“I saw Jerico Osman for the first time today,” Mari Quinn said. “On my way to work. He’s much better looking in person than on TV.”

Despite her casual tone, Andy caught the interest in his mother’s eyes as she watched him for a reaction. He pretended to be interested in the events diary on his computer and feigned indifference. “He’s always been handsome. The cameras have never done him justice.”

“So, you’ve seen him around, too?”

“No. Not recently. It’s an observation, that’s all.”

Mari held a mug of coffee in both hands and blew across the frothy surface before taking a sip. “I bet he’d love to see you. Why don’t you go over and say hello?”

Exasperated, he gave a good-natured sigh, finally taking the bait. “It’s been years, that’s why—fourteen, if I’ve got my dates right. We lost touch. I doubt he even remembers me.”

“You remember him.”

“Because he’s famous now. I’m not. There’s a difference.”

“But you knew him before he was famous. That counts for something.”

“You know, I’m beginning to wish I’d never told you about him.”

Mari grinned. “Tough. You did tell me, son, and you can’t take it back.”

Jerico Osman was the only person anyone in Nyemouth seemed interested in right now. Winner of the TV show Top Cook and now a celebrity chef in his own right, he was a big deal. Andy had heard that Jerico had taken a long-term lease on a property on South Bank with a view to opening his own restaurant. Like most gossip, the story seemed to have been around for years with little to back it up until eight weeks ago when a top-to-bottom refit started on the property. Soon after, people reported that they had seen Jerico in town, supervising the refurbishments. A new kitchen was being installed, as well as a bar and completely new flooring. The restaurant was due to open in less than a fortnight’s time. The long-gestating rumour had become a reality.

The venue was even on Andy’s route to work. He walked past it every day. He’d seen the teams of contractors coming and going as they transformed the one-time bank building into a high-end eatery, but he had yet to catch a glimpse of Jerico, an old boyfriend he’d known in his early twenties.

Jerico had indeed aged well. Though they had lost contact, Jerico had been in the public eye for the best part of a decade, turning up on Saturday morning cookery shows and appearing as a guest judge on later seasons of Top Cook. He had a massive social media following and had written several cookery books. Andy even had two of them on the shelf at home, birthday presents from his mother when Mari learned of his past connection to the famous chef.

On TV and Instagram, Jerico looked fit, handsome and fun. His cheeky smile was as infectious as Andy remembered, and he had an easy way of presenting his recipes that made even the most complicated ingredients sound easy to use. Jerico specialised in dishes that celebrated his Syrian heritage, and Andy understood that the new restaurant was to be the same.

“You should go over,” Mari persisted. “It’s perfectly reasonable. As the manager of Quay House, you could say you want to recommend his business to your guests. You might even get an invitation to the opening party.”

“And sound like I’m on the make? Scrounging for freebies? No chance.”

“He’ll be glad of all the customers you can send his way.”

Andy laughed. “I doubt he needs it. That restaurant will get all the publicity it requires.”

She tutted, putting the coffee cup down to give him her serious face. “Don’t you want to see him again? Aren’t you just a bit curious?”

“I’m sure I will see him. Nyemouth is a small town. But I think he’ll be too busy right now. He’s got a lot going on, and I don’t want to push in looking like a nosey local.”

“But you’re not. You already know him.”

“Knew him,” he corrected. “And a long time ago. He’ll probably think I’m desperate or looking to get something from him. I’d rather that we ran into each other casually. Or I’ll go for a meal sometime when the initial interest has died down. That could be a good way to reconnect.”

She grimaced. “You told me you liked him.”

“I did like him. But we were barely more than kids when we knew each other…in our early twenties. There’s no reason for us to have anything in common now. He might be in a relationship, for all I know. Then how pathetic will I look? The sad ex-boyfriend hoping to pick up where we left off…”

“He’s single,” Mari said.

“And you know this how?”

“I’ve been stalking his socials. There’s no mention of a partner, and I’ve gone back through a whole year of posts.”

