Probably the Best Kiss in the World. Pernille Hughes

she prompted him, eager to get him back to his barge story, because she liked the way he talked about it. As she’d hoped his face lit up again as he recounted how he’d got a tip-off the brewery was clearing out an old dock property and a couple of barges were due to be scrapped.

      “I fell in love with this one and over three years spent weekends working on her, finally finding a suitable mooring spot and moving in.”

      “Wait a minute, you mean you did all this? Yourself?”

      “Well, no,” he said, which sounded more likely. “The hull repairs needed a boat builder, but the water-proofing and the building and the decorating, that was me. And some friends helped, though some were more useful than others. Some I’d make sit in the floor with a beer and a guitar, so they kept their hands off any tools.”

      “You’re obviously very creative,” she said. She was still blown away by the interior.

      “Ha! I don’t know about that.” He stroked his hand fondly on the deck as he spoke. “It was a labour of love, though. I’ve had my happiest times here.”

      “Oh Lord, it’s some secret shag-pad, isn’t it?” Jen asked, the beer and the encroaching night curbing her filters. He laughed.

      “Secret yes, shag-pad no. I just travel a lot and I’m not in Copenhagen so often. I wanted somewhere special to come to.”

      “Oh right.”

      “And I haven’t got an ex-wife hidden in the suburbs with numerous children, if that is what you’re thinking. This is it. This is me.” He held his hands out from his sides, palms up. Jen was touched by the gesture which was both humble and offering at the same time. And for some reason she was pleased about the no wife thing.

      His phone dinged. Glancing at it, he barked a laugh and showed it to her. Lydia had replied to her stroppy text. The message read Wish you were beer! It took a moment for Jen to clock it was a selfie. Lydia’s mouth was open in a scream, and yet her eyes weren’t filled with terror. Her hair was also standing upright. It made no sense, until Jen saw that the background was the ground.

      “Oh dear God,” she gasped. Lydia was taking selfies upside down on very high fairground rides. Just the thought made her stomach turn. A second message dinged in to ask whether Jen was joining them in Tivoli. Jen shuddered.

      “Would you like to stay for dinner, Jen?” Yakob laughed. “I was planning to get sushi delivered.”

      In her head it was a no brainer. Staying here, calmly enjoying the evening on a beer barge was a million times more appealing than dodging hellish rides with her traitorous sister. Normally, she’d have reluctantly gone to keep an eye on Lydia, but considering they’d ditched her, she figured Alice and Max could have the pleasure. However, there was a nagging in her conscience that perhaps newly engaged women shouldn’t be having dinner with strange men. She questioned whether Robert would see it as a necessary part of thanking a good Samaritan. Possibly an old, wizened Samaritan, but not this buff one next to her.

      Jen weighed it up. Technically, staying a bit longer, having some food could be classed as part of getting over her canal shock. He was still Samaritan-ing her and such kindness shouldn’t be snubbed, in her book. It wasn’t like it was a date, which would be a complete no-no. And of course her clothes were still drying, so it made sense to stay until she could take them with her. That was just practical.

      She took a moment of looking him square in the face before she gave her answer. “Sounds great,” she said. It was what Lydia would have wanted her to do, and Lydia was in charge this weekend after all, not her.