A Summer Scandal: The perfect summer read by the author of One Day in December. Kat French

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      Cal laid his cutlery down, his plate almost empty. ‘And is there a Mr Violet on the scene?’

      Was he fishing? Or was this just another of his direct questions? He watched her steadily, his dark eyes interested. Violet found herself a little dry-mouthed; he was undeniably attractive and easy company. His question wasn’t a simple one to answer either, thanks to Simon’s insistence on waiting for her.

      ‘No, but kind of yes, a little bit,’ she said. ‘It’s complicated.’

      He laughed softly. ‘Is that your Facebook status?’

      She rolled her eyes. ‘I know, it sounds flaky. It’s just …’

      ‘Complicated?’

      Vi smiled, shrugged. ‘Yes.’

      ‘Okay.’

      He didn’t push, and thankfully Roberto chose that moment to hustle over and take away their empty plates.

      ‘Dessert tonight, passion fruit pannacotta,’ he said, tipping a wink at Cal.

      ‘Irresistible,’ Cal smiled. ‘Two please.’

      Violet wasn’t sure if she ought to feel irritated that he’d ordered for her, but on reflection she found not, especially given that she was a pudding kind of girl.

      ‘Passion fruit,’ Cal said, as Roberto disappeared with their plates.

      There really wasn’t an answer to that, especially after three glasses of wine. ‘Indeed.’

      ‘I think we’ve reached the point in the evening where we trade secrets,’ he said, leaning back in his chair.

      Violet took him in; the way his faded T-shirt and washed-out jeans followed the definitions of his body, suggesting someone who took care of themselves. He didn’t look like a gym worshipper though, more like someone who took themselves seriously. Until you looked into his face, that was; Cal didn’t seem able to stop his dark eyes from dancing or keep the ever-ready laugh from his lips. He was easy on the eye, and easy company to be in. Dangerous, in other words. The one thing Violet hadn’t come to Swallow Beach for was romance, especially not with her neighbour. If she thought her love life was complicated now, that would be a sure-fire way to make it as tangled as a fisherman’s trawl net. And perhaps she was hugely jumping the gun anyway; Cal Dearheart seemed the kind of guy who flirted as naturally as he breathed, it probably didn’t mean anything.

      ‘You can go first,’ she said, buying herself a little time.

      He raised his eyebrows and tapped his fingers on the edge of the table, thinking. ‘Right. So, I’ve climbed a mountain,’ he said. ‘Three mountains, in fact.’

      ‘Oh,’ she said. That confirmed that he was indeed someone who took his body seriously. The idea of walking up a mountain filled her with unfathomable dread. Why would anyone do that for fun?

      ‘Your turn.’

      There was a painting on the wall behind Cal’s head, a landscape oil of Swallow Beach.

      ‘I own the pier.’

      He stopped tapping and stared at her. ‘Say again?’

      Violet sighed, repeating herself quietly. ‘I own Swallow Beach Pier.’

      Cal scraped his seat in under the table and leaned forward, his elbows on the table. ‘You own our pier?’

      Nodding, Vi smarting slightly at the incredulous way he said it; ‘our’ as if the pier belonged to the town, and ‘you’ as if she wasn’t part of it. Well, she wasn’t really, not yet, but her grandparents had been and she felt oddly like she was representing them in the community. His words also gave her pause for another reason; she hadn’t for a second stopped to imagine that she might meet resistance to her presence from the locals.

      Oh God! Were they all going to hate her?

      ‘My grandparents, Henry and Monica Spencer, honeymooned here. Gran fell in love with the place, and the pier was up for sale so my grandpa bought it for her. They moved here to the Lido lock, stock and barrel on the strength of it.’

      ‘That’s some story,’ he said, nodding slowly.

      She still couldn’t tell if he was being off. ‘I think it’s romantic.’

      ‘Oh, it is, it is,’ he said slowly, as if choosing his words with care. ‘But you might want to tread a little cautiously, that’s all. The pier’s become a bit of a bone of contention in recent years. Some of the locals feel that a compulsory order is appropriate to get it out of private hands.’

      Violet blinked, feeling her cheeks start to heat up. ‘A compulsory order? What does that even mean?’

      Cal emptied the rest of the wine into their glasses. ‘You know, a forced sale. There was even talk of it being dismantled, although that seems to have gone quiet.’

      ‘No!’ The word left Violet sharp and laced with fear; they couldn’t take her grandma’s pier down. ‘Why would they do that?’

      ‘Hey, don’t panic,’ he said, sliding her glass towards her. ‘It’s not going to happen. Especially not now you’re here.’

      ‘But …’ She trailed off and swallowed a mouthful of wine. She’d had her rose-tinted glasses firmly jammed on up to now, seeing only romance and fairytale where the pier was concerned. Where her pier was concerned. ‘Is everyone going to hate me?’

      A smile tugged at the edges of Cal’s mouth. ‘How could they hate a girl with blue hair and candy-stripe nails?’

      Violet looked down at her hands. Her mum despaired of her penchant for painting her nails in weird and wonderful designs, and she dearly wished her daughter would stop dip-dyeing the ends of her dark hair all shades of the rainbow. Teal, orange, fire-engine red; she’d tried them all. Right now Violet was in her peacock-blue period. She didn’t do it to stand out. She just liked colour, and patterns, and didn’t see any reason to be bland.

      ‘Want to go out and look at it now?’

      She looked up again and found Cal watching her. ‘Yes,’ she said quietly. ‘I’d love that.’

      Darkness had already fallen when they stepped out of the pub, and the nip in the air had Violet buttoning her coat as they crossed the deserted seafront road.

      ‘Is it always this quiet?’

      Cal shook his head. ‘It’s Sunday, and it’s cold. Anyone sensible is doing something warm.’

      Was that flirty? Did he mean sitting around the table with their family eating a Sunday roast, or did he mean in bed with a lover? It was hard to tell; Calvin Dearheart seemed to have a permanent glint in his eye. Vi didn’t pull away when he linked his arm through hers and steered her along the sea wall towards the looming pier gates.

      ‘Have you ever been beyond them?’ she asked.

      He slanted his eyes towards her. ‘Not as an adult.’

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