window – of the port and the ocean beyond. Not that anything was going on, of course. She would have to have mutant powers to see anything other than the tiny black dots milling around the port. Still, she was trying to maintain a convincingly brooding position as she stared sullenly at the boredom that was Sunny Bay.

      In many ways, her grandmother was right: Gladys would give anything, anything at all, if only something would happen to her.

      Unbeknownst to Gladys as she stared down at the port, something was happening. Though it didn’t involve her at this point, the large oblong case being unloaded from the recently docked Cleopatra would eventually change her entire world. More importantly, the strange, tall, dark, gaunt figure that stood at the side of the dock watching as the package was loaded into a truck would be the catalyst for it all.

      They say be careful what you wish for.

      They’re right.

      2

      She was not looking forward to tomorrow, she noted with a little shiver as she made her way along the cold, uneven cobbles. Gladys was heading home later than usual today. And no, it wasn’t because she’d had to negotiate the amazing Friday night haberdashery rush. Mrs. Arnold had come in on closing time and, Gladys reading the need in her eyes, had let her pick through the embroidery threads for a good half-hour.

      It was odd to come back this late, though, Gladys noted as she made her way through the tight matrix of back alleys and side streets that constituted the quickest route to her front door. Things were that little bit darker. So it was only 6 o’clock. Still, it was late enough to lengthen the shadows and increase the cold damp rising from the sea. Also, it was that odd time just between everyone getting home from work (by everyone, she meant the very small portion of the population that weren’t retired or currently sailing the high seas) and then going out for a night on the town. Well, she thought, there must be some kind of night scene somewhere in Sunny Bay. It depended on your definition of night scene. And no, Gladys didn’t think the Barnsley Arms was a great night out.

      Gladys idly ran the fingers of an outstretched hand along the large box hedge to her left. She could probably feign some sort of illness tomorrow, come down with a touch of the hell-no-I won’t-go’s. But it had about as much chance of washing with Brittany as…. Ha, she couldn’t actually find an analogy. The statistical likelihood was so astronomically small that any other occurrence had a higher proportion of probability. Come rain, hail, sun, or pink flying toasters, her cousin would be dragging Gladys somewhere terrible tomorrow.

      When she’d wished for something to happen, she hadn’t meant Brittany taking her on some boring, potentially embarrassing field trip.

      Gladys gripped the hem of her pocket. With thumb and forefinger, she twisted the material. It was a nervous habit she had. She chewed on her lip and stared at the ground, too. She had a lot in her arsenal of social avoidance skills. Well, when the actual avoidance didn’t work, keep your eyes low and appear distracted.

      She allowed a rather miserable sense of foreboding to wash over her; at that moment, Gladys knew that whatever would happen to her tomorrow, it would not be pleasant.

      …

      The gravel crunched underfoot as she shifted herself further into the cubicle. She really didn’t want to be here. She really, really didn’t want to be here. But her cousin had insisted. Brittany had also lied, but it had been an insistent lie.

      And now Gladys stood there in a cramped cubicle of the gun club, trying to meld with the inconspicuous, worn, brown paint of the walls around her. Anything rather than look in their direction.

      Brittany had dragged Gladys along just so she could have an excuse to pursue the army’s finest.

      My cousin hardly ever gets out. I figured this would be good for her. Brittany had actually said that. To a room full of quite stunningly handsome men. Which had been the only thing she hadn’t lied about; the gun club was where it was at, re eligible eye-candy in Sunny Bay. But if Gladys could have beamed herself away, become invisible, or even just walked off in a cool and nonchalant way, she would have. Instead, she’d let her eyes drop to the well-trodden gravel floor and blushed pigeon-blood red.

