Meet Me at the Lighthouse: This summer’s best laugh-out-loud romantic comedy

I turned to smile at Ross. “Thanks.”

“Glad I could help. Sorry I didn’t have a more dignified excuse for you, was on the spot a bit there.”

“That’s ok. What worries me is how you found out I had chlamydia.” I grinned at the expression on his face. “Joke.”

“Thank Christ for that. So can I get you a birthday drink?”

“Yeah, go on. White wine please.” I patted the recently vacated barstool next to me. “And then you can come sit down, Ross Mason. I want to talk to you.”

“Hey, Bobbie.” Jess was tapping me on the shoulder. She was hand in hand with Oliver’s mate Gareth, who was grinning all over his face. “I’m going to get off so I can change for my shift, Gareth’s walking me home. You coming?” She nodded to Ross. “Hiya, Ross. Nice to see you again.”

“Hi Jess, been a while,” Ross said, leaning across to kiss her cheek. “Happy birthday.”

I glanced at Ross. “Actually, sis, I’ll stay for a bit. Me and Ross are overdue a catch-up.”

I tried to ignore Jess’s suggestive grin. “Oh yeah? Well, enjoy the rest of our birthday then. I’ll see you later.” She gave a very slight wink. “Probably,” she added under her breath.

Chapter 3 (#u63a381f1-0bfb-5cd3-a738-aec7dc9436e8)

“Another drink?” I asked, voice slurring under the influence of too many birthday Sauvignons.

“Not sure I haven’t had enough really.” Ross blinked unfocused eyes into the dregs of his red wine. “But go on, twist my arm. Is it my round?”

“Yeah. No. Dunno. Lost track a bit, to be honest.”

“Ok, let’s say it is, since you’re the birthday girl.” He smiled at the barmaid and she came scurrying over with that simper good-looking guitar players seem to be able to summon at will. “Same again please, Gabbie.”

“So. You always finish your set with Angels?” I asked when our glasses had been refilled.

“Not always. If it’s a weekend I usually do something slow and cheesy though, bit of a crowd-pleaser.”

“Brings back memories, yeah?”

He frowned. “Er, yeah. I mean, does it?”

I nudged him. “Ah, come on. You know what I’m on about.”

“I don’t, you know. You’re not confusing me with Robbie Williams, are you?”

“Look, d’you remember kissing me that time or what?” I blurted out.

Ross snorted. “You what? When?”

“Really? You don’t remember snogging to Angels at the Year 9 disco? And that was my first ever go at it as well.” I stifled a giggle that was at least half drunken hiccup and punched him on the arm. “Have to say, pretty rude. You’re s’posed to tell me I was unforgettably awesome and I triggered the sexual awakening that made you the smoking-hot studcrumpet you are today.”

“Right. Might have to Google studcrumpet before I’ll commit to that.”

He was looking sideways at me across the rim of his glass. I noticed his face change suddenly, losing the droopy drunken grin and going all keen and intense. His eyes flickered over my features and down my body.

“Hey, Bobbie Hannigan from school,” he said softly. “You’re sexy, you know.” He put his wine down and twisted his stool to face me. “Fancy giving me a memory jog on this snog? Sure it’ll all come flooding back once we get going.”

I let my gaze run over the square contour of his jaw, the dusting of stubble; full, sculpted lips a little stained by the wine. God, he was gorgeous. Who had I thought I was kidding when I’d told myself he wasn’t my type?

Anyway, what the hell. Nothing we hadn’t done before.

“Yeah, go on,” I said. “It is my birthday.”

I let my eyes fall closed and tilted my face to his, waiting for the kiss. What would it be like? Different than last time, obviously; he was 28, he must have learnt how Frenching worked by now. Soft? Passionate? Bit of both?

After a while I opened my eyes again. He was still scanning my face, his gaze lingering on my lips.

“Look, d’you want this snog or what?” I asked, folding my arms.

He grinned. “Yep. But I think you’re going to have to give it me another time. You’re pretty sloshed, aren’t you?”

“So what? So are you.”

“Not as much as you, you’ve been drinking longer.” He leaned one elbow on the bar and propped his chin on his fist to look at me. “Sorry, love, nice boys don’t do that sort of thing.”

I scoffed. “Nice boy my arse.”

He lifted an eyebrow. “How very dare you, madam.”

“Come on. Can you deny you once got me hyped up on sugary pop and Space Raiders then took advantage by copping a feel?”

“Ha! Yeah, and I was having a grand old time till that bastard Madison grope-blocked me. That was always going to be the highlight of any 14-year-old lad’s night, to be fair.”

“I knew it!” I jabbed an accusing finger in his direction. “You do remember.”

“Well. Course I do. Never forget your first kiss and go on a girl’s boobs, do you?”

“Ooooh. I knew you were having me on. So it was your first too, was it?”

“Yeah.” He reached out to give my hand a tipsy squeeze. “Glad I got to have it with you, Bobbie. Not sure I said so at the time, but… you know, cheers and everything.”

“You’re welcome,” I said, shooting him a slightly wonky smile. “Not that I really had any boobs to speak of back then. Still, long as you enjoyed yourself.” I took another swallow of wine and blinked bleary eyes at him. “I’m glad you came home, Ross.”

“Me too.”

I smiled absently. What were we talking about? Oh yeah, he didn’t want to kiss me. My smile morphed into a glare.

“Right. If you won’t snog me you have to do a tequila slammer.”

He grimaced. “You’re kidding, right?”

“Nope. My birthday, my rules.” I gestured to Gabbie and she came over to take the order. “Couple of tequilas with salt and lemon please, love.”

“Coming right up,” she said with an amused grin, taking the tenner I fished out of my purse. The best thing about the Cragport pubs was that the phrase “Don’t you think you’ve had enough?” had never really taken off.