Chapter Twenty-Five
Lydia followed the short path toward her own gate, the empty tin tucked beneath her arm, as the mild late-May air wrapped around her. The sky over Brookleigh Bay held that soft, golden light that made everything feel unhurried and peaceful.
She hadn’t meant to stay long. Just a quick thank you. A small gesture.
But somehow she’d ended up with Jake on her lap, Sophie proudly showing her spellings and Mia asking for help with a fraction, while Ollie read from the safety of his father’s arms.
It had felt… nice. Unexpectedly nice.
She paused, glancing back the way she’d come. Warm light glowed behind the Parker house curtains — lived-in, welcoming, unmistakably full of life.
She found herself thinking of the children in their slightly rumpled uniforms, gathered around the table as though they had always belonged there. They looked cared for. Settled. Safe.
Her thoughts drifted — unwillingly — to William.
He had been directing homework when she arrived, calm and unhurried amid the questions and interruptions.
She thought of the way he had settled Ollie on his knee, patient and steady, never hurrying him when he stumbled over a word.
The way he listened to every child as though nothing mattered more than the one speaking.
And she had noticed — she couldn’t pretend she hadn’t — how handsome he was when he smiled. Not in a dramatic, heart-stopping way, but in a warm, quietly solid way that made something inside her shift.
She shook her head sharply. “No,” she murmured. “Don’t do this. You promised yourself you wouldn’t trust so easily again.”
At her gate, she hesitated. Instead of turning toward The Gables, she continued down the lane toward the sea, needing space to breathe.
The tide was turning below the cliffs, the air sharp with salt. Lydia stood looking out across the water, but the quiet did nothing to silence the truth.
She cared about the children. And, despite every warning she had given herself, she was beginning to care about their father too.