      Well, hell, standing around and watching other people shoot – now this was getting out. Luckily, she’d quickly found a cubicle to hide in. She was ashamed to note, as she twisted her pocket that little bit harder, that her cousin’s plan was not unique. Not to say that it was bring-your-socially-awkward-cousin Saturday at the gun club – Gladys had the utter pleasure of being the only one in that group. But there was a clique of perving, Watchful Wandas standing by and cooing admiringly at the amazing accuracy of the strapping shooters. It was frankly creepy and annoyingly alliterative.

      Gladys chewed on her lip industriously. How the hell was she going to get out of here? She surreptitiously peered her head around the edge of the wall to get a fix on her cousin. Brittany was still standing around with the other peahens.

      Excuse me, a baritone Scottish/British mix reverberated from behind her.

      She turned quickly to see none other than Jogging Man… holding a gun. Gladys yelped and jumped back at the sight of the large air rifle in his hand.

      Sorry, he replied genuinely.

      It’s a gun club, Gladys quickly babbled, I should have expected… guns. But not the Jogging Man! How dare he do that to her? Damn, there should be warnings on things like that; her heart was fluttering like the chaos butterfly.

      There was a moment.

      Are you using this cubicle? he eventually asked. To his credit, he was trying to hide the rifle behind his leg.

      I’m hiding here, she blurted, so I guess I am… but I can hide someplace else… sorry, she practically whimpered as she realized what she was saying and to whom.

      She quickly dodged past him.

      There’s a back door over there. He motioned with a small jerk of his head.

      Gladys grinned nervously. Hell, Jogging Man looked like the Universal Soldier. His short, black hair was messy, a slight ray of stubble over his chiseled chin. His rugged eyebrows met in a peak of collusion over his yellow-tinted wraparound safety glasses. He was wearing plain, dark beige cargo pants and a simple gray t-shirt.

      Thanks, she whispered.

      She went to follow his advice and slip out of the back door. But halfway across the room, picking through the various gun-club goers, her plan was interrupted.

      There you are.

      Gladys froze; it was like being picked out of a line-up. She was about to get sent down for life, or worse – shot.

      Come over here, Gladys. Her cousin gave a small laugh.

      Well, that was ominous, Gladys thought as she turned to face her executioner. Brittany was smiling, standing in a small group of equally gorgeous girls, and directing her lash-batting attention at a tall, well-built man.

      That’s my cousin. A little smile here, a little bat of those augmented lashes there, she can shoot.

      Gladys’ eyes widened, and she whimpered slightly. Oh holy crap, what was she doing?

      Come on over here, Gladys! Brittany waved with a chirp.

      The attention of a small group of annoyed peahens and several strapping men fixed on her. In fact, Gladys realized as her heart turned up the bass, it looked like the whole gun club was staring at her. Her breath caught in her chest, and a stinging blush engulfed her cheeks.

      Come on! We don’t have all day, Brit called.

      Even Jogging Man had turned to see what was going on. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see him leaning against the partition wall in his cubicle, casually looking her way.

      If only they were all zombies – then she could take them on. But they weren’t. And she was frozen to the spot. She saw her cousin roll her eyes.

      God, don’t freak out on me.

      But, Gladys barely managed.

      She can’t shoot until she’s registered, came that low Scottish drawl from by her side.

      For a moment, for the briefest, sweetest of moments, Gladys entertained hope. She was still stuck to the spot, the glue of fear more adhesive than Araldite. But her eyebrows managed to twitch a little, which was obviously a good sign.

      Just relax, Max, said the object of Brittany’s desire, give her a Glock, point her in the right direction – what’s the worst that can happen? He grinned at Gladys. Plus, I imagine she’d just get bored watching you. There was a smile in the man’s words – the well-meant jibe of a friend rather than a barbed insult.

      Gladys watched, totally mortified as her only ally caved. With a shrug of his broad, well-muscled shoulders, he conceded. I guess I’ll get her the gun, then, Frank.

      What’s the worst that could happen? Gladys replayed Frank’s words in her mind. What the hell kind of security did this gun club have? Give an unregistered, frankly untrained (excluding plastic guns) woman a gun and wait to see what happened?

