6
‘This place is gorgeous.’ Sarah pulls the door closed behind us and scans the open-plan room, with its sage green kitchen cabinets and circular oak table at one end, and dusky pink two-seater couch and matching fireside chair, facing a beautiful cast-iron stove at the other.
Scott did as he promised and drove to the office for the keys, while Sarah and I packed up my belongings. And now here we are, with my suitcases, and rattan basket filled with needles and yarn, about to move me in.
‘I love that.’ My eyes widen as I point to the stove, with matching cast-iron holder, piled high with logs alongside it. ‘No wonder the place feels so cosy, that would heat the whole cottage in no time.’
‘Also, because it’s tiny.’ Sarah chuckles. ‘It’s basically one room.’
‘There’s a bedroom and bathroom upstairs.’ I park my case by the newel post and peer up the timber staircase that divides the kitchen and living nook. ‘It’s plenty big for me.’
Then I spot the flatscreen on the wall above the stove. ‘And you can come over and watch Gilmore Girls when Scott’s off at football training. It’s almost time for my annual binge-fest.’
Sarah flops down on the two-seater, lays her head on the armrest, then stretches her legs over the other end.
‘Gilmore Girls?’ She laughs. ‘I think you’re confusing me with Flynn.
’ She sees my face fall and her eyes soften, and I know she remembers that video from her party.
‘Oh God, I’m sorry. It must be strange seeing him again after all this time. I didn’t mean to reopen old wounds.’
I wrap my arms across my ribcage and shrug as lightly as I can. ‘It’s fine. No big deal.’ I smile to cover the heaviness settling in my chest. ‘But if you really want to make it up to me, we can start on season one next week.’
‘You’re determined to drag me to the cosy side.’ She lifts her hands in surrender. ‘Okay, you’ve got me. One season only, though.’ She pats the soft chenille throw draped over the back of the couch. ‘This is comfy. I can even stay over if we drink too much wine.’
‘I think you might have to take the bed.’ I throw her a wry smile. ‘Your legs are too long for that couch.’
It’s a generous two-seater, I’d be okay, but Sarah’s a lot taller than me.
‘I’d be fine.’ She hops up. ‘Come on, I’ll give you a hand with those cases. I want to have a nosy up there anyway. And then we can head back to ours for food and a movie. Scott said he do a full roast chicken dinner, with all the trimmings.’ She chuckles. ‘He must feel really bad.’
Three hours and two glasses of wine later, I’m back at Hazel Cottage. I made my excuses as soon as they started watching their movie. Partly because they picked out a horror, but mostly because I can’t help feeling I’ve overstayed my welcome, even though Sarah keeps insisting that I haven’t.
Because Scott is still Jamie’s best friend, and as far as he’s concerned, I’m the one who ran without waiting to hear his side of the story.
And I know from Sarah that Jamie’s been piling it on thick with every phone call and every text he’s sent to Scott, even though he didn’t contact me. Not once, until last night.
I smooth the throw on the couch and take a look around downstairs before I switch off the light.
I packed everything away in the wardrobe upstairs and tucked my cases under the bed.
And I haven’t even made a cup of tea yet, so it all looks pristine.
That won’t last long, I’m not the tidiest, but for now I’m keeping my promise to take good care of Elaine’s cottage.
If anyone came to view, they wouldn’t even know I’d been here.
The bedroom is just as pretty as downstairs, with pine floorboards, voile curtains, and an enormous king-size bed.
I pull down the blackout blind leaving only the soft glow from the bedside lamp.
I nip to the bathroom, change into pjs, and switch off the lamp.
Then I climb into bed and bury myself deep under the daisy print duvet that reminds me of a time when everything felt easier. Before my world fell apart.
My mind drifts back to those soft September evenings, before Dad died, when Flynn and I would spend hours lying on the grassy slope looking out over the lake, chatting, and threading daisy chains.
Well, okay, the daisy chains were just me, but we did both spend hours talking, and laughing, and sharing our plans for the future.
Flynn wanted to study horticulture, maybe go into business with his uncle, and eventually open up a garden centre of his own, focusing on native, wildlife-friendly plants.
His dad wasn’t happy. He wanted him to follow in his footsteps and pursue medicine.
But his mam was adamant that when the time came to choose a course, the choice should be Flynn’s.
