Chapter Seventeen
January started wet and the rain didn’t let up. Rhys left the hospital under an umbrella and walked swiftly to his car. He’d meant to go straight home, but his car, or maybe his conscience, had other ideas.
He found himself outside Cat’s building before he’d really decided to come. The windows on the second floor were lit, curtains drawn back, and for a moment, his heart kicked at the thought that she might be inside. He quickly climbed the steps and knocked.
The door opened a few moments later, and Sarah stood there in jeans and a thick jumper, her hair pulled into a loose knot.
Her eyes widened in surprise. “Dr. Harmon!” she exclaimed. “Well, this is a shock.”
“I take it you’re Sarah?”
“I am.”
“You’re a nurse at the hospital.”
“I am.” She blushed a little. “Can I help you with something?”
“Is Cat around?”
Sarah’s expression shifted, the brightness fading. “Ah, you don’t know then.”
He frowned. “Know what?”
“She’s gone. Flew home a few days ago, back to the States.”
For a moment, he just stared at her. The words didn’t quite make sense. “I thought she was leaving on the fifth or sixth.”
“She decided to go back early. I only just made it back from home in time to see her off. Barely caught her at the flat before the taxi came.”
Rhys’s gaze shifted past her into the little living room—the coat stand by the door, the books on the table. Cat’s coat was gone. So was her scarf.
“She wasn’t sure you’d want to see her,” Sarah added quietly. “Said it might be easier that way.”
“Right. Of course.” He tried for a smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Thank you.”
Sarah looked at him for a moment, sympathy softening her voice. “You’ve her number, haven’t you? Ring her. Talk to her.”
He sighed wearily. “And say what?”
“Ah, I don’t know. Something honest, maybe. That’s usually a decent place to start.”
He didn’t answer, just nodded faintly and stepped back toward the landing.
Walking back to his car he felt strange. The city was moving all around him—people hurrying home, buses hissing to the curb, taxis darting past—but Rhys felt lost.
He’d thought New Year’s Eve had been hard. This was worse.
*
Michigan snow was different from England’s. It was heavier, wetter, and lasted far longer. But this Kalamazoo neighborhood lined with Victorians felt like a different world. It was cozy, quaint, and full of young couples and growing families, and they’d welcomed Cat with open arms.
Now Cat stood at the front window of her grandmother’s house, watching the light fade over the trees, amazed that she’d already been home three weeks.
It had taken her a week to unpack, and another two to get used to the quiet after the hustle and bustle of London, but at least the house was familiar as she’d decided not to sell her grandmother’s house yet.
Why let go the one thing that felt like home?
During the day, she worked at Winthrop Academy, an old brick school perched at the edge of town.
The headmaster had been thrilled to find a long-term substitute who could teach both Latin and European history, and Cat had been equally thrilled to be useful again.
It wasn’t glamorous—long days, drafty classrooms, teenagers with more confidence than sense—but she liked it.
She liked the hum of the corridors, the smell of chalk and floor polish, the steady rhythm of lessons and lunch bells. Best of all, she liked feeling needed.
In the evenings, she came home, lit a fire, and marked papers at the kitchen table with a mug of tea at her elbow.
Sometimes she listened to the radio, sometimes she didn’t.
The quiet suited her. She told herself she was fine—and in most ways, she was.
She had work, a roof, and was making friends with some of the younger single teachers.
But every now and then, usually when the snow fell thick and silent outside the window, she thought of Derbyshire.
Of the cottage at Langley Park, the sound of the fire, and the low rumble of Rhys’s voice.
She’d promised herself she wouldn’t dwell on the holidays or him, but still there were moments when the memory of his smile or the heat in his eyes slipped through and she missed everything she’d left.
*
“I hate January,” Jillian grumbled at the kitchen table in their Chelsea home.
She had a bowl of porridge in front of her, an open textbook at her elbow, her long hair was still damp from her morning shower.
Rhys leaned against the counter with his coffee. “Do you have a test today?” he asked.
“Just a quiz.”
“Are you worried about it?”
“No.” She looked up at him, her mouth quirking. “Are you worried about it?”
He smothered a laugh. “No. You’re a good student. I just want to be sure I’m helping you when you need it.”
“Thanks, Dad, but if I need help, I’ll tell you.”
“I need to go but Charlotte is here to get you and Livy to school”
She arched a brow. “And?”
“Your birthday is coming up. You only turn thirteen once. What do you fancy this year—a party? Something different? We could go to Paris for the weekend. Or anywhere, really.”
