Love Your Neighbour: A laugh-out-loud love from the author of One Day in December

He looked at her as if he fully expected that she might well recall his face. She shrugged, and shook her head with an apologetic smile to soften the blow. He was going to have to help her out a little more than that.

‘I’m Rupert Dean. I was at the public meeting last week. From TheShropshire Herald?’

She took the newspaper he held out as her brain fog lifted.

That was where she’d seen him. All her memories of that evening revolved around Gabriel Ryan turning up and completely derailing everything.

‘Yes, I remember now,’ Marla murmured, thoroughly distracted by the ‘Village Under Threat!’ headline splashed across the front of the newspaper next to a large colour image of the chapel. A smaller, grainy, black-and-white image of a scowling Gabe also accompanied the piece – he looked positively demonic. Served him right. But then, a second, private image of him snuck back into her head too, of him half-naked and soaked through in her bathroom …

She looked up as she suddenly remembered that Rupert Dean was still standing on her doorstep. He nodded towards the paper with a grin.

‘Thought you might like to see it hot off the press, so to speak.’

Much as Marla was heartened that the paper had taken up their cause, she remained perplexed as to why Rupert had gone to the trouble of providing a personal delivery service.

‘Do you hand-deliver copies to all your front-page stars?’

Rupert scuffed his toe on the path like a bashful schoolboy.

‘Only the beautiful ones.’

Marla laughed and gathered her dressing gown a little tighter.

‘I was just about to put some coffee on. Would you like one?’ She opened the door wider and stepped aside.

‘I’d like that very much, actually.’

She left him in her cosy sitting room whilst she flew upstairs to fling some clothes on, and returned to find the coffee already made and Rupert leafing through her book collection. He had a classical profile, good bone structure and an aquiline nose. His hair flopped in that artful way that oozed Head Boy, but his eyes hinted at the wicked thoughts going on inside his head.

‘For a woman who runs a wedding chapel, your collection seems remarkably light on romance novels.’ He slid the latest John Grisham back into its place on the shelf.

‘Oh, I have a special room upstairs just to house my Mills & Boon collection,’ she joked, unwilling to share her own very private views on romance with a stranger. She was used to people making the assumption that she must be a romance junkie to run a wedding chapel, and she was savvy enough not to disillusion them.

‘Interesting, Ms Jacobs. Are you trying to lure me upstairs to see your smut collection?’ He waggled his eyebrows at her suggestively as she plunged the coffee with a laugh.

‘Would I make the front page again for seducing the paperboy?’ she laughed.

‘No publicity’s bad publicity, as they say.’

His words reminded her of Gabe’s parting shot at the meeting, dampening the flirty atmosphere in the room.

Rupert’s eyes lifted at the sound of movement upstairs.

‘Have you got a husband up there who’s about to come down here and lynch me?’

‘It’s just the dog,’ Marla said, as Bluey thumped down the stairs and pushed the sitting-room door open with his huge head.

‘Fucking hell.’ Rupert gasped, his eyes like saucers at the sight of Marla’s gentle giant. ‘It’s a donkey. I’d have stood a better chance against a bloody husband.’

Bluey took position in front of their visitor, and cocked his head to one side to study the suddenly sweating man who had invaded his home.

‘Is he going to kill me?’ Rupert managed to speak without moving his mouth.

‘I don’t know. Probably.’

Marla bit her lip to stop herself from laughing. Bluey was the daftest dog in the world. He had never killed so much as a spider, but the opportunity for sport was too pleasurable to pass up.

‘Call him off, Marla. Please.’

‘I can’t. He’s still sizing you up.’

She took a leisurely sip of her coffee and inspected her fingernails.

‘Same as me, really. We’re both trying to decide if we like you enough to let you live.’

Apart from the slight clink of Rupert’s white Jamie Oliver coffee cup as it trembled against its saucer in his hand, silence reigned in the room.

‘Bluey. Come here, baby.’

Marla spoke softly, and the huge hound loped across to sit sentry next to her with his head plonked on the arm of her chair.

‘Good boy.’

He closed his eyes and grumbled with contentment as she fussed his soft ears.

‘Should I take that as a good sign?’ Rupert breathed out, his confidence returning now that he wasn’t staring death in the hound-dog eye.

‘I think so. Just don’t try any funny stuff.’

He eyed Bluey with suspicion and reached out to catch the newspaper just after the dog swiped it off the coffee table with his tail.

‘Listen, Marla. About your problem. I can help. This,’ he indicated the front-page article. ‘This is just the beginning.’

Marla sipped her coffee and regarded him with interest.

‘I’m thinking along the lines of a series of features on the chapel, maybe cover a couple of the weddings; you know, really get the locals behind it. I could run interviews with the different local businesses that benefit from your presence, even print the petition in the paper. What do you think?’

Marla was beyond grateful. They needed all the help they could get.

‘I’d greatly appreciate it, thank you. But I have to ask … why? Don’t tell me you’re a die-hard romantic with an equally impressive collection of girly books?’

He snorted on his coffee. ‘Girly mags maybe, but bodice rippers? No.’ He leaned forward, an intent look on his face. ‘I just recognise a good story when I see it, Marla, and I happen to believe that you’re right about the knock-on effect for the local community.’

Marla sat upright in her chair. Maybe there was a glimmer of hope, after all. A press campaign would certainly up the ante, in any case. ‘I don’t know how to thank you, Rupert.’

When he smiled, that naughty twinkle was back in evidence in his vivid blue eyes.

‘I do. Have dinner with me.’