Stranded Hearts: Small Town Sweethearts, #2

By Jessica Ames

Rhys Hale is a first-class jerk. Everything about him makes Zara's head want to explode. When he comes to her village, intending to put a huge development in the middle of it, the gauntlet is thrown down. The last thing she expected was for nature to play dirty and get stuck with him.

Zara might be the most annoying woman on the planet. She's obnoxious, full of herself and doesn't understand a small thing called progress. The last thing Rhys wants is to be trapped in this two-bit back water hamlet with her.

But stranded together and with no way out of the village, they have no choice but to work as a team. Can they overcome their feelings and find their way to love...

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jessica Ames
• Release date: Oct 29, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393088660

Book preview

Small Town Sweethearts

Copyright © 2020 by Jessica Ames

www.jessicaamesauthor.com

All rights reserved.

Match Me Perfect & Stranded Hearts is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination and are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or establishments is solely coincidental.

Editing by Charisse Sayers

Proofreading by Gem’s Precise Proofreads & Paige Sayer Proofreading

Cover design by Najla Qamber Designs

Please note this book contains material aimed at an adult audience, including sex, violence and bad language.

All rights reserved. Except as permitted under Copyright Act 1911 and the Copyright Act 1988, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior express, written consent of the author.

This book is covered under the United Kingdom’s Copyright Laws. For more information visit: www.gov.uk/copyright/overview.

CONTENTS

Match Me Perfect

1. Callum

2. Sadie

3. Callum

4. Sadie

5. Callum

6. Sadie

7. Callum

8. Sadie

9. Callum

10. Sadie

11. Callum

12. Sadie

13. Callum

14. Sadie

15. Callum

16. Sadie

17. Callum

18. Sadie

19. Callum

20. Sadie

21. Callum

22. Sadie

23. Callum

24. Sadie

25. Callum

26. Sadie

27. Callum

28. Sadie

29. Callum

30. Sadie

31. Callum

32. Sadie

33. Callum

34. Sadie

35. Callum

36. Sadie

37. Callum

38. Sadie

39. Callum

40. Sadie

41. Callum

42. Sadie

43. Callum

44. Sadie

45. Callum

46. Sadie

47. Callum

48. Sadie

Epilogue

Stranded Hearts

1. Zara

2. Rhys

3. Zara

4. Rhys

5. Zara

6. Rhys

7. Zara

8. Rhys

9. Zara

10. Rhys

11. Zara

12. Rhys

13. Zara

14. Rhys

15. Zara

16. Rhys

17. Zara

18. Rhys

19. Zara

Epilogue

About the Author

Forsaking His Mate

Snared Rider

MATCH ME PERFECT

To Amanda, without whom this story would not exist. Thank you for always making me laugh.

1

CALLUM

Another wave crashes over the bow of the Scarlet Rose and her entire front end disappears into the murkiness of the water. The momentum throws me forward onto the control panel and I have to grab on to keep my footing.

Jesus, this storm is picking up. We need to sail out of it and head back towards the coastline and the calmer waters. This whole run has been one disaster after another. I can’t wait to get my feet back on dry land.

I can’t wait to get home.

Her face drifts into my mind for a moment and my chest aches. We need to talk, to sort things out and I just hope she’s going to let me talk to her. I don’t like how we left things.

My thoughts are cut short. I’m thrown across the cabin as the boat suddenly lurches to one side. My body slams into one of the panels and fire goes through my ribs and pain explodes through my head.

Cal! Hands are on me suddenly, steadying me, trying to help me. Alex’s worried face swims into my blurred vision as I try to focus. He’s soaked to the skin, his raincoat dripping, his hair too. Can you stand?

I swallow painfully and nod, even though I don’t think I can. Where’s Mace? Tanner? My voice sounds ravaged.

They’re on deck still, he tells me as he drags me to my feet.

I can’t stop the groan that escapes my mouth. Jesus, that hurt.

Alex reaches behind him and grabs a pile of paper towels which he presses against my head. Hold this.

The boat⁠—

Will be fine. Let’s just stop you bleeding first.

The boat won’t be fine. We’re being pounded by the waves which is dangerous as hell. God knows how far off course we are now and fuck knows how long we’ve been drifting for. The thought of drifting in open water makes my stomach fill with ice. There are so many risks, so many dangers with losing control of a boat, and out here, this far out, help is going to be too far away to do anything.

We need to get them off the deck, I tell him, pushing past him.

Mentally, I try to remember where we were the last time I looked at the navigation system, but thinking makes my head pound harder, so I stop.

Anything not tied down is rolling around the floor as the boat rocks on the waves. I ignore the way it makes my stomach roil as I make a beeline for my crew. I have good sea legs, but even I’m not immune to this amount of movement.

Mace and Tanner are trying in vain to secure the lines.

This storm is picking up, Mace yells over the wind. We’ve got to get out of it.

I open my mouth to agree when a wave rolls over the boat. I can’t draw in air as I get a face full of water. My feet go from under me and my legs and side are battered as I hit the stuff on the deck.

Then I’m in the water.

And not the water on deck. I’m in the ocean.

It happens so fast I barely have time to register what is going on. The first inkling I have that I’m in trouble is when I’m fully submerged—fully submerged in the North Atlantic.

The cold hits me like a blast, and I gasp. This is a bad idea because I swallow a lungful of salt water as I’m pulled down by the swirling waves. I feel as if I have a ten-ton weight attached to my feet as I’m battered by the turbulent water.

