One Summer in Cornwall

She sat up for a moment, hugging her knees, thinking how drastically her life had changed in the past few days. On Monday, she’d had a home and a job, now, five days later, she had neither. She shook her head. She wasn’t thinking about that now – this was a chance for her to sort out her life, and she was going to grab it with both hands.
Throwing back the sheet she ran over to the window and looked out, just as she used to do when she was a child on holiday here, eager to see the shimmering ribbon of sea over the rooftops. The cottage was just a few minutes’ walk from the picturesque harbour, and when she was younger she had often opened the window and inhaled the sea air, with her mother anxiously warning her not to lean out. She wasn’t going to do that now, not until she was dressed, anyway, so contented herself with kneeling down, so only her head was visible, and peering at the sparkling turquoise ocean just a stone’s throw away. She couldn’t wait to walk along the beach and have a paddle. She almost felt as though she was on holiday! I’m going to take a few days to relax and have a good look around, she decided, then I’ll start tidying up the house. She and her father had agreed to put the cottage on the market as soon as they could, so she would probably only be here for the summer, but at least it gave her some time to sort out the shambles that her life had become.
First, though, she needed a cup of milky coffee to wake her up. She’d put a box of three-in-one sachets in her right saddlebag, in case there were no supplies in the house. Carefully negotiating the first set of narrow stairs to stop off at the bathroom to go to the loo and splash some water on her face, she cautiously descended the other staircase to the kitchen.
‘Who is it? Who is it?’ Buddy screeched as she walked in.
‘Morning, Buddy. It’s me, Hattie!’ she called. She filled up the electric kettle, glad that the old stove kettle she remembered, with the high-pitched whistle that let you know when the water had boiled, had been replaced. The almost-new silver kettle and matching microwave looked a bit out of place in the dated kitchen, but she was grateful for them. She took a clean mug out of the cupboard, then froze as she heard the back door open and someone stride in, whistling cheerfully. Horrified, she spun around and stared at the sun-tanned stranger, dressed in low slung grey surfer shorts that skimmed his hips, his long fair hair tied back in a ponytail revealing a tiny silver cross earring dangling from his right ear, a large tattoo on each upper arm, his body taut and toned. Then his hazel eyes widened as they flitted to her naked body. Shit! She’d forgot she was starkers! They both stared at each other, dumbstruck for a second, then Buddy’s screech of ‘Bloody Hell!’ brought Hattie to her senses.
Two quick steps and she’d whisked the checked tablecloth off the table and quickly wrapped it around herself. She glared at the man. ‘Who the hell are you? And how dare you walk in like this!’
‘More to the point, who are you?’ the man demanded. ‘I’m Marcus, from next door. I’m here to feed Buddy. I’ve been looking after him.’
Damn! She remembered thinking yesterday that Buddy looked well fed and cared for, so a neighbour must be popping in to feed him. Why the hell hadn’t she pulled her dressing gown on this morning? Because it was still in her saddlebag and she was half asleep and hadn’t expected someone to walk into her kitchen this early in the morning, that’s why. It was barely eight o’clock!
‘I’m Hattie, Albert’s niece. He left this cottage to me and my dad in his will.’ She held the tablecloth tighter around herself, the plastic feeling sticky and uncomfortable against her skin. ‘I came down last night. I’m staying here until the cottage is sold.’
A look of disdain crossed Marcus’s suntanned face and his hazel eyes narrowed. ‘I thought you were coming down next weekend. You obviously couldn’t wait to claim your inheritance. Shame you didn’t see fit to visit your uncle when he was alive and lonely.’
Ouch! Well he had obviously got her earmarked as a gold-digger who didn’t give a damn about her uncle. She opened her mouth to explain, but then anger set in. How dare he judge her when he didn’t even know her?
‘You don’t know a thing about me, so keep your high-handed moralistic opinions to yourself!’ She lifted her chin defiantly, then, clasping the tablecloth tightly with one hand to ensure it didn’t slip down, she held out the other. ‘And I’ll have the key to my cottage back, thank you. I don’t want strangers walking in on me any time they like. Thank you for looking after Buddy,’ she added stiffly. ‘But I’ll take care of him now.’
Marcus’s eyes flashed sparks of anger and his mouth was set in a grim line, but he put his hand in the pocket of his shorts and pulled out a key. ‘Be my guest.’ He threw the key down on the table, then turned, revealing a large eagle tattoo with wings outspread across his back, and walked out.
‘Bugger off, then,’ Buddy screeched loudly as Marcus slammed the door behind him.
Hattie giggled at the parrot’s outburst; she couldn’t have put it better herself! What a horrible man! He might look hot with his lean, sun-kissed body and surfer-boy hair, but he didn’t appeal to her one little bit. He was so up himself and bad-mannered, he hadn’t even apologised for walking in on her. Just her luck that he lived next door. Well, she intended to avoid him as much as she could. She hoped the neighbour