      Yes! Brittany exclaimed. This should be great.

      Gladys just shook her head ever so slightly. Obviously, the salty sea air and all the plumped-up peahens were reason enough to throw caution to the wind.

      Her breath was coming in short, sharp gasps, as she realized what would happen next. It sounded like she was practicing for an experimental percussion group. All attention was on her – and by all, she meant everyone. Every bloody good-looking soldier boy/just creepily-interested-in-guns guy had their eyes on her. Seriously, here was this little geeky-looking freak, and apparently she was going to shoot. Most people can recognize entertainment before they give it a gun.

      Was now a good time to point out she’d never fired a gun before? Okay, yes, she’d played an arcade game, and yes, it had a gun – but it was plastic!

      Gladys’ eyes widened with genuine horror as she tracked Max across the room, a small handgun grasped in one of his large hands. Slowly, with the kind of tight-backed stride that befitted an action hero of a film, he walked toward her. With his chiseled features, Universal-Soldier outfit, and general presence, she should really have been concentrating on how fit he was. Some part of her was aware of this. Unfortunately though, due to impending doom, most of her brainpower was assigned to getting her the hell out of here.

      Before she knew it, he was standing right next to her. He must have been able to see how utterly freaked out she was. Beads, actual beads of sweat had formed on her brow. Her hands were clenched, fingernails digging into her palms. At least she wasn’t shaking, though.

      Then there was a gun in her face. Or, more accurately, Max handed her the Glock, butt first.

      You okay? he whispered, leaning down and placing a broad hand on her shoulder as he passed her the gun with the other.

      She may have been on DEFCON 1, but that little gesture was enough to send shivers down her spine. These, mixing with her existing fear, coalesced to make a strange cocktail of panic and phwoar!

      Gladys tried for a grin. What she got was a manic, tight-lipped grimace. This did not have the desired effect on Max.

      Are you sure you’re okay? You seemed a little… scared of guns before, he added with a small reassuring smile.

      Of course, what Max intended as reassuring was almost enough to melt Gladys on the spot. Which could have been a plus; as a puddle of viscous liquid, she would be quite unable to shoot.

      Realizing she should respond before she left the impression she was mute and deaf, as well as socially inept, she nodded.

      He patted her twice on the shoulder, and with a smile, motioned her into the cubicle. Happy hunting.

      Silence. No one was saying anything. They were just watching expectantly, waiting for whatever it was that would happen next.

      She took a deep breath. Okay, so she wasn’t going to get out of this. Her heart was telling her to run like the wind, but if she pelted out of a gun club packing heat, it wouldn’t end well. She was just going to have to do it. Even though she had never fired a real weapon, she was just going to have to try. How different could it be? Point and shoot, right?

      Get on with it, Gladys! Brittany called from behind her. Probably unused to all attention being diverted to her geeky cousin, she was getting quite tetchy.

      So Gladys did it. She fired. Rather, she tried to.

      Click, click. Nothing happened.

      Wow, this should be good, someone said from behind her, she can’t even flick the safety off.

      Great. She’d seen enough movies to know where the safety was. So before Max had to come in and save her, she smoothly clicked it off.

      Right. Time to get into the zone. And it happened. She was so shocked to feel her attention rivet to the target before her, the fear of social death melted away. It always happened like this. Whenever she was at the arcade, the second she picked up the gun, she was somewhere else entirely.

      She raised her arms, locked her shoulders, and fired off several rounds. They slammed into the target, dead on. But rather than lowering her weapon, instinctively she shifted, aiming several tight shots at the other targets. Regardless of her orientation to them, she managed a perfect bull’s eye. Every single bullet sailed home with perfect accuracy, all fired in the blink of an eye.

      Christ! someone said from behind her. It was Frank, Brittany’s demigod.

