Before You Say I Love You (Unforgettable Love Stories #2)

Chapter One

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Maddie didn’t like winter, but she had to admit it looked glorious draped across the Hertfordshire countryside.

The ground was crispy and glistening, the sky so icy blue it was almost too bright for her eyes.

Maddie twisted her fist to hug her tweed jacket tighter.

It had belonged to her brother, Bowie, so the jacket was huge on her and gaped.

It was serving no practical purpose for keeping her warm and letting in far too much cold air, but wearing it comforted her in a way that was almost magical.

The bottom hem of the jacket hit her wellington boots as Maddie trudged across the garden.

She’d begged Bowie’s twin brother, Marley, to let her keep it when they’d sorted through Bowie’s things.

For a man irreparably devastated by his brother’s death, he’d been surprisingly strict when they’d undertaken the task, adamant Bowie would not want them keeping things out of sentimentality when other people could make use of them.

Maddie smiled in spite of herself. She and her brothers had always been close, agreeing on so many things, but the transmission of universal energy from people into things was not one of them.

Over the years they’d spent many afternoons sitting snugly beside the fire in their parents’ living room, debating the existence of fate and destiny.

Her brothers had lovingly mocked her unwavering belief in star signs and the law of attraction — things they simply were never going to be able to agree on.

Bowie had been a practical and logical person his entire life, with the exception of some little things he’d said towards the end of his days that had given him peace.

Marley was right — their brother would not want her to hold on to something someone else could make use of if she wasn’t going to use it herself.

She’d therefore sworn to use the jacket, despite its swamping nature, and now reached for it whenever the weather turned cold.

She also wore it whenever she missed Bowie, which was often.

Maddie stopped as she reached the gate of her parents’ estate, nine acres of mostly rewilded landscape and forest, a gravel driveway, a wrap-around garden and, in its centre, a large country house built from grey stone, covered in ivy and Japanese wisteria.

The lane that ran the length of the property was eerily quiet, as always.

She closed her eyes, her arms resting on top of the wooden gate, and drew in a deep breath.

Her mouth dried as the cold early December air hit the back of her throat.

They were two days into ‘Christmas month’, as her nephew Benjamin called it, and winter was in full swing.

Still, that was the least of her worries.

There was so much lingering in the peripherals of her mind.

First, there was the prospect of another Christmas without Bowie. Maddie loved this time of year, but digging the tree out of the loft and hanging several dozen metres of Christmas lights hadn’t felt the same since Bowie had died, six years ago.

Next, there was everything she had to do to renovate her parents’ property before spring.

She’d known long ago what she wanted to do with the money her brother had left her, and had finally taken the plunge and asked her family for their blessing last winter.

Maddie, a former carer, wanted to open a ‘recovery retreat’.

It would be a bed and breakfast of sorts, but specifically for those who had been battling cancer.

She’d loved being a carer. She’d enjoyed working with elderly people in care homes and as a private care assistant for people with disabilities, but her favourite job had been working with cancer patients in palliative care — helping improve the quality of life and manage the symptoms of people who had been told they would not win their battle, providing emotional and spiritual support to them and their family members.

She’d been barely twenty-five when she’d had that particular job, but cancer had already been such a major part of Maddie’s life, since Bowie had been diagnosed with non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma when she was just a teenager.

The job made Maddie feel useful and important, like she was making a real difference.

Her passion had led her to achieve a degree in Cancer Care and her skills had come in extremely useful years later, when she’d stepped in to support her brother and their family through his terminal diagnosis and final days.

Now, at age thirty-three, Maddie felt ready to return to what she loved to do most.

Bowie had confirmed what she had already known deep down, that she was very good at her job.

He’d been grateful for the sensitive way she’d helped him keep his dignity.

He’d taken a flippant comment she’d made about leaving the social care sector, because the pay was so bad, extremely seriously and left her a reasonable sum of money in his will, imploring her to do whatever she wanted to with it.

Though she wasn’t sure she was mentally strong enough yet to work with people who would definitely not survive, she knew there was important work she could be doing to help people who had been fighting cancer and its terrible symptoms. She could offer them peace and comfort, a safe and comfortable place to stay for a few weeks at a time, where they could be with other people who understood what this fight felt like.

Though the retreat was specifically for people who needed time to process their journey and recover mentally, she would be there to help them minimally as a professional, if they needed it, but Maddie would mainly focus on running a service that provided holistic well-being in the form of plant-based nutrition, yoga and meditation.

Her family home — with its high ceilings, big windows, pretty gardens and rural location — was the perfect setting.

Luckily, her parents had agreed. They’d been considering travelling for some time and — since her siblings had all left home — this felt like a good way to make sure Maddie was not left on her own.

It would give her something meaningful to focus on.

They’d drawn up an agreement that meant Maddie’s new business was technically leasing the property from them.

They hadn’t wanted to charge her anything at all for the privilege, but Maddie had insisted.

She was planning on transforming the property and she needed the agency to do so.

She wasn’t sure she’d have that unless she was officially paying to use the house and grounds.

She’d ignored their protestations and had the paperwork drawn up.

She’d triple-checked they were OK with the fact they would no longer have use of the property when there were guests there, which — since she was planning on operating in fortnightly cycles — was essentially half of the year.

She’d had a professional mock up visuals of her planned renovations and insisted her family sign them off.

All of that had taken a full year. Now, alongside helping her parents plan their impending expedition, she was knee-deep in renovations and working towards an opening date in March.

Maddie felt her heart-rate quicken and tried to force herself to stop panicking about the future and be present.

“Things always work out for me,” she whispered, trying hard to quiet her mind. “The universe is my friend.”

Maddie focused on her inhalations and the chirping of birds hardy enough to endure the English winter.

“I’m just like a bird. I could fly away, but I’m strong enough to stay.”

Suddenly, she was on the floor, her limbs tangled up with something that appeared to be squishy and pink.

It was squealing — a high-pitched and frantic sound that seemed to bounce off her eardrums so that she couldn’t help but wince.

Before she had time to realise it was a piglet and close her arms around it, it wriggled free and took off back the way she’d just come — across the garden, sprinting towards her family home.

Maddie watched it running at an impressive speed.

She’d had no idea pigs could move so fast. She was startled, but the ground was freezing, so she forced herself to stand, brushing herself down.

She was so distracted she didn’t hear approaching footsteps.

“Have you seen a pig?”

Maddie jumped so violently at the sound of a strange voice she was sure she shot straight out of her wellies and into the air. She clutched her chest and glared. A man stood in the middle of the lane.

“Jesus Christ,” she snapped, narrowing her eyes at the obviously irritated peace intruder. “Are you trying to give me a heart attack?”

He shrugged. “Sorry.” He didn’t look sorry. He looked impatient. He raised his eyebrows questioningly, as though waiting for something, but Maddie was still trying to calm the furious beating of her heart and couldn’t remember what he’d said.

“Did you say something?” she asked.

“Yeah. I said, ‘Have you seen a pig?’,” he helpfully repeated.

“I have, as a matter of fact. It just knocked me over.”

“Oh good, you found him? The speed he took off at, I was sure he was gone for good.”

“He can certainly move, that’s for sure,” Maddie concurred, turning from the gate.

She was ten steps into her walk back to the house when she realised the man wasn’t following.

“Well, come on then!” she called back to him.

He nodded, bounded to the gate and cleared it with one high, sideways jump before falling into step beside her.

“Is your name Maddie?” he asked. She was too tired to answer verbally, so nodded. “We went to the same school. I’m a few years older than you, though. James Byron?”