Chapter Sixteen
The windows of The Gables caught the soft gold of early evening.
Lydia paused in the hallway, smoothing the skirt of her green dress, listening to the hum of voices drifting from the kitchen where Mark and Lorna were already chatting.
The house felt alive — warm, bright, full — a far cry from the ivy-choked silence she had first walked into only weeks ago.
The doorbell rang.
Her stomach fluttered, but she smiled as she opened the door.
The Parker family filled the doorstep in a slightly chaotic procession, with William at the front and Sam and Jean bringing up the rear. William held a large ceramic plate covered in foil. His dark grey jumper suited him — simple, steady, quietly handsome in a way Lydia tried not to linger on.
“Evening, Lydia,” he said, offering a small, genuine smile. “We brought Ethan’s birthday cake. He thought it would be good to share. And my mother insisted a housewarming is incomplete without baked goods, so… the rest of last night’s creations.”
Warmth bloomed in Lydia’s chest. “Jean is right. Come in, all of you.”
As William handed her the plate, their fingers brushed the rim. A tiny, ordinary moment — but something in his eyes softened, a silent thank you for including his family. Lydia held his gaze for a heartbeat before stepping aside.
From behind him, Sophie Parker watched her with a curious, slightly puzzled expression. Lydia offered a small smile, but the little girl ducked half behind Mia. New house, new people — nothing unusual.
Inside, the house quickly filled with the comfortable bustle of the village. Mark hovered around Lorna like an anxious border collie.
“Sit down for five minutes,” he murmured, guiding her toward a chair she clearly had no intention of using.
“I’m pregnant, Mark,” she said, rolling her eyes affectionately. “Not made of glass.”
Lydia hid a smile as she passed them, topping up drinks. She loved this version of her brother — earnest, over-attentive, fussing because he cared too much. Lorna brushed his hand away with a smile tugging at her mouth.
Ben and Julie Carter were laughing about something James had said, and the whole room hummed with that soft, familiar village warmth Lydia had missed more than she realised.
Ollie made a beeline for the snack table the moment he spotted it, and Jake plodded after him, proudly showing Mrs Rowcroft his red toy car. Ethan drifted toward the older teens, chatting easily. The house felt full in the best possible way.
The girls remained close together, quietly observing the room. Lydia gave them space, trusting they would join in when they were ready.
When William came into the kitchen, he nodded toward the tray of glasses.
“Need a hand?”
“Please.”
They carried it through together, falling into an easy, companionable rhythm. Across the room, Sophie was watching them again, her expression thoughtful.
The evening unfolded smoothly. Conversations wove through the rooms. Laughter rose and fell.
Lydia moved between guests, topping up drinks, checking on the food, making sure everyone felt welcome.
Every now and then, she caught sight of William talking with James Fellows, his shoulders relaxed, his expression lighter than she had ever seen it. It made her unexpectedly glad.
The boys certainly seemed to enjoy themselves — Ollie especially, who had discovered the sausage rolls and was treating them as a personal challenge. Jake eventually curled up on the sofa beside Jean, who stroked his hair with grandmotherly tenderness.
By nine o’clock, the party began to wind down. Lydia walked the Parkers to the door, the cool evening air brushing her skin as she stepped onto the doorstep.
“Goodnight, Sophie. Goodnight, Mia,” she said warmly.
Mia gave a polite nod. Sophie murmured something too soft to catch, her gaze fixed on the gravel.
“Thank you for having us,” William said, turning back with a small smile. “The physics of the house held up perfectly.”
Lydia laughed. “Anytime, William.”
She watched them walk down the illuminated path toward the hedge, their silhouettes framed by the soft glow of the porch light. The children clustered around their father, sleepy after two late nights. It made her heart ache in a way she didn’t quite understand.
Inside, the last of the candlelight flickered against the cream walls. The house was quiet again, but not empty. Not anymore.
Still, as Lydia closed the door, a faint question tugged at her.
Had she done something to make the girls uncomfortable?
She hoped — truly hoped — she hadn’t. Because tonight had felt like a beginning. A soft one. A hopeful one. And she wanted to believe it would continue.