      Gladys turned to see a wide-eyed, gobsmacked look on Frank’s face. I have never seen anyone shoot like that! Turning to Brittany, he added: you didn’t tell me your cousin was Annie Oakley!

      With her long, brown, messy bangs partially covering her eyes, Gladys surveyed the room. From the looks on the men’s faces, it was as if she had just wrestled a bear in a bikini. Somewhat impressed, but mostly horrified. Brittany’s friends, on the other hand, looked mutinous.

      Regardless of everyone else, it was fair to say Gladys was feeling a little impressed. Perhaps for the first time in her life, she had actually not totally stuffed up when the pressure was applied. Of course, that was about to come crashing down.

      Before she could turn to Max, to gauge any sort of reaction, one little quip ruined it all.

      Wow, you were right – she really is a freak. It was the same voice from before – the man who had noted she couldn’t even turn the safety off. It carried down the wide corridor straight to Gladys’ stomach.

      Shut up, you little shit – she shoots better than you, came Brittany’s instant, roaring reply. Gladys was family, after all.

      Though a part of Gladys felt gladdened by Brittany’s unflinching defense of her, it was too late. That idiot’s flippant comment had already hurt her, already emphasized just how different she was. It’s not like she had fabulous self-esteem to begin with. Then, the one time she was actually feeling pretty good about herself – some prick had to go ruin it.

      She let the gun drop to her side and set her jaw against the tears welling from within.

      Whoa, came Max’s brogue from beside her. She felt him quickly lean down and, large hand covering her own, grab the gun and flick the safety on.

      She flinched at this sudden touch. Then it hit her. What a freaking idiot – she’d pointed a loaded gun at her foot.

      …

      Well, that was something for the books, Max admitted as his brow knotted in concentration. Fully expecting it to end in tears, not only had this strange girl managed a bull’s eye – she’d done it on every target in the range, regardless of the angle, all with a speed that would put an automated turret to shame.

      He watched her as she relaxed her shoulders.

      Frank took that exact moment to vocalize a mutual feeling: Christ.

      She turned to look at Frank. Stunned mullet wasn’t an expression Max usually used, but if everyone else was surprised at this girl’s skill – it was fair to say she was absolutely gobsmacked.

      She entertained the smallest of smiles as she surveyed the room’s occupants. And Max noted, with a little grin of his own, that even the men of his own squadron looked impressed.

      Max crossed his arms. He’d hardly expected such an odd show when he’d accepted Frank’s invitation to come down to the civilian shooting range. It wasn’t as if Max was hard up for target practice. Frank had wanted to compare skills: the army vs. the police. Frank was on the police force, see. Max had felt compelled to point out that a homicide detective had a slim chance of out-shooting a Special Ops captain. But Frank had insisted, and he’d wagered a curry to boot. And now they’d both been upstaged by a slightly bedraggled, totally frazzled, 5’2 contender.

      He’d felt genuinely sorry for the girl when her cousin had dobbed her in. That look of absolute pleading on her face had tugged at Max’s chivalrous side. He’d been willing to step in and give her a hand if things had come to that. But when she’d finally lined up the target, her face had changed. Thinking back, she’d looked in complete control for the few seconds it had taken her to clear the range.

      Wow, you were right – she really is a freak.

      Max looked up to see Jimmy Ford shooting his mouth off. The guy was an idiot. Max wasn’t quite sure what he did, but on reputation alone, he deserved to be buried up to his neck in sand. Max made a mental note at that point to kick his ass, should the opportunity ever arise. She may be a little awkward, but the girl was sweet as hell and didn’t deserve to be badmouthed by such a little shit.

      Max shifted his eyes back to the girl just in time to see her shoulders deflate.

      Shut up, you little shit – she shoots better than you! Brittany Cavendish spat. Though on the surface a fairly vapid, self-engaged individual, Sunny Bay’s own beauty therapist could hold her own when she needed to.

