Snowfire. Anne Mather

What was the matter with her?

      ’I—don’t know,’ she muttered, wishing she had the strength to be more decisive. But the truth was that, in spite of everything, she wasn’t totally convinced she didn’t want to see him again. After all, she defended herself, he was Sally’s son. Surely, it was what she would have wanted—for them to be friends. But it was the ambivalence of her feelings that troubled her. That, and the sure knowledge that nothing was as simple as it seemed.

      Conor toyed with the patterned scarf between his fingers. ‘Tomorrow,’ he said, the warmth of his breath moistening her ear. ‘I’ll pick you up at seven o’clock. What do you say?’

      ’I …’ Olivia opened her mouth to make some further protest, and then closed it again. His face was much nearer now, and although his eyes were averted she had an unhindered view of his long lashes. They were sun-bleached these days, she noticed, like his hair, but just as vulnerable as she remembered them. ‘Oh—all right,’ she gave in weakly, knowing herself for a fool, and when he lifted his head she was sure of it. There was nothing vulnerable in his gaze at all. His face was quite expressionless. Whatever she thought she had seen in his expression was just wishful thinking.

      But then he smiled. ‘Great,’ he said, withdrawing his arm from the back of the seat, and thrusting open his door. Then, before she had a chance to forestall him, he had circled the car and opened her door, offering her his hand to help her out.

      ’I can manage,’ she exclaimed, frustration giving way to irritation, as annoyance at her weakness overwhelmed her. She shouldn’t have allowed any of this to happen, she thought angrily, aware that the frown that drew her dark brows together did nothing for her appearance. But she had had a chance to end this association here and now, and she had blown it. Now she was committed to a whole evening in the company of a man she hardly knew.