He finally had her attention. Smiling, Jillian pushed the bowl away. “Paris?”
“Why not?” he said, trying for lightness. “Hot chocolate, the Eiffel Tower, far too many pastries. You name it.”
Her smile slowly faded. “You don’t have to do that, Dad.”
“I want to. It’d be fun.”
She studied him for a long moment. “You’ve not been happy since Christmas.”
He blinked, caught off guard. “What do you mean?”
“You’ve been quiet,” she said simply. “And when you smile it doesn’t seem … like you.”
Rhys drained the last of his coffee. “It was a long holiday. I’m still catching up.”
Jillian didn’t argue. She just waited a moment before adding, “It’s Cat, isn’t it?”
He stiffened. “What makes you say that?”
“She left because of me,” Jillian said quietly. “Because of what I asked her. I said I didn’t want everything to change. I thought if she went home, things would go back to normal.” She swallowed hard. “But they haven’t. Roger and Mum are still together and you … you’re just sad all the time.”
“I’m not sad.”
“You’re not happy.”
Rhys exhaled. “I just need time.”
“Or maybe you need to go see her and work things out.”
He rubbed at his temple. “It doesn’t work like that.”
“Why not? Because she loved us, Dad. And I think—I know—she loved you too.”
Rhys’s breath caught. He looked at his daughter—the honesty in her eyes, the courage of it—and something inside him cracked wide open.
Jillian brushed at her eyes with the back of her hand. “I made her promise she’d leave you alone because I was scared. But I shouldn’t have asked her to promise me that. I shouldn’t have interfered.”
“You were trying to protect me, love, that’s all.”
“No. I was trying to protect me.” Jillian went to her dad and hugged him hard. “At least call her sometime.”
“I’ll think about it.”
“Dad.”
He kissed her. “I have to go. Do well on your quiz.”
“I always do. But call her,” she urged even as she feared he wouldn’t.
*
The hallways at Winthrop Academy had emptied an hour ago, leaving the building wrapped in the soft winter quiet Cat had come to appreciate, the low hum of the heater, the tap-tap of melting snow from boots left by the door, the muted tick of the wall clock above her desk.
She was halfway through marking her last Latin quiz when the classroom door creaked open.
“Did you forget something?” she asked automatically, not looking up. “Check the lost and—”
“Cat?”
Her head snapped up.
Jillian stood in the doorway.
For a moment Cat couldn’t breathe, couldn’t even think. Winthrop Academy was in Michigan. The girls were supposed to be in London. Rhys was thousands of miles away. But Jillian—Jillian—stood in her doorway with flushed cheeks, an unzipped coat, and snow still melting in her long golden hair.
Cat stood up. “Jillian?”
The girl nodded, grinning in a way Cat had never seen from her before—open, excited, confident. “Hi.”
Cat’s pulse kicked hard, heat rushing through her in a rush of disbelief. “Wh—how? What are you doing here?”
Jillian took a step inside and let the door close behind her. “My mum brought me.”
Cat froze. “Your … mum?”
Jillian nodded again, thrilled to deliver the surprise. “She said if I really wanted to come, she’d bring me. And I really did.” She tugged on the zipper of her coat. “She’s talking to your headmaster now. I guess he was from Texas?”
Cat used the edge of her desk to steady herself. Lyndsey. Lyndsey had brought Jillian here—across the ocean—to Michigan. To see Cat.
Cat couldn’t have imagined anything more unlikely if she tried.
Jillian hesitated for the first time, her smile faltering. “Are you … are you happy I’m here?”
Cat crossed the classroom quickly and wrapped her arms around Jillian in a fierce hug. “More than you know. I’m just … shocked.”
“But hopefully in a good way?”
“Oh, in a very, very good way.” Cat gave her one more hug. “And everyone is good at home? Livy? Your … dad?”
“Everyone is good. But we miss you, and I think you should come back.”
“Oh, Jilly—”
“I have a plan.”
“Jillian.”
“Come to dinner with us tonight, and I’ll tell you everything.”
Cat crossed her arms. “You should have just called me, Jillian, because I can’t. I won’t.”
“You haven’t even heard my plan! You can’t say no without hearing it.”
“Okay, fine. Where are we going to dinner?”
“Mum knows. Let’s go find her.”
Kalamazoo’s historic district glowed in the late afternoon light.
Old brick buildings lined the pedestrian mall, strings of white lights outlining the trees.
The restaurant, Rustica, was tucked halfway down one block, its doorway marked by a narrow window while inside the restaurant hummed with conversation.