Chapter 12
Abby
Abby took a shower, pulled on a clean linen shirt and a pair of jeans, and slammed the door to her room behind her.
Her mother had hung up on her. She’d actually hung up on her. Who did that?
Her insides were churned up, her emotions boiling. She’d tried breathing. Mindfulness. A few bars of Mozart on her headphones.
So far nothing had worked. She had no idea how to calm herself, so she’d settled for an evening walk around the village.
On her way out she heard laughter and conversation coming from the bar and paused, torn between the lure of cobbled streets
and sea air and a crisp, cold glass of wine.
It wasn’t even a contest. She’d never before used alcohol as a comfort or a crutch, but right now wine felt more appealing
than a walk.
She headed back to the bar.
The outdoor garden with its tables overlooking the harbour was packed with people and inside was equally busy and no less full of charm.
With its low beam ceiling and flagstone floor, the bar appeared to have changed little over the centuries, but although the bones of the place were cemented in tradition, there were stylish, modern touches.
The whitewashed walls in this part of the bar were covered in framed prints—antique maps of Cornwall, black-and-white photos of fishing boats, nautical charts.
The chalkboard above the bar listed all the different local ales and craft beers, along with cider and wine.
There was something comforting about gathering in a place that people had been drinking in for centuries.
Tristan was serving, which almost made her spin around and take the evening walk option instead, but she decided she wanted
the wine more than she wanted to avoid him. And it wasn’t as if he’d been rude to her over the past few weeks. More wary and
a little detached, as if he still didn’t quite trust her. And his concerns were justified, she thought grimly, given that
she wasn’t exactly who she was pretending to be. Which made him a man of good judgement.
If she was lucky, it would be Matt with his easy smile and affable nature who served her.
She wasn’t lucky.
Tristan was laughing with a couple of locals at the far end of the bar but made his excuses when he caught sight of her.
“What can I get you?” He looked at her with those sharp blue eyes that always saw more than she wanted to reveal.
Before she could answer a young woman sprinted up to the bar. “Hey, Tris! I was hoping you’d be here tonight. I got back a
few hours ago so I wanted to say hi!”
He dragged his gaze from Abby and smiled.
“Vicky.” He leaned forward and kissed her on both cheeks, which was presumably what she’d wanted given that she was all but sprawled across the bar. “You back for the summer?”
“Yep. I’m here for the next month. So if you want to get together and catch up, or something—” her cheeks dimpled and her
eyes were all invitation in case he was in any doubt what the “or something” might be “—give me a call. My number hasn’t changed.”
“I’ll remember that.”
She hovered, hopeful. “Are you due a break? Because we could—”
“We’re short-staffed tonight, Vick. No break. But we’ll catch up at some point, I’m sure. Give my best to your dad.”
“I will.” Her smile dimmed a little, then she straightened her shoulders and gave Tristan a final wistful look before weaving
her way through the crowd to the door.
“You could have taken a break, boss.” Matt reached for a bottle of whisky and winked at Tristan. “Made a girl’s dreams come
true.”
“Don’t you have customers down the other end of the bar?”
“Serving them right now and thankfully for us, they have fat wallets.”
“Then go and relieve them of the weight of all that money before they decide to take it elsewhere.” He turned back to Abby.
“Sorry about that.”
“No problem. White wine, please.”
Tristan studied her face. “Do you want to be more specific?”
“No. You choose.”
“We have a delicious local white. Crisp and delicate. Light citrus notes with hints of honey . . .” His voice trailed off
and his gaze held hers. “I thought you were the type who might care about that, but judging from your expression I got that
wrong.”
“It would be great if you could stop judging me, just for this evening. In fact it would be good if people could stop judging me, full stop.” She wasn’t in the mood for it, not after that phone call with her mother.
She was impossible to talk to. Impossible.
She thought about the easy relationship Evie had with her dad. Even Tristan and his father communicated, even if the relationship
seemed to be on the volatile side. At least there was interaction.
What did she have with her mother? She wasn’t even able to describe it.
The tension was getting worse, throbbing at her temples and stiffening her shoulders.
Maybe she should have gone for a swim in icy water.
“Okay, clearly I hit a nerve there. One glass of white coming up, no questions asked.” Tristan turned away and took a bottle
from the fridge.
“Large glass please.”