So was his uncle, Pat. And so was Flynn.
I wanted him to make the right choice for him, but a small seed of hope began to take root in my heart.
Flynn and I working side by side. Literally.
Him in his dream garden centre and me, next door, in my beloved library.
I hoped as we grew and nourished our shared dreams, that he might eventually fall in love with the librarian next door.
Of course, that was long before Oakwood grew from a village to a town, and I realised our narrow two-storey would need a serious upgrade to become the thriving community library I dreamed about.
And before Flynn left me behind for a brand-new life, and new dreams.
I try to quieten my overactive mind. I need to stop thinking about the past. About Flynn, about Jamie, about all the ways my life hasn’t turned out the way I hoped it would.
I’ve still got my job, even if I’m not sure where that’s going.
I’ve got a roof over my head, even if it isn’t my roof.
I’ve got Sarah. And Mam, when she gets back from her travels.
We’re due to have a FaceTime tomorrow, and I want to make sure she sees me smiling when we do.
There’s no point dwelling on hopeless dreams I had as a teenager.
When I assumed the people I cared about would always be in my life.
More fool me. First Dad left. Or was taken.
I’m still not sure what to believe, but either way, I lost him.
Then Flynn left, and didn’t bother to keep in touch, not really, not properly, apart from those yearly Christmas cards.
That one flimsy thread holding us together all these years.
Oh feck, two glasses of wine and I’m maudlin.
I need someone to give me a good talking-to.
Cop on, Gracie. Flynn will be gone soon, and you need to stop wallowing and move on.
Like you did the first time. Or at least, tried to.
And okay, life has thrown you a few curveballs, but that’s how you learn to make better choices the next time. I hope.
I pull the duvet over my head and sink deeper into the mattress. Then I hear a loud creak. Feck, I should not have watched the start of that horror. It’s probably nothing, or just the wind, or . . . Shit! That’s not nothing!
The creaking gets closer, and it’s definitely someone or something coming up the stairs. Someone large by the sound of it, with heavy boots, and maybe an axe like that guy in the movie.
Oh shit, I’m going to die, all alone, and I never even got to tell Flynn how mad at him I am. How much he hurt me. How much he meant to me back then. And how he was all I ever really wanted, until he left and broke my heart.
I dart my hand out from under the duvet and grab my lavender spritz from the locker.
It’s not much of a weapon, but it’s all I have.
Maybe if I take the intruder by surprise and spray him right between the eyes, I can race down the stairs and escape.
Or maybe he’s just here to steal stuff, and if I lie very still, he might not even notice me.
I’m small and this duvet is thick. Maybe he won’t realise I’m under it.
The door creaks open. Oh God.
‘Ow!’ I yell as something heavy lands on my chest. The bastard just threw a ton of bricks at me.
I lift my head above the duvet and spray my lavender spritz wildly at the looming hulk approaching through the dim, hazy light. I scramble off the bed to make my escape, but the hulk moves, and I barge into a wall of solid muscle. Oh shit, I’m dead.
‘What the fuck? What the fuck?’
I blink as I realise that voice sounds familiar, and that shape looks familiar too.
My vision adapts to the faint light coming through the slightly open door, from the landing.
And I take in the tall frame of one very annoyed male, stepping back, and waving his hands vigorously as if to clear thick smoke from his path.
‘Flynn?’ I croak, my voice barely audible, and sounding strange, even to me. But in fairness, I have just had a near-death experience.
Flynn coughs a few times and straightens, then he blinks and tries to focus. ‘Jesus Christ, who is that? You could have blinded me.’
Yep, that was the plan. But I don’t say that. I just croak again, ‘Flynn?’
I drop back down on the bed, because my legs feel weak all of a sudden, and I need to sit down.
Flynn stretches over and switches on the bedside lamp. ‘Gracie?’ He sounds horrified.
His eyes are open wide and it doesn’t look like he’s blinded. My aim is not as good as I’d hoped. But I guess that’s a good thing, considering the circumstances.
‘Are you okay? I’m sorry. Did I get you?’
‘Get me?’ He stares at me like I’m crazy.
‘I was going for your eyes.’
‘Seriously, Gracie? What the fuck?’
‘Sorry, but you’re okay, aren’t you?’
