Chapter 23
Chapter Twenty-Three
JUDE
Friday morning in Brynn’s cottage. That golden hour when the light comes through the salt-crusted windows and turns everything soft.
She doesn’t know I’m watching.
She’s at the workbench in the corner of the kitchen – if you can call it a kitchen, if you can call that disaster of chipped Formica and temperamental plumbing a room where food gets made.
There’s a carburettor in front of her, or maybe a fuel pump, either way, she’s taking it apart with the focus of a surgeon.
Grease on her fingers. Coffee forgotten at her elbow, gone cold an hour ago. Hair escaping its ponytail, one strand stuck to her cheek.
She’s humming. Doesn’t know she’s doing it. Some song I don’t recognise, tuneless and wandering.
I could watch her for ever.
‘You’re staring, Harding.’
Busted. So maybe she does know I’m watching.
‘You’re worth staring at, Trelawney.’
She looks up. There’s a smile there, but it’s cautious. Guarded in a way it wasn’t a few days ago. Last night’s conversation still hanging in the air between us like smoke. When are you going to tell people about us?
‘You’re here early,’ she says.
‘Couldn’t sleep. Kept thinking about you.’
Her expression flickers.
‘Charmer.’
‘I try.’
I push off the doorframe, cross to the workbench. She watches me come, and I can see her deciding – whether to let me in, whether to keep her guard up. When I reach for her, she hesitates for just a second before letting me pull her close.
She fits against me like she was made for it. I press my face into her hair and breathe her in.
‘Hi,’ I murmur.
‘Hi yourself.’
We stand there for a moment. Just holding on. Like if we grip tight enough, we can keep the world outside from getting in.
‘Have you eaten?’ I ask eventually.
‘I had coffee.’
‘Coffee isn’t food.’
‘It’s a food group.’
‘It’s really not.’ I pull back, pluck the cold mug from the workbench. ‘I’m making eggs. You’re going to sit down and eat them like a normal human being.’
‘I’m busy—’
‘The fuel pump will still be there in twenty minutes.’
‘It’s a fuel injection system, actually—’
‘I don’t care what it is. Sit.’
She grumbles. Complains. Calls me a tyrant and a menace. But she sits, and there’s a softness creeping back into her expression as she watches me navigate her disaster of a kitchen.
I make eggs. Slightly burned, because her stove has two settings – volcanic and off – and she smirks when I slide the plate in front of her.
‘Perfection,’ she deadpans.
‘I’m a man of many talents.’
‘Apparently cooking isn’t one of them.’
‘And yet you’re still eating.’
‘I’m hungry. There’s a difference.’
We eat. The silence between us is comfortable, almost. But there’s a weight underneath it. A question neither of us is asking.
I break first.
‘About last night—’
‘Jude.’ She sets down her fork. ‘I’m not going to apologise for asking.’
‘I wasn’t asking you to.’
‘Good.’ She picks up her coffee, wraps both hands around the mug. ‘Because it was a fair question. And I notice you still haven’t answered it.’
The directness catches me off guard. But that’s Brynn – she doesn’t circle around things. Goes straight for the jugular.
‘I’m going to tell him,’ I say. ‘I just need to find the right moment.’
‘The right moment.’ She repeats it back to me, flat. ‘And when will that be?’
‘I don’t know. Soon. When he’s—’
‘What? In a good mood? When is Reuben Harding ever in a good mood?’
She’s not wrong. But she’s not right either. It’s more complicated than that – or maybe it’s simpler, and I’m the one making it complicated.
‘I know it’s hard to understand—’
‘It’s not hard to understand.’ She looks at me, and her guard drops. Just for a second, enough to see the hurt underneath. ‘I understand perfectly. Your father hates my family. Has hated us for decades. And you’re scared that if you tell him about us, he’ll hate you too.’
‘Brynn—’
‘I get it, Jude. I do.’ She reaches across the table, takes my hand. Her fingers are cold, still grease-stained. ‘I know what it’s like to want a parent’s approval so badly you’d do anything to keep it. I spent my whole childhood trying to be enough for my father. Trying to make him see me.’
‘Did it work?’
‘No.’ A sad smile. ‘It never does, does it? You can’t earn love from someone who doesn’t know how to give it.’
The words land somewhere deep. Somewhere I don’t let people see.
‘I’m not like him,’ I say. ‘I’m not going to let this – us – be another casualty of his grudges.’
‘Aren’t you?’ She pulls her hand back. Not angry, just … careful. ‘Because right now, from where I’m sitting, it feels like his hatred is winning. We sneak around. We hide. We pretend we’re nothing to each other when anyone else is watching.’
‘That’s not—’
‘I’m not an embarrassment, Jude.’ Her voice is quiet, but there’s steel underneath. ‘I’ve spent my whole life being treated like one. The Trelawney girl. The family that left. The people who weren’t welcome. I refuse to be someone’s dirty secret. Not again. Not even for you.’