He reached for a glass and raised an eyebrow. “Bad day?”
“The day was fine until the last hour when it plunged downwards faster than a seagull swooping for an ice cream.” She sighed.
“Is it that obvious? I like to think I’m inscrutable.”
“You are. But a customer asking for a large glass of anything is usually a clue. As a landlord I’m supposed to pay attention.”
He poured her a large glass. “Also, you’ve been here for three weeks and this is the first time you’ve come here alone for
a drink. Or looked remotely ruffled.”
She frowned. “I look ruffled?”
“Physically, no. Psychologically? Yes. Which shows you’re human so don’t go beating yourself up.” He pushed the glass towards
her. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“No, thanks.” Part of her did, but she wouldn’t know where to start.
She’d never discussed her relationship with her mother with anyone.
And she couldn’t do it here, because she wasn’t supposed to tell anyone who her mother was.
“The wine is all the therapy I need.” She held out her credit card but he shook his head.
“On the house.”
“That’s generous, but shouldn’t you be trying to relieve me of the weight of all my money?”
He laughed. “Another time, definitely. But tonight it’s on me.” His gaze lingered on hers for a moment and then he turned
to Matt who was now at the far end of the bar. “I’m taking five, Matt. You’re in charge.”
“No worries, boss.” Matt glanced curiously at Abby, then handed two bottled beers to the young guys standing at the bar. “Take
your time.”
Tristan snagged a beer from the fridge and gestured to the door. “Let’s go.”
Abby opened her mouth to ask where they were going, but he was already walking out of the door and she had no choice but to
follow him.
“I thought you weren’t taking a break tonight.”
“That was before you ordered a large glass of wine.”
“Are you a psychologist now?”
“A landlord is expected to be many things, and psychologist is probably among them,” he said. “Maybe tonight I’m trying to
be a friend.” He stopped and she was so startled by his words she almost walked right into him.
“Why?”
“Because you look as if you need one.” His gaze hovered on hers for a moment and then he pushed through a gate and took her
into a little private garden that overlooked the harbour.
The air was filled with the sweet scent of honeysuckle and rose. The place seemed to be a haven for wildlife.
Her stress levels receded. “I didn’t know this existed.”
“It’s my secret hideaway. It’s a good place to unwind, and you look as if you need that as much as that glass of wine.” He put his beer on the table and sat down.
There was room to sit next to him but she chose to sit opposite.
She hadn’t expected company, and now she was going to have to make small talk.
She grasped at something. “She seemed pretty keen on you. Vicky.”
“Yes, that part is unfortunate.”
“You had a thing?”
“Only in her mind. But that doesn’t seem to make a difference. It’s the way of the world, isn’t it? People falling for the
wrong people. I suppose it wouldn’t be life if it wasn’t complicated.” He watched her. “I saw you running past with Evie earlier,
on your usual route. You were laughing. What happened?”
Her usual route.
She’d been here a little over three weeks, but she’d developed a routine. It was funny how quickly that had happened.
Usually the run was the perfect end to her day, and it had been tonight until that phone call.
“I spoke to my mother.”
He picked up his beer. “That explains why you needed a large glass of wine.”
“It does? How?” She took a sip of the wine. It was cold, dry and exactly what she needed.
“I’m going on personal experience. Speaking to my father has the same effect on me.” He gave a humourous laugh and lifted
the bottle to his lips. “Frustrating, isn’t it? Filial duty. There are times when you want to walk away from it, but loyalty
and love keep you coming back for more.”
Loyalty and love.
He was right. He was so right.
And she always made excuses for her mother. She’d had a tough time growing up. She was focused on the business. She was putting pressure on Abby because she wanted her to be the best she could be.
“She never answers my questions!” Abby blurted the words out. “I do everything I can to please her. I twist myself into a
pretzel. I deliver everything she wants, on time and with a smile. I never let her down. Never step out of line. I try and
be the perfect daughter, but I ask her one personal question—just one—and she cuts me off.”
He lowered the bottle to the table. “Why do you have to be the perfect daughter?”
She was thrown. She’d expected him to ask what her question had been.
“Simple answer? My mother is the sort of person you don’t want to disappoint. It has always been the two of us—we have no
relatives. I admire her, I really do. More than anyone else I know. She’s strong, capable and clever and she can be intimidating,