11. Chapter 11
Chapter 11
Abigail
“ M uuuum, I’m hungry!” The door flies open, banging against the wall with a force that makes me bolt upright. Layla barrels into the room, clutching Mr Fluffers, her well-loved stuffed rabbit, her face full of impatience and mischief.
I blink at her, my heart still racing. Then it hits me—a heavy arm is draped across my waist. A very naked arm.
Oh no… we must have nodded off again!
I glance down, my face heating up. Sure enough, both the arm and the man attached to it are very much unclothed.
Layla’s now standing by the bed, her wide eyes darting curiously between me and Jon. “Why is Doctor Jon in your bed?” she asks innocently, tilting her head as Mr Fluffers dangles from her grasp.
I jolt upright, clutching the duvet tightly around me. My abrupt movement earns me a groggy “Ow,” from Jon as my elbow finds his ribs.
“Layla is here!” I hiss in a whisper that’s more panic than stealth.
“I am here,” Layla chimes in like she wants to share our secret.
“Shit,” Jon mutters, sitting bolt upright. He shifts behind me, trying to shield himself with the duvet, his eyes now wide with alarm.
“You said a bad word!” Layla giggles, pointing at him like she’s caught him committing a grand crime.
Jon and I exchange horrified glances, the kind that scream we’re doomed.
“Layla,” I try, my voice calm but pleading, “why don’t you go and, uh, play?”
“Did you have a sleepover?” she asks instead, ignoring my suggestion entirely.
“Yes,” Jon answers just as I blurt out, “No!”
I whip my head around to glare at him. His raised eyebrows and faint smirk only make me more flustered.
Layla doesn’t miss a beat, her grin widening as she clutches Mr Fluffers to her chest. “I love sleepovers with you, Mummy! We watch cartoons and cuddle, and you read me stories. What story did you read Doctor Jon?”
Jon’s smirk grows, and I shoot him a warning look. “Don’t even think about it,” I whisper.
“Why aren’t you wearing pyjamas?” Layla continues, her eyes narrowing in confusion.
I bury my face in my hands, mortification washing over me in waves. “Layla, I really need you to go and play now so Doctor Jon and I can get dressed. We’ll talk over breakfast, okay?”
“Okay!” she chirps, skipping toward the door.
But before she leaves, she calls over her shoulder, “Here are your trousers, Doctor Jon!” She picks up the rolled-up jeans from next to the door .
“Layla!” I call but before I can scramble out of bed, grabbing the blanket from the chair to wrap around myself, the doorbell chimes.
“I’ll get that,” Layla shouts and dashes off with Jon’s jeans in her hand.
“Brilliant,” I mutter under my breath, because apparently, this morning couldn’t get any worse.
Jon collapses back against the pillows with a groan, dragging the duvet over his head. “Fantastic timing,” he mumbles, his voice muffled.
I grab my robe from the bathroom and fling it on as I rush down the stairs to the door. My toe collides painfully with the corner of the bench in the entrance hall, and I mutter a few choice words under my breath as I limp toward the front door. It’s a good thing there were no other guests staying last night.
By the time I open it, Layla is already there, proudly holding Jon’s jeans like a prized trophy. Standing on the doorstep is Nancy, her arms crossed and a knowing smirk plastered across her face.
“Morning!” she chirps. “Thought I’d pop by a bit early to pick you two up for the farmers market.”
“We overslept,” I blurt out, pulling the robe tighter around me.
Nancy’s eyebrows shoot up as her gaze lands on Jon’s trousers in Layla’s hands. “Looks like I missed an interesting evening.”
“Mummy had a sleepover with Doctor Jon!” Layla announces cheerfully.
I feel my face heat up so fast it’s a wonder I don’t pass out on the spot. Nancy, however, looks like she’s just been handed the gossip of the year .
“Why don’t I help Layla get ready while you...” Nancy pauses meaningfully, her smirk growing, “...and Doctor Jon sort yourselves out?”
“Great idea,” I mutter quickly, trying to snatch the trousers from Layla but she cunningly steps out of reach. I so don’t need this right now.
Layla looks up at Nancy with wide, hopeful eyes. “Can Doctor Jon come with us to the farmers market?”
Nancy grins like the cat that got the cream. “Of course, sweetheart. The more, the merrier.”
Before I can protest, Layla is already dashing back up the stairs toward the bedroom, her giggles trailing behind her.
“Layla, wait!” I call after her, but it’s too late.
From upstairs, I hear a loud thud, followed by Jon’s unmistakable groan and a muttered curse.
“You said a bad word again, Doctor Jon!” Layla shouts gleefully. “And banged your toe!”
I cringe, pressing my fingers to my temples as Nancy stifles a laugh beside me. “Morning chaos suits you,” she teases.