Andy shook his head. “That doesn’t mean there isn’t someone. Not everyone lives their live on Facebook, you know.”

“Celebrities do. I should know.”

His mother was once the front woman for a dance band in the mid-1990s and had scored a handful of top-twenty hits. Though she was now his part-time events planner, she still had a decent side-hustle going with weekend club-nights and themed gigs around the UK. A couple of times a month she would put on her glitzy outfits, belt out her hits and relive her fifteen minutes of fame with crowds of people buzzing on beer and nostalgia. The celebrity world had changed beyond recognition since Mari had her moments on Top of the Pops, but she still considered herself part of the crowd.

“Why don’t you go over and introduce yourself?” Andy said. “I’m sure he’ll find a table for Nyemouth’s resident dance diva.”

Mari tutted and went back to her coffee. “You’re the one he’ll be excited to see…not your mother.”

Mari meant well, but her constant matchmaking could be a drain. Andy was thirty-seven, and she seemed to be on a mission to get him married off before forty. He didn’t share her eagerness. He’d come close to marriage several years ago, but after eighteen months, he’d discovered his fiancé had been shagging around behind his back the whole time they were together. Since then, he’d had no desire for another serious relationship.

“Can we get back to work?” he said, keen to change the subject. “Let’s go through the diary for next month. Have the outstanding balances been paid on these weddings?”

It was hardly the most exciting task, but it succeeded in getting Mari’s mind off his love-life.

It was early June, and the summer season was looking like it could be one of their best. The hotel was fully booked for the weekends all the way through until October, with very limited availability mid-week for that period. The function side of the business was also at capacity, with weddings, engagements and birthday parties. There was even a three-day sci-fi convention booked in for late July. It was already shaping up to be one of the busiest seasons ever.

It was also one of the most stressful.

Like every other hospitality business in the area, the staffing levels at Quay House had not recovered from the combination of the pandemic and Brexit. Recruiting and retaining staff was the biggest headache he faced in the management of the hotel. They were currently short on bar staff, housekeeping, waiters, a kitchen porter and a sous chef. While all these upcoming events were marvellous for the turnover, he didn’t have enough staff to meet the service level required.

“You don’t fancy a shift in the restaurant this Saturday, do you?” he asked his mother. Mari had been worth her weight in gold these last few years. As well as doing her own job to the highest standard, she was always willing to help him in other departments when the need arose—be it in the bar, the kitchen or housekeeping. She could turn her hand to anything.

“Sorry, hon. I would, but I’ve got a gig in Leeds. It will pay a lot more than you do.”

“No problem. It was just if you were free.”

“You desperate again? I can ask Bev next door. She might be available.”

“Thanks, Mam. That would great.” He pushed his chair away from the desk. “I’ll tell you something. I hope Jerico isn’t offering to pay his people too much over the standard rate. I’ve got a hard time holding on to staff without my rival poaching the ones I already have.”

Mari’s eyes widened. “Well, if you went over and spoke to him, you could find out his plans for yourself. A sort of Sleeping with the Enemy deal. Find out what’ he’s paying them and offer more.”

Andy couldn’t stop from laughing. “God, you never stop, do you? Nice try, but no.”

* * * *

Andy ended up working late that evening. His deputy manager Sheila had found someone interested in the sous chef job and arranged a hasty interview before the candidate could change their mind. Andy and Sheila had interviewed the applicant, a local lad called Ste, along with the head chef Andrea. Ste had recently lost his job when the restaurant he worked at went bust. He was eager, experienced and perfect in every way. Andy offered him the job there and then, and he could start the next day.

One problem solved.

If only everything in the hotel was so easy.

He was further delayed by an issue with a guest in one of the smaller rooms who didn’t believe the accommodation was up to standard and was clearly haggling for a free upgrade. Andy explained that the hotel was full, and there was nowhere else to put them. He arranged for a bottle of Prosecco to be delivered to the room as a sweetener before instructing the staff on reception that no matter how much the man complained, no further freebies were to be offered. Andy had been in the hospitality industry for long enough to spot a grifter on sight.