‘You’re not a secret. You’re—’
‘Then what am I?’ She meets my eyes. ‘What am I, if not a secret you’re hiding?’
I don’t have an answer. Not one that would satisfy her. Not one that satisfies me.
‘I’m going to tell him,’ I say again. ‘I promise. I just need a little more time.’
She’s quiet for a long moment. Studying me. Weighing the truth of me.
‘My grandfather used to talk about your family,’ she says finally. ‘About how the Hardings were good people, once. Before everything went wrong. He never told me what happened – what really happened – but I could see it in his face. The loss of it. The betrayal.’
‘Brynn—’
‘I came back with nothing but some paperwork and a front door key for a cottage, expecting to hate the Hardings.’ She stands, carries her plate to the sink.
‘All of you. The family that drove us out. That made my grandfather die in exile, missing the only home he ever loved.’ She turns, leans against the counter.
‘And instead I found you. And you made me think maybe the feud didn’t have to define us. Maybe we could be different.’
‘We can be—’
‘Can we?’ She tilts her head. ‘Because every time you keep me a secret, every time you hide, every time you look away, it feels like the whatever happened between our fathers is still ongoing. Just more quietly.’
I cross to her. Take her face in my hands. Make her look at me.
‘I’m not choosing him over you. I’m trying to figure out how to have both.’
‘And if you can’t?’
The question hangs there. Heavy. Impossible.
‘Then I’ll figure it out. I promise, Brynn.’
She searches my face. Looking for the lie. Looking for the weakness.
‘Prove it,’ she says softly. ‘That’s all I’m asking. Just … prove it.’
‘I will.’
I kiss her. She lets me. But there’s a hesitation there that wasn’t before – a holding back, a waiting to see.
When I pull away, her eyes are still guarded.
‘I have to go,’ I say. ‘Dad wants me at the harbour by nine.’
‘Of course he does.’
‘I’ll come by tonight. I promise.’
‘Okay.’ She steps back, creating distance. ‘I’ll be here.’
I grab my jacket. Pause at the door. Look back at her – standing in her disaster kitchen, morning light turning her hair to gold, arms wrapped around herself like she’s cold.
‘Tonight,’ I say again.
‘Tonight.’
But as I walk away, her words echo in my head.
Prove it. That’s all I’m asking.
And I wonder if I’m capable of giving her what she needs.
Or if I’m just going to let her down.
Reuben’s waiting.
He’s in the kitchen when I come through the door – sitting at the table, cup of tea in hand, eyes sharp. One of his good days, then. Clear and focused and missing nothing.
Brilliant. Just what I need.
‘You’re late.’
‘Got held up.’ I head for the kettle, avoiding his gaze. ‘Accounts took longer than I thought.’
‘The accounts.’ His voice is flat. ‘At seven in the morning?’
‘I was reviewing them before heading to the harbour.’
‘Where? At Tom’s again?’
Shit.
‘What?’
‘You’ve been staying at Tom’s. That’s what you told me. Three nights this week.’ His mug hits the table with a sharp crack. ‘Funny thing – I saw Tom at the harbour yesterday. Asked him how you two were getting on, all those late nights working on crew schedules.’
The kettle trembles in my hand. Just slightly. Hopefully not enough for him to notice.
‘He looked at me like I’d grown a second head,’ Reuben continues. ‘Said he hadn’t seen you outside of training in weeks.’
Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.
I turn around. Reuben’s watching me with that expression I know too well – the one that says he’s already figured out the answer and he’s waiting to see if I’ll lie.
‘Dad—’
‘Where have you been, Jude?’
‘I told you—’
‘You told me bollocks.’ He stands. Slower than he used to, but still imposing.
Still the man who’s loomed over my entire life.
‘You’ve been distracted. Missing. Your head’s somewhere else entirely.
You nearly cost us the Truro account last week because you forgot to send the invoice. ’ His eyes narrow. ‘Is it a woman?’
My heart stops. Actually stops, just for a second.
‘What?’
‘A woman. Is that where you’ve been? Because if it’s a woman, I’d like to meet her.’ He pauses. Lets the silence stretch. ‘Unless there’s a reason you’re hiding her.’
This is the moment.
I could tell him. Right here, right now. Yes, Dad, it’s a woman. It’s Brynn Trelawney. I’m falling in love with her, and I know you hate her family, and I know you’ll never understand, but I don’t care anymore.
The words are right there. Pressing against my teeth.
But I can already see his face. The way it would twist. The disgust, the fury, the betrayal. A Trelawney? You’re fucking a Trelawney?
He’d never forgive me.
‘There’s no woman, Dad.’ The lie tastes like ash. ‘I’ve just been busy. Stressed. With Kit gone, there’s more to handle.’
Reuben studies me. I hold his gaze. Force myself not to look away.
‘All right,’ he says finally. ‘But I need you focused. This family doesn’t run itself.’
‘I know.’
‘Tonight. You and me at The Ship. Like the old days.’ It’s not a question. ‘You’ve been scarce. People are starting to talk.’