Reach for the Stars: A feel good, uplifting romantic comedy. Kathy Jay

to keep out of your way.’

      ‘Yep. Okay.’ Not turning away from the wall where she was painting dabs of colours from different test pots she chewed her lip thoughtfully. ‘See you later.’

      ‘Towels?’

      Concentrating on the wall she asked, ‘Which blue do you like best?’

      It wasn’t the answer he’d hoped for. He stared at the colours seeing virtually no difference between the two blues. ‘Both.’

      ‘I prefer the lighter one, it says summer to me and it will make the room feel bigger, I think.’

      ‘Absolutely.’

      Leaving Layla absorbed in her work he went into the bathroom figuring he’d air dry. A minute later blasted by an icy jet of water he let out a yelp several decibels louder than Ophelia’s.

       Just deserts?

      Layla’s arm appeared around the door, her hand offering a large fluffy towel. The rest of her stayed strategically outside the door, but he could hear her muffled giggles.

      ‘I forgot to say. There’s no hot water. The immersion heater is on the blink.’ She paused, and added charmingly, ‘Oops!’

      His wet fingers grazed hers as he clutched for the towel. She pulled her arm away quickly, as if she’d had an electric shock.

      ‘I guess you could go next door and use mine. In fact, look, given the state of this place, perhaps you’d better stay with me.’

      Still hidden behind the door, he didn’t need to see her face to know from the tone of her voice that she wasn’t exactly thrilled at the prospect. ‘I’ve had more enthusiastic propositions,’ he joked.

      ‘I don’t doubt it,’ she challenged, mockingly sweet. ‘My spare room’s not exactly the Ritz. You might be more comfortable at the Manor House Hotel. In fact, you definitely would be.’ Suddenly as jumpy as a box of frogs she babbled her words in a rush. She made him smile from the inside out. ‘If you like, I can call and see if they have availability.’

      ‘Your spare room sounds good to me.’

      ‘I’d better warn you I don’t cook. I don’t have time.’

      ‘That’s not a problem. I do. I’m a domestic god in the kitchen.’

      ‘Even if you do say so yourself.’

      ‘When I’m not bingeing on vegetable soup, vitamin supplements and egg white omelettes, that is! To tell you the truth, when I’m prepping a role or a photo shoot I need to be careful.’

      ‘Super. That’s settled then.’ The forced breeziness of her reply betrayed an undercurrent of second thoughts.

      ‘Layla?’ He emerged from the bathroom, tucking the towel around his waist, and forking fingers through wet strands of hair. Back in the nursery, he found her intently painting, a sketching pencil tucked behind one ear. He walked across the room, reached out and gently touched her arm. ‘Listen.’ Forced to turn her face, her eyes met his with an intense focus. ‘Thanks.’

      An icy shower hadn’t taken the edge off the raw attraction.

       Chapter Four

      A cloudburst, accompanied by a rainbow arching out from the headland into the sea, cleared the beach, scattering the holiday people and cutting dead the run on ice cream at the Kandy Shack. Finishing a run-off-her-feet shift, Layla locked up the shop and headed home, wending her way uphill. The winding lane took her past the pastel-painted jumble of higgledy-piggledy houses with their colourful window boxes and pots crammed with summer flowers. At her side Ophelia trotted obediently.

      When she reached the bridge over the brook that ran down through the village into the sea she stopped. A small padlock dangled from a curlicue of ironwork on one of the rusty railings. The sight of it made her sad and disappointed, totally humiliated. It was a horrible feeling. She glued her eyes to the padlock. She and Joe had been wearing school uniforms when they’d put it there and thrown away the key. The memory had been eating away at her all afternoon. He’d bought the padlock in the village general store and she’d painted the heart on it in red nail polish. She remembered the name of the colour on the bottle wistfully.

       Forever Yours! So much for that.

      A year ago, on the anniversary of the day they’d put their lovelock on the bridge she and Joe had stopped there and he’d given her a gummy sweet ring and a promise that when he got the money together he’d buy her a real one. She’d eaten the ring. That was probably a bad omen. At any rate, everyone considered them to be practically engaged, and she’d been dreaming of him giving her an engagement ring in Paris. Her hope had been to put a lovelock on the Pont des Beaux Arts to mark their commitment to a shared future.

      Joe hadn’t shared her vision. And now she was stuck. She wanted to get rid of the padlock so badly, the sight of it made her physically sick. It conjured up the image of Joe down on one knee in the most romantic city in the world. Utterly, irritatingly wrong. She couldn’t bear to see it dangling from the bridge a single day more.

      She pulled a hairgrip out of her unruly mop. Unpicking locks with a hairpin struck her as something she’d seen at a village vintage cinema night. It was the kind of thing which only ever really worked in films, but it had to be worth a go. With a theatrically furtive glance left and right to check that nobody was watching, she crouched down, took the padlock between her fingers, inserted the wire hairgrip, and twisted. Nothing happened. She straightened the wire, and tried again.

      Ophelia sat looking on dolefully. ‘It’s got to go, O!’

      In that precise moment Nick came walking round the corner. He was in such unbelievably great shape that trotting up the steep hill from the harbour didn’t appear to fizz on him. A big smile broke out across his face when he heard her chatting to the dog.

      ‘Is this a private conversation or can anyone join?’

      ‘Are you making fun of me Nick?’

      ‘I wouldn’t dream of it.’

      ‘For your information Ophelia’s a very intuitive dog. She understands me.’

      The dog gave a well-timed yelp of agreement and Nick laughed. ‘I can tell.’

      ‘You’ve been in the village barely a day and somehow you’ve developed the uncanny knack of being exactly where I don’t need you, exactly when I don’t want you.’

      ‘Harsh! I didn’t hear any complaints when I helped you move the heavy boxes.’ He studied her with a puzzled look. ‘In fact, you said you were glad I was there.’

      ‘To be fair, you are a useful pair of hands.’

      His lips twisted into that much-too-sexy smile.

      Sheepish, she positioned herself in front of the lovelock. ‘How was your walk? Porthkara beach is amazing, don’t you think?’ She gave an impatient wave of her fingers. ‘Don’t let me keep you. Why don’t you jog on? Find a bit more of Cornwall to explore?’

      ‘What’s up?’ He crossed his arms over his broad chest and fixed his eyes on her. An unnerving combination of darkness and honey in his eyes, he waited, getting under her skin. When she didn’t reply he stooped to greet Ophelia, ruffling her soggy fur. ‘Hey, how’re you doing?’ The dog jumped up and placed two paws on his thigh leaving wet prints on his leg.

      It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him to butt out. Instead she held the less-than-useless piece of wire out to him on the flat of her palm and cringed. ‘I’m just standing here in the rain making a complete fool of myself. If I tell you why you’ll probably think I’m the village idiot.’

      ‘That’s a thing?’ The downpour that had cleared