A twenty-something blonde appeared with a menu, and I said, “Just a coffee, please.”

“Espresso, flat white, cappuccino, moch –”

“Flat white, please.” I smiled, hoping it reached my eyes, and the waitress flounced off. Then I stared out of the window, going over the previous year. We’d moved to Dexter Bay when my grandmother went to Florida and left me her house. Jeff started at Bayfield Engineering, a twenty-minute drive away, and was quickly promoted despite no management experience. How much work did account managers need to do at home?

“I have to do it, love. It’s either this or I work all weekend.” But then he’d worked all weekend anyway.

When had we stopped socialising together? I thought back and could only remember watching TV or reading a book while Jeff scrolled on his tablet, laughing at private jokes and tapping away at secretive messages.

Maybe I should have shown more interest.

But I hadn’t been interested in a long time.

Be honest, Marnie. You and Jeff have grown apart. You know this…and stop talking to yourself, even in your head.

My coffee arrived with a tiny shortbread biscuit on the saucer, and I remembered I’d had no breakfast. I tried to catch the waitress’s eye again, but the girl studiously ignored my attempts to wave at her. And then the tall man reappeared.

“Hello again.” He smiled, and my stomach nosedived. What the hell was wrong with me? “Can I get you anything else?”

“A menu, please,” I said faintly, “I just realised I’m hungry.”

“Sure.” His skin was the colour of my flat white; he had dreadlocks tied in a ponytail and a killer smile. He smiled again and walked away, and I tried not to look at his toned body. Then he returned with a menu and stood by my table as I read it. He smelled of sandalwood. The words swam in front of me. “I’m Paul, by the way.”

I looked up, startled, unsure if he’d given me an odd, French-sounding surname. I stared, mesmerised by his eyes, and then blurted, “Marnie, I’m Marnie.”

“Marnie. A pleasure to meet you.”

“You too,” I said because I’m original and witty. Then I reeled my thoughts together and remembered Mr Simpkins. “You’ve opened today, haven’t you?”

“Yes, it’s our first morning, but it’s going well.” Paul nodded and looked around. “I’ve loved this place since I was a little boy, so it’s fantastic to finally live here.”

“Where do you live?”

Paul pointed to the ceiling.

“I take it that’s the flat upstairs and not the roof?” It was the best I could do, but Paul laughed anyway. Or maybe he just had excellent customer service skills and was hoping for a tip.

“Where do you stay?” he asked.

“Lilac Cottage, on the corner at the end of the street.”

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“Paul, mac ‘n’ cheese,” the waitress called, and I figured Paul must be the chef - unless he had an even odder Scottish surname. I scanned the menu and handed it back. “I’ll have the goat’s cheese and cranberry panini.”

“Excellent choice.” He smiled and winked, and my breath stuck in my throat. Then he glanced at my wedding ring, and I wished I’d taken it off, and then I felt guilty for thinking this; after that, I wondered why I should feel bad because it was Jeff who’d cheated, not me.

I watched Paul walk away, noticed his tight blue jeans and realised I was cheating right there and then, in my imagination. Flushed, I turned and gazed out to sea again.

He was back with my panini in no time, setting it in front of me with a flourish, and I caught the waitress scowling at us. “Thank you, this looks delicious.”

I ate my food, thinking He asked where I lived, and then get a grip, for God’s sake, you’re not sixteen. No, I was pushing forty, married to a cheating man who didn’t love me.

Maybe he never had.

I stifled a sob, and a piece of goat’s cheese lodged in my throat. It stuck, fast. I tried to breathe, and nothing happened. Instead, black dots danced on the edges of my vision. I made a noise like a mating bull seal and then panicked and jumped up, clawing at my neck. My chair fell backwards, clattering on the wooden floor, and the café fell silent.

And then Paul was behind me, his arms around my body, fists clenched. He squeezed and pushed upwards. The cheese shot out of my mouth, landed on the floor, and a spaniel appeared from nowhere and ate it. Someone righted my chair, and then Paul lowered me gently back onto it.

The other customers applauded.

“It wasn’t my cooking, honest,” Paul said, and everyone laughed. He crouched beside me. “Are you okay?”

I tried to speak, but my throat had apparently been sanded by a joiner with anger management issues.

“Wait there.” Paul disappeared behind the counter and returned with a glass of water. I sipped gratefully, watched by the other customers. “Thanks,” I croaked. “For everything. I mean –”

The door burst open, and a young man strode inside with a camera slung around his neck. He scanned the room, spotted me and approached, hand outstretched. “I’m Mark Cooper of the Dexter Bay Clarion. I gather you just had a near-death experience?”

I shook his hand, wondered who’d called the local paper, and spotted the blonde waitress slipping her phone inside her apron pocket and grinning like the Cheshire cat.

“I, er, it was my fault.” My voice faltered.

“Could I have a photo?” Mark Cooper beamed around the room and settled on Paul. “Hero of the hour with his damsel in distress.”

Paul looked embarrassed.

“It’ll be good publicity,” the waitress called out, and Paul turned to her. I couldn’t see his face.

“Yes,” one of the customers chimed in. “I’ll tell all my friends, and you’ll get loads more custom.”

“Well…” Paul looked at me again, and I felt a frisson of electricity between us.

“Of course.” I stood and smiled at the reporter. “Where do you want us?”

Minutes later, Paul and I stood together on the promenade in front of the café, arms around each other’s waist, while Mark Cooper fussed with his lens and checked the focus. I was light-headed, feeling the heat from Paul’s body and the hard muscle beneath his T-shirt. I hoped I wasn’t grinning inanely, but I suddenly had no control over my facial expressions.

“That’s it, great, great, lovely.” Mark snapped away, checked the results and then smiled. “Now, how about a quick interview? Then I’ll have a snack and add a review of the café.”

“Yeah, of course,” Paul said, then looked at me. “You’re still a bit pale.” He led me inside while the customers smiled and nodded, and the spaniel drooled and gazed at my half-eaten panini. I slumped onto my chair and drank more water.

“I’m okay,” I told Paul, as he seemed inclined to wait beside me, and I could feel the eyes of the other clientele on us. Then, finally, I turned to the reporter and gave my version of what had happened, stressing that the food was lovely and I had only myself to blame. Then I thanked Paul again and emphasised how grateful I was.

“Your name?” Mark Cooper asked.

“Marnie. Marnie Hope.” Ironic surname, I suddenly realised. Maybe I should change it to Hopeless.

“I’m Paul Felix,” Paul said, glancing at me before leading Mark away, “And Sea Brew has just opened.”

I sipped water and stared at the sea.