‘Well, my T-shirt is soaked, and I smell like I took a bath in lavender oil.’ He sounds exasperated. He tugs his damp T-shirt to his nose and sniffs, and I try not to stare at the muscles of his stomach, the line of his hip bones.
‘But I think I’ll live.’ He peers down at me as I drag my eyes back up to his face.
‘Me too.’
‘What?’
‘You threw a bag of bricks on my chest.’
His eyes drop to my chest, and I remember I’m only wearing a very flimsy cami and no bra.
I watch a muscle clench in his jaw, and he snaps his gaze away, as though he can’t bear to look at me.
Wow. Thanks, Flynn. I know I’m not exactly well-endowed, and definitely not stacked like that girl who keeps posting about you on Insta, but you don’t have to look appalled at the sight of me.
‘I did not throw a bag of bricks on you.’ He huffs indignantly, then he spots the leather holdall beside the bed. ‘Oh, that. That’s just my clothes.’ He winces. ‘And my shoes. And some books. Hardbacks. Damn. Sorry.’
I grab a blanket from the end of the bed and wrap it around me, then I scramble back up to lean against the headboard.
‘Flynn, what are you doing here? It’s after midnight.’
He sits down at the very end of the bed and squints at me, hard. ‘Gracie, what are you doing here? In my house? In my bed?’
What? I jerk back and whack my head against the pine headboard. Ow.
So much for my new cosy sanctuary. This is not turning out how I planned.
I glare back at Flynn. Because my head hurts, and my chest, and I feel nauseous, and I think I might be getting the start of a hangover, even though I only had two glasses of wine.
Although, maybe it’s an overdose of lavender.
Why can’t I just have one peaceful space to myself, without men who’ve already chosen to abandon me, or cheat on me, or whatever, following me, and wrecking my head.
‘Flynn, this is not your bed. It’s my bed. I’m renting the cottage from your parents.’
His eyes widen and he shakes his head slowly. ‘I don’t think so, Gracie. I told Maeve yesterday afternoon not to take any more rentals.’ He tugs at his sandy fringe, looking completely bewildered, and I almost reach out to stroke his baffled brow. But I manage to hold myself back. Just about.
‘How did you even get in here? Did I not lock the door properly earlier? Did you sneak back in after I’d gone?
’ His frown deepens. ‘Christ, Gracie, I know I teased about stalking you on Insta, but that was a joke, and if this is some sort of prank to pay me back, it’s not funny.
It’s pitch-dark, and the last thing I expected to find was someone waiting in my bed.
’ His sigh is sharp and frustrated. ‘I could have seriously hurt you.’
You did seriously hurt me, I almost say. But now is not the time to start digging up the past.
‘Scott gave me a key,’ I blurt, then I screw my eyes shut as I immediately regret telling Flynn that. Scott works on sales, and even though he’s the manager, he shouldn’t be giving out rental keys without checking with Maeve first.
‘But he didn’t want to. It’s not his fault. I made him.’ My words come racing out in a nervous rush. ‘You see, Jamie’s coming back—’
‘No!’ Flynn jumps to his feet and starts tugging at his fringe again. ‘No way, Gracie. If you think I’m going to let you move in here and set up some little love nest with Jamie.’ He shakes his head furiously. ‘Just no.’
‘What?’ My mouth hangs open as I try to process the idea of Jamie here, in Hazel Cottage. Why would Flynn even think that? He knows Jamie and I are finished. Doesn’t he?
I bury my face in my hands and try to clear my muddled thoughts, but I feel like my head is about to split open, and before I can figure out how to explain any more, Flynn lets out another weary, frustrated sigh.
‘Gracie, I’ve had a really long day, and I’m just back from driving Pat to the airport. Whatever this is, whatever you and Jamie have planned, I can’t deal with it tonight.’
I open my mouth to protest, but he holds up his palms and shakes his head repeatedly as he backs towards the door. ‘Just save it, Gracie. I’m going downstairs, and I’m going to try to get some sleep. We’ll sort this out in the morning.’
He lifts his brows as though he’s asking for my agreement, giving me a choice, but what choice do I have? I badly need to lie down, maybe take some ibuprofen, and hope to God that I wake up tomorrow morning and realise that I had a really crazy bad dream.