He never gave in to the extortion of leaving a bad review on Trip Advisor, no matter how much power the guests seemed to think it gave them.

He finally left the hotel at ten minutes to seven, nearly two hours after his shift was due to end and after almost twelve hours on duty. Thank God for his neighbour Jacob, who would have called in to feed his cat Patches that afternoon. Andy loved his job but tried not to let it rule his life. He believed in hard work but also in taking proper time off. An eight-hour day had become a thing of the past in the era of staff shortages and recruitment crises.

But he was done for now. He stepped out of the front door and breathed a sigh of relief.

It was a stunning June evening, with the sun still high above the town and the skies as blue as sapphires. A light breeze coming off the sea kept the temperature from getting too hot and sticky. The town was buzzing with tourists. The beer garden at the front of the hotel was full, while the harbour was lined with people enjoying ice creams and takeaway fish and chips.

Andy unfastened his tie and stuffed it into the inner pocket of his jacket, already looking forward to ditching the suit. A cool shower, a fresh pair of shorts and a T-shirt and he would be ready for a beer in his front garden before dinner. On evenings like this, his house on South Bank, looking down on the town, was the perfect spot to relax and soak up the last of the day.

He picked his way through the crowds and crossed the bridge to the other side of the river. The faces of the tourists, suntanned and happy, proved what a great day it had been. Andy had spent most of it inside Quay House, only venturing out for twenty-minutes to grab some lunch, but it was easy to share the joy he saw all around. Nyemouth could be cold and bleak through the winter months, but in the summer, there was no place better.

On the other bank, the narrow streets offered shelter from the glare of the sun, but it was just as warm. The modern development of bars, takeaways and restaurants along the marina were packed. The Lobster Pot appeared to have a queue of people waiting for tables. The Seagull Café had recently obtained a liquor licence and extended its opening hours. While it served fresh, local food by day, on an evening it transformed into a high-end cocktail bar with live music. It was fantastic to see everywhere doing so well and the tourist trade bouncing back.

The town and its residents needed it.

And they were about to get something new.

As Andy rounded the corner onto Pier Street, he came upon the venue for Jerico Osman’s new restaurant. The grand four-story building, standing detached between two terraces, was one of the oldest in Nyemouth. For most of Andy’s life, it had housed a bank and building society. It had been empty for over three years since the closure of the bank. As a Grade II-listed building, there was little-to-nothing that could be done to the exterior, but from the construction teams that had been working over the last few weeks, filling skip after skip with rubbish, the interior must have been gutted.

The renovation work appeared to be done for the day. There were no vans parked out front, and the doors were closed.

He would never admit it to Mari, but Andy’s interest had been piqued after the conversation with his mother. There was no hope he would ever rekindle that old romance with Jerico, but Andy was interested in what he’d done to the inside of the building. Purely professional, he told himself, edging towards the window.

The panes of glass were dusty, and he had to press his face close to see beyond his own reflection.

Shit. There he was.

There were two men on the far side of the empty room, dressed in suit pants and open-necked shirts. Even after fourteen years, Jerico was unmistakable. He was a little thicker than before, broader in the chest and body. He had a neat beard now—that was different—but his hair was thick, curly and short, just as Andy remembered. The light brown skin, broad face and wide, sensual mouth? Andy would know them anywhere.

Andy’s face flushed. He was sure he could hear his pulse beating faster—familiar sensations…all so familiar and all entwined in his memories.

He would never have imagined that seeing Jerico again would provoke such an instant and profound reaction. In just a few seconds, he was the twenty-three-year-old kid who had been in lust with the man all those years ago.

My God, he’s still got it, more than he ever did.

Just as suddenly, Mari’s voice was in his head, urging him on, and before he knew what he was doing, Andy knocked on the door.