By the time I step into the bedroom, Jon is sitting on the edge of the mattress, his face twisted in a mix of resignation and disbelief. He’s in nothing but his boxers, one hand massaging his foot and the other holding a corner of the duvet he clearly tried—and failed—to hide under.
Layla, meanwhile, is bouncing on her toes in front of him, his jeans in her hand, grinning like she’s just discovered the world’s best secret.
“Give him his trousers, Layla,” I say firmly, trying to inject some authority into the situation.
“But he hasn’t said please,” she counters, her mischievous giggles bubbling over .
Jon exhales a long, defeated sigh before looking at her. “Please, Layla?”
Satisfied, she hands over the trousers, then skips back down the stairs toward Nancy, announcing loudly, “Doctor Jon is coming with us to the farmers market!”
Jon tugs his trousers on with as much dignity as he can muster before fixing me with an exasperated stare. “What exactly was I supposed to do?” he asks dryly.
“Make up an excuse!” I hiss, throwing my hands up.
He smirks, leaning back against the headboard. “Not exactly how I imagined waking up this morning. I’m stressed out and it’s not even eight.”
“You’re stressed out?” I snap, my voice rising. “I have to explain this to my six-year-old, deal with Nancy’s smug grin for the next week, and somehow survive the farmers market without Layla announcing to everyone we meet that she found you in my bed.”
Jon tilts his head thoughtfully, his smirk deepening. “Just tell them I stayed over for bedtime stories.”
I groan, sinking onto the mattress. “I’m tired again.”
He chuckles, finally standing to pull on his shirt. “Welcome to the club.”
The farmer’s market is buzzing with life, the air filled with the warm scent of freshly baked bread, the sharp tang of cider, and the earthy aroma of fresh produce. Layla skips ahead of us, her little hand occasionally darting out to point at a stall selling colourful jams or a table piled high with honeycomb.
Jon walks at my side, his hands tucked into his jacket pockets, looking far more at ease than I expected after this morning’s debacle. Meanwhile, Nancy has taken up her usual spot on my other side, casting frequent, curious glances at him.
“So, Jon,” Nancy says casually, though I can hear the mischief in her voice. “What’s next for you? I mean, after your Yorkshire retreat. Heading back to save the world, or do you have a less dramatic plan in mind?”
“Nancy,” I warn lightly, shooting her a look. But Jon surprises me by smiling faintly, his expression calm.
“I haven’t decided yet,” he says. “Still working that out.”
Nancy grins, undeterred. “Working it out, hmm? Sounds like a man with options. Do any of them involve staying in a picturesque little hamlet with, say, a charming B&B owner?”
My cheeks flush, and I nearly trip over a loose cobblestone. “Nancy!” I hiss, but she waves me off with an innocent shrug.
Jon chuckles, the sound low and relaxed. “Not sure that St Claire is ready for me as a permanent resident,” he says. “I’m more comfortable being a guest.”
“That’s a shame,” Nancy presses, clearly enjoying herself. “I think you’d do quite well here. Quiet life, fresh air, lovely company…”
“Don’t you have some jam to buy?” I cut in, trying to steer her toward a nearby stall.
“I’m just saying,” Nancy says, holding up her hands in mock surrender. “A man like Jon could settle in nicely. Don’t you think, Abby? ”
“Stop it,” I mutter, feeling the heat creep further up my neck.
To my surprise, Jon doesn’t look remotely annoyed. If anything, he seems to find Nancy’s antics amusing. “I’ll keep that in mind,” he says dryly, his tone making it clear he’s playing along but not giving much away.
Nancy narrows her eyes at him, studying him like he’s a particularly tricky puzzle. “You’re awfully calm under interrogation,” she remarks. “Most people squirm.”
“I’ve had worse,” Jon replies, his lips twitching as if he’s holding back a grin. “This is nothing.”
“Is that so?” Nancy arches a brow, clearly intrigued. “Well, in that case, what’s the most unexpected thing about being here? Don’t tell me it’s the food.”
Jon glances at me then, just for a moment, before answering. “The people,” he says simply.
Nancy pauses, caught off guard for once, and I seize the moment to tug her toward the honey stall Layla’s been ogling. “Come on, Nancy,” I say, trying to change the subject. “Let’s get that honey you love so much.”
As she lets herself be dragged away, Nancy throws one last glance over her shoulder at Jon. “You’re full of surprises, Doctor Jon. I like it.”
Jon’s quiet chuckle follows us, and I can’t help glancing back at him myself, catching the way his gaze lingers on me for just a second longer than necessary.
Something in my chest tightens—but I push it aside, focusing instead on Layla’s delighted squeal as she samples a spoonful of honey.
Nancy might have been teasing, but for the first time in a long time, I wonder if there’s a part of me that doesn’t mind the idea of him sticking around.