      Apparently trying to hide beneath her fringe, Brittany’s cousin let her shoulders drop, the still-loaded gun brushing her side.

      In an instant, Max acted. He should really have been paying more attention. She hadn’t flicked the safety back on. For all this time, he’d just been watching her – and she had a loaded gun.

      Whoa, he managed as he went for the gun before she shot her foot off. This, he reminded himself, was why you have to register people at a gun club. Make sure they know how not to shoot themselves before you give them a loaded gun.

      He quickly closed his hand around hers, shifting the gun away from them both as he flicked the safety on. She flinched. It translated through her warm, soft hand as he gently pried the gun free. She turned to face him fully, her eyes fixed and wide. It was one of those rare moments when you can see straight through someone.

      Oh, she managed after a moment. I’m so sorry! her voice was a shaky, desperate plea.

      She got lucky, Brittany. Jimmy chuckled, his annoyingly smug tone grating on Max’s nerves. On two accounts – if the soldier boy hadn’t stepped in, Annie over there would have shot herself in the foot.

      Max wasn’t sure what was more idiotic at that point. The fact Jimmy had actually back-chatted Brittany Cavendish, or the fact he’d referred to Max as a soldier boy when half of his squad were in the room.

      Right, Brittany spat, you, Jimmy, are the world’s biggest-

      Max listened with half an ear as Brittany listed Jimmy Ford’s deplorable characteristics. He watched as Brittany’s cousin, her face a deep red, eyes brimming with tears, scuttled past him to the back door. He half considered putting a hand out to stop her, but he realized she just wanted to get the hell out of here.

      So off she went, her long brown plait swinging from side-to-side as she ran for the door.

      …

      Gladys flew out the door, the tears bursting forth as it swung shut behind her. Her cousin would be too involved berating Jimmy to come after her. Still, she decided, heading for the woods to the side of the club, she should really take an alternate route home. Battling through the scrub, she could cry to her heart’s content without being disturbed.

      When she finally made it home, the tears had dried somewhat. Just enough to walk past Myrtle, up the stairs, and to her bed.

      3

      No, Max shook his head with fervor, absolutely not, he added to be sure.

      Oh, come on! Frank pleaded, waving his coffee cup around with determination. Not even for me?

      Max chuckled. Especially not for you – not after the last time you asked me to do something like this.

      What? Frank exclaimed, indignation making it a little louder than he had probably intended.

      Several old couples turned in their chairs to face the duo arguing in the far corner of the room.

      Last time was great! Frank continued a little quieter.

      Great, Max repeated with a shake of his head, it was a fucking nightmare!

      Nonsense! Frank declared with the commanding tone of a magistrate. You had a great time. And I know for a fact, he leaned in close, a cheeky schoolboy grin spreading across his face, she had a great time, too.

      Max blinked deliberately and made a show of slowly massaging his brow. Aye, she was a nice lass.

      See! Frank interrupted with a triumphant cry.

      But she wasn’t my type. Max cocked his head to the side and smiled wanly.

      Oh come off it, Max – what wasn’t there to like? Great figure, great smile, really friendly. She seemed perfect.

      Aye, she was a nice girl—

      But?

      But she wasn’t my type, Max repeated, narrowing his eyes as he took a slow sip of his coffee, daring Frank to challenge him again.

      Oh, come on, Max. She’s just what you need. Frank pushed on in desperation.

      What I need, Max cleared his throat, is for you to leave off-

      Like hell I’m going to do that. You need a girl that’s going to make you forget about your big important job for half a second. You’re not on duty all the time, you know.

      I don’t need-

      I mean, Christ, even James Bond had off-time, in between saving the world, to pursue a relationship.

      Max had to swallow hard to prevent himself from choking on his mouthful of coffee. What the hell? His brogue made the words connect together. Are you suggesting James Bond had relationships? He put his hand flat on the table before him. He took women into compromising situations and slept with them. That’s not really a relationship, Frank.

