Kat French - The Bed and Breakfast on the Beach - A gorgeous feel-good read from the bestselling author of One Day in December

Winnie stared at him. ‘Well, say it like it is, why don’t you?’ she said, taken aback by his frankness.

‘What do you want me to say?’ He looked thoroughly unapologetic. ‘I like a simple life. I don’t do hearts and flowers.’

‘So what do you do?’ Winnie asked, trying to steer the conversation around to life on Skelidos because they’d got really quite deep into relationship talk, and that was weird given that this was their first real conversation.

‘With women? I do talking.’ He gestured between them to demonstrate man and woman. ‘And I do kissing. I do kissing really well.’ He laughed, as if that was sort of a given for a cool guy like him. ‘And I do sex, naturally. I’m pretty darn good at that too.’

Winnie wasn’t sure if she wanted to tip her cold water all over her own head or chuck it at him. It was definitely an inappropriate thing for him to say, and yet he said it so flippantly that it came over as cheeky rather than sleazy. He was a rogue; but at least he was upfront about it, and that was actually something of a relief after all of the underhand behaviour that had ended her marriage.

‘I wasn’t asking about your sexual technique,’ she said, drily. ‘I was asking what you do here on the island.’

‘Ah. My mistake.’ The glint in his eye told her that it wasn’t necessarily a mistake at all. ‘Well, as you so astutely observed, I farm olives and drink beer,’ he said. ‘And I sculpt.’

Now he’d surprised her. ‘You do? Sculpt as in …’ She made vague pottery movements in the air with her hands. ‘Pots and things?’

Jesse nodded. ‘I have a wheel for smaller stuff, but I mostly do bigger commission pieces. Animals, people, that sort of thing.’

‘Wow.’ Winnie was genuinely thrown. He seemed too much of a jock to be an artist, although she was self-aware enough to realise that her sweeping generalisation was small-minded. ‘Can I see?’

He huffed under his breath, as if she’d asked a stupid question. ‘No.’

She’d expected as much. Back home in the UK, Winnie had been forging a career for herself as a self-taught jewellery designer, and she’d never been keen on showing any of her pieces to people before they were finished. She’d worked alone from her tiny garden workshop, happy with just the radio and next door’s cat for company. Her silver and copper wire work didn’t cost the earth, but she’d been making a name for herself as a designer with flair and an eye for pretty gemstones. The last couple of summers had been especially busy with bridal commissions, but this year she’d barely touched her tools. Rory had stolen far more than her happiness; he’d tucked her creativity into his holdall alongside the aftershave she loved the smell of on his skin and the cufflinks she’d made for him as a first-anniversary gift.

‘One day maybe,’ Jesse relented, and Winnie realised that he’d probably misread her silence as having taken offence at his refusal to show her his studio.

‘No, it’s OK, really.’ Casting her eye around the kitchen, she wondered if he actually cooked in here. It didn’t look used. She was about to ask when something brushed against her legs, making her jump and glance under the table.

‘You have a cat,’ she said, laughing as the big black and white moggy bumped her hand when she reached down to fuss it.

‘Bandit,’ Jesse said, and the animal jumped up on his knees. ‘He isn’t mine, exactly. He lives a couple of farms across officially, but he spends most his time here.’ The cat scrubbed his head against Jesse’s five o’clock shadow, purring like a small generator. ‘He’s no looker, is he?’

Winnie considered the cat; he was missing a chunk of one of his ears and his fur in places seemed to have worn a little threadbare. He looked like he lived up to his name.

‘He’s characterful,’ she said in the end.

Jesse set the cat down. ‘I don’t mind him. He’s thorny and can be cantankerous, but he’s a hunter so he gets to stay.’

Winnie didn’t ask what Bandit hunted in case she didn’t like the answer.

‘It sounds to me as if you make a habit of collecting your neighbours’ animals.’

‘Come on now.’ He frowned. ‘I literally saved your ass. I can see that you’re struggling to say thank you.’ He sat back and folded his arms across his chest. ‘Take your time.’

In truth, Winnie could see that he had sort of saved their donkey, but she still hadn’t completely forgiven him for his earlier rudeness. ‘Who calls a donkey The Fonz, anyhow?’

‘Ah, now that’s a story.’

‘Another one?’

He looked at her. ‘For a different day maybe. You better come back again tomorrow and try to woo him.’

‘Do you think he’ll come around to the idea?’

Jesse shrugged. ‘I imagine he’ll come to tolerate you in short bursts.’

Winnie curled her lip, unsure if they were even still talking about the donkey. She pushed herself up onto her feet and dusted her hands down her skirt to smooth it.

‘I should go, before they send out a search party.’ She slid her hairband out and gripped it between her teeth while she finger-combed her ponytail back into place. ‘You didn’t make the best first impression.’

‘Can’t think why,’ he said, standing up and putting their empty glasses into the sink.

Winnie headed to the door. ‘Is there anything I can bring to encourage him to like me more?’

‘I think he likes bikinis and girls who can cook a good steak.’

Winnie shot him a sarcastic look over her shoulder, and he just shrugged and half laughed.

Pausing by the donkeys to give them both a quick fuss of the ears, she looked back towards the house. He hadn’t followed her out; she’d have been more surprised if he had.

One way or another, Jesse was going to be trouble.

‘What, no donkey?’

Stella and Frankie looked up from behind the reception desk when Winnie walked back into the B&B and flopped down onto an armchair by a low coffee table cluttered with excursion leaflets.

‘He needs to be wooed, apparently.’

‘The donkey, or his irritable owner?’ Stella asked.

‘Jesse.’

Frankie lifted her eyebrows towards Stella. ‘It’s Jesse now,’ she said knowingly.

‘You’re planning to woo Jesse?’ Stella grinned. ‘You go, girl. I thought I sensed a spark.’

‘Behave, both of you. You know full well I mean the donkey.’ Winnie puffed stray hairs out of her eyes. ‘He’s stubborn.’

‘Who knew?’ Frankie murmured, earning herself a sarcastic smirk.

‘I’ll go back tomorrow and try again.’

Stella nodded. ‘You should definitely do that.’

‘Take him a sugar lump?’ Frankie suggested.

‘Or a beer,’ Stella added, nudging Frankie in the ribs.

Winnie scowled. ‘I know what you’re doing and it’s not going to work.’

The other two looked as innocent as schoolgirls. ‘No idea what you mean,’ Frankie said, shaking her head as Stella shrugged helplessly.

‘Me either.’

Winnie stood up, changing the subject. ‘Come on,’ she said. ‘Let’s go and check ourselves into our rooms.’

‘This place badly needs a lift,’ Stella said, as they practically collapsed on the top-floor landing after hauling their suitcases up three floors. Winnie had fresh appreciation for the way Ajax had sprinted up and down the B&B stairs like a mountain goat; it had all seemed much easier with someone else to carry their bags.

‘Maybe we should employ a bellboy?’ she said, dragging her case to the door of the Bohemian Suite. They’d instinctively picked up the keys to the same rooms they’d occupied on their previous visit, subconsciously needing something familiar when everything else around them was alien, perhaps.