      Yesss, Frank conceded, but he slept with a lot of women.

      Max let out a low chuckle. He knew Frank didn’t really think like this – he was just trying to get a reaction. Aye – I’ll grant you that.

      Good. Frank banged his coffee cup down. So we’ve all agreed that you should be more like James Bond.

      Max shook his head as he chuckled quietly. Okay, I’ll try to be more like James Bond.

      Right – so you’re coming this weekend then? Frank asked, a twinkle in his eye.

      I don’t think James Bond would go on a blind date – do you?

      Frank paused, appearing to think hard for a moment, he replied: not sure on that one….

      Look, I’m only asking this because I want you to leave me alone – what’s she like then? Max leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms to look totally disinterested. In all truth, he hadn’t hated the last blind date as much as he’d made out. She really was a nice girl, and they did have a nice time. They just hadn’t had much to talk about. She was a secretary, and he was an SAS Captain – what exactly would they have in common? Paperwork? Aye, that would’ve been a fantastic relationship.

      Max listened with half an ear as Frank extolled the wondrous, infinitely attractive virtues of this latest catch. It wasn’t that he wasn’t interested in finding the right girl, it’s just he doubted she existed. The defining aspect of a relationship was the ability to relate to another person. It wasn’t that Max was socially disaffected; he simply lived a very specific kind of life. As a Special Forces captain, he was hardly comparable to your average run-of-the-mill fisherman from this village.

      Are you even listening? Frank suddenly raised his voice then narrowed his eyebrows at the shocked expression on Max’s face. You weren’t, were you?

      Max paused for a second. Umm, this… lass, he managed, she sounds very nice. I look forward to meeting her, he lied.

      Frank blinked. But you’ve already met her, he said in a matter-of-fact way, you really weren’t listening were you-

      But I thought you said this was a blind date? Max tried to rally, not wanting to appear like he’d been totally ignoring Frank.

      Semantics, Frank supplied with a little off-hand gesture.

      So, who is she then? It better not be— Max’s face dropped as some horrid image turned in his mind.

      God, no! Frank supplied quickly. Look, she was at the gun club the week before last-

      Max felt an unmistakable click of recognition. He leaned forward in his chair. What – Gladys? Max kept his voice even.

      Frank looked momentarily confused. Who?

      Brittany’s cousin, Max supplied quickly. The one that could out-shoot you at 40 paces.

      Oh, Annie Oakley! No, not her… I think her name’s Telisha or something.

      Oh. the smallest hint of disappointment reverberated in Max’s deep voice. Right… alright, then.

      So you’ll show up then?

      Aye.

      …

      Earlier that day

      Why not, Gladys! Brittany shrieked down the receiver.

      Oh man – do we have to have this conversation while I’m at work? Gladys sighed into the phone as she turned closer to it to muffle their voices.

      Well, you’re never at home anymore. Every time I’ve called you in the past week, you’ve always been out. Where the hell have you been, anyway?

      Gladys bit her lip. Chewing it lightly, she replied, Guam.

      Why do you always say that? It’s such a stupid response. Anyway, if you weren’t you, I’d half suspect there was some boy out there.

      Gladys blinked and let her gaze drift out of the window before her. There were big, white clouds rolling in from the ocean, gently drifting over the waves, bound for the shore.

      Of course there isn’t- Brittany continued.

      There was a speck of red paint lifting off the windowsill where Gladys rested one hand. Probably water damage, she reasoned as she tried her hardest to ignore Brittany.

      And that’s why you are so annoying sometimes! I give you all these fantastic opportunities to meet great guys, and you just shoot me down.

      Fantastic opportunities? Gladys repeated dryly. She half considered making some quip about last week’s fantastic opportunity, but even thinking about it made her stomach turn. Plus, that was why she was avoiding Brittany, after all.

      Really fantastic opportunities! Brittany qualified with enthusiasm. I mean really – how hot were those guys at the gun club last week?

      Gladys took a deep breath. She couldn’t avoid it forever.

      Okay, so Jimmy was a total bloody jerk. And you walking off like that – what was that all about, ha? But my god, you were good.

      Gladys felt a blush warm her cheeks. This wasn’t going quite as she’d expected it would.

      I swear, Gladys, you were better than everyone there that day. You should be proud, honey.

      Gladys twisted the phone cord idly. Leaning back against the counter behind her, she let a small smile spread across her lips. No way, Brittany.

      Yes way, Gladys. And that’s why you have to come! Because you are not going to believe who I got you a date with! There was a curious giddiness in Brittany’s tone.

      Look, Brittany, I can’t come. I’ve already got plans, Gladys lied, oh no, and I’ve got a customer, she lied again, got to go. Bye!

      She quickly hung up before Brittany could protest further.

      Gladys took a deep sigh and, turning to the counter, collapsed onto her crossed arms. She eventually twisted her head up to stare back out the window at those impressive clouds.

      …

      Several days later

      Max clutched his beer and tried not to grimace. She was laughing again, and it felt like someone sticking nails in his ears.

      Aye, he almost croaked, I guess I didn’t think it was that funny.

      Oh, but it is! she cried between helium giggles. You are really funny, Max! she proclaimed with a little shrug of her barely clad shoulders.

      Max shook his head slightly but managed a small smile. He thought he was safe with that one – but no, it appeared anything would make her laugh like a rabid hyena.

      He dearly wanted to ask her if she was cold, sitting across from him in that itty-bitty top and skirt. Instead, he took a long draft of his beer, watching her warily over the bottom of the bottle.

      The one thing that grated on his nerves more than anything else, even more than the laugh, was the pretense. Max knew he wasn’t that funny – and he dearly hoped never to elicit a laugh like that again. Maybe he was being too serious, but was it too much to ask for a genuine reaction?

      So, she leaned forward, placing a well-manicured hand on the table before them, tell me, what’s it like-

      Max set his jaw. Here it comes. That stupid bloody question. Every single woman he’d ever been with had always asked The Question.

      …

      Meanwhile

      Gladys gulped. She tried to hug herself against the bone-shuddering cold. She was soaking from head to foot. As she walked along the pavement, her every step was met with a wet swoosh. Heads turned as she passed. Gray beards and purple rinses watched as she dripped along the street.

      Oh, got a wee bit wet then, dear? some old woman pointed out.

      Yeah, Gladys agreed quietly, pulling her crossed arms closer to ward off the chill.

      This is exactly what she didn’t need: another Saturday and another embarrassing shenanigan. It was supposed to be a peaceful, quiet day.

      Oh, my word, Gladys – what happened? Mrs. Gordon, Sunny Bay’s legendary preserver, called from the other side of the street.

      Fell in the ocean, Gladys called out.

      You poor, dear! Mrs. Gordon exclaimed. You aren’t very lucky, are you? Now go home before you catch a cold.

      Gladys nodded, lifting her hand to wave.

      She continued down the road feeling genuinely sorry for herself. Cold water dripped off her fringe and down her nose. She sniffed loudly and tried to wipe it off with an even wetter sleeve.

      …

      His eyes clearly said, shoot me now. Max cleared his throat and tried another smile. He didn’t want to appear too bored. If his mother ever caught him being rude to a girl, she’d thwack him with a frying pan. Show your manners, laddie. That was her rule, and it reverberated in his head as he tried to sink further into his chair.

      What is that? she suddenly asked, turning her head to face the window at the far end of the cafe.

      Max raised an eyebrow as he let the sound of a car alarm grab his attention. Oh blessed, blessed relief. It was his damn car alarm – or at least he very much fucking hoped it was.

      Oh no, he said, quickly rising from his chair, I think that’s my car alarm.

      Oh, she said, beginning to get up, do you want me to come?

      Oh no, love, he said genuinely, you stay here – I’ll go check it out.

      As he made his way to the door, he let a grin spread across his face. Whoever set that alarm off… well, he could bloody kiss them.

      …

      Oh my god! Everything was going wrong today. She’d just leaned against the damn thing while she shook some sand from her trouser leg. She hadn’t known it would set off the damn alarm!

      She waved at it pathetically, wet sleeves spraying droplets everywhere. Shhhh, she pleaded, please be quiet, car!

      Suddenly, there came a beep and, the headlights flickering on and off, the infernal alarm stopped.

      …

      You’ve got to push the button, love – she can’t be reasoned with. Max returned the keys to his pocket as he walked up to the sodden figure before him.

      She turned to him, a very flustered look on her face. And for the second time in a week, he saw straight through someone.

      Gladys? he asked, tone high with interest.

      A blush warmed her already rosy cheeks as a spark of recognition flickered in her large brown eyes.

      Yes, she answered, voice high. Umm, you’re that guy from the gun club… her voice trailed off as she gave a small nervous grin, her eyes looking everywhere but at him.

      Impulsively he stuck out his hand. We weren’t introduced, were we? Max.

      She looked at his hand and bit her lip.

      Oh, she breathed. She raised her hand and, appearing to notice how wet it was, tried to wipe it on her even more sodden pants. Ummm, sorry. My hand’s a bit wet, she exclaimed quietly with a shrug of her small shoulders.

      Max let out a low chuckle. Aye, love, I imagine it is, he said with a smile. You alright?

      I’m wet, she said, stating the obvious.

      And covered in sand apparently, Max noted with a brief look at the sandy handprint on his khaki jeep.

      She blushed even more at this comment. I’m so sorry, she said, her brow furrowing with concern. I only leaned on it-

      It’s just sand, Max countered quickly, you okay, though? You must be-

      Freezing, she supplied with a little shiver that made the long messy plait over her shoulder shake.

      Right, let’s see what we can do about that. Max quickly took off his jacket, but before he could drape it around her shoulders, she took a step back.

      Oh no, you don’t have to do that! You might get cold. She put both hands up to ward him off.

      I might get cold, but you’re already freezing. Max quickly stepped in and draped the large jacket over her shoulders before she could protest further.

      Thank you, she said softly, clutching at the jacket.

      Okay, then, better take you home. Max nodded toward the car.

      Her expression froze, one eyebrow raised in a look of disbelief. You don’t have to do that; you hardly know me, she exclaimed, little droplets of water flicking off her messy fringe.

      Aye, but you are a friend of a friend, and I can’t just leave such a close acquaintance dripping in the street, now can I? He clapped his hands together to further emphasize his point.

      But you hardly know Brittany, she countered, trying to back away.

      Mmm, but she’s dating my best mate – so that’s good enough for me.

      She is? Gladys asked in surprise.

      Aye, they’re in there, Max shrugged in the direction of the café, sharing a coffee and a wee pastry as we speak.

      She’s in there? Gladys’ voice broke as a cloud seemed to pass over her round, freckle-covered face.

      Is that not good? he asked diplomatically.

      It’s terrible! she said at once. I told her I was away this weekend!

      Oh well – just tell her you came home early…. Because it was raining, he added with a little grin.

      I can’t – I told her I was in Guam!

      It was Max’s turn to pause. I’m sorry, Guam?

      If she’d been blushing before, it was absolutely nothing compared to the almost incandescent glow she now emitted.

      Did you swim?

      No, Gladys managed between a half-suppressed laugh, it’s an in-joke… still, I don’t want to run into Brittany.

      Max nodded. Okay then, he tilted his head and looked at her questioningly, I guess I’ll be taking you home then?

      She smiled. Seeming slightly more at ease, she shook her head and replied: but I can just walk.

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