I need to break the surface. I need to get air into my lungs.

My chest burns as I try to kick my feet to swim to the surface, but the water is like treacle and my body isn’t responding as I want.

I’m going to die…

I don’t want to die.

I don’t want to leave her. I don’t want to leave her feeling the same pain I had after Mara died.

I can’t.

I need to survive, but everything hurts and it’s so dark under the water. I try to kick my legs but I don’t know if I’m moving or not. My body feels detached and everything is fuzzy. My vision, which had been darkening, fades out completely.

2

SADIE

NINE MONTHS EARLIER…

The dress is beautiful. It has a sweeping sweetheart neckline, with a diamond encrusted waistband and a satin bodice. The skirt flares at the hips into ripples of ivory material and there are small pearls sewn among the intricate embroidery. It’s coupled with a stunning lace veil held in place by a silver diamond slide, and a pair of beautiful satin ivory high heels that are to die for.

It is a dress that little girls grow up dreaming about wearing on their wedding day, it’s a dress I dreamed about wearing on my wedding day and it’s a dress I should have been walking up the aisle wearing about ten minutes ago.

Sades? Please… say something.

The pleading timbre of his voice makes my teeth grind so hard I worry about the enamel, but I don’t say something. Or anything, in fact. Instead, I keep my gaze locked on my hands, which are clenched in my lap. Mostly so I don’t reach over and strangle him, although I’m starting to think it would be worth the jail time.

Sadie… He tries again and this time I snap my gaze up.

My eyes must be heated because he recoils a little before he straightens and reclaims his control.

I know you’re upset…

I stare at him, at this man I have devoted the past five years of my life to, a man I thought I would devote the next forty plus years to, and try to see past the film of red anger clouding my vision. It’s not an easy task because all I want to do is throttle him. It would be so easy to just reach out and wrap my fingers around his stupid neck and squeeze⁠—

Seriously, darling, please talk to me.

I can’t hold my tongue any longer. My anger, which I have been keeping a tight hold of, bursts out of me.

And what precisely would you like me to say, Richard? I demand. That I’m so happy you had this epiphany with a hundred and fifty of our friends and family sitting in the church, waiting for our wedding ceremony to kick off? I hiss.

He winces. I’m sorry⁠—

So you keep saying, I cut him off and glance towards the window.

It looks out over the lawn were the marquee is set up—the marquee that was set up in case the good old British summer did its usual act of turning into autumn and delivering a downpour midway through the day. Given the blue skies and the bright sunshine this doesn’t seem likely. In fact, it’s perfect wedding weather, which makes this entire conversation all the more ironic because nothing about this day has been perfect so far.

I really don’t know what else I can say, Richard tells me in a soft, nearly inaudible voice. Is it not better to know now than a year or two into it, when we’re both miserable and at each other’s throats?

Logically, the answer is yes, but sitting in the venue’s backroom—which is not only a store room but also doubles as the wedding planner’s office—wearing a wedding dress that cost an arm, leg and a foot, my hair styled and my make-up professionally applied, I can’t help but think no, it’s not fucking better.

What would have been better, Richard, is if you had thought this six months ago—before we even got to this stage.

My barbed words hide the physical pain blooming in my chest and I can’t help but rub at my sternum. It doesn’t disperse it. In fact, it does nothing. The pain is still there, still as fresh and getting worse by the moment. How can he do this to me? On today, of all days. Any day would be bad enough, but doing it today is tantamount to cruelty.

He rubs the back of his neck, a gesture that tells me just how uncomfortable he is with this conversation. Richard is not a man who likes confrontation—never has been. He’s only so high up in the corporate world because his father owns his company. Richard would never have made it in the real world. It’s a bitter, nasty thought, but it’s also true.

I thought we could… work through it, he says wretchedly and I scoff at him.

You thought we could work through this? How, precisely?

I should have known something was wrong when he accosted me outside the venue before the ceremony. It’s bad luck to see me, I’d hissed at him. A stupid old superstition was the least of my problems. He hadn’t met my gaze as he’d asked to speak to me in private. At that point, my brain had come to the conclusion something was wrong—seriously wrong—but my heart had been riding the high of the day, refusing to see the huge metaphorical raincloud hanging over my head. It also, stupidly, refused to believe this man, the love of my life, could ever do a thing to hurt me. How wrong was I?

Richard destroyed me with a matter of words. And he continues to tear away at the thin layers holding together what is left of me.

I don’t know. He looks miserable, as if he would rather be anywhere else but here.

Truthfully, I’m astounded he even approached me about this. Richard is the kind of man who would stay in a loveless marriage to avoid the argument—or so I thought. Clearly, I underestimated my fiancé.

How long have you been feeling this way? I demand to know and from the way he flinches I realise this is not a recent revelation. My heart sinks.

Since my birthday, he admits, albeit grudgingly, and this time it is my stomach that drops. How oblivious am I?

That was seven fucking months ago.

Don’t swear— he starts to chastise, but I’m not in the mood for one of his sermons on being ladylike. Ladylike can take a fucking hike.

You’ve had doubts for seven-bloody-months?

Language, Sadie!

I ignore his request to stop swearing. Fuck him, and the horse he rode in on.

He lets out a long, suffering breath, his fingers raking through his dark hair. I love his hair—loved his hair. It’s one of his best features. At least it was. Looking at him now, I can see nothing attractive about him. His nose is too straight and too rounded, his jaw is weak and his eyes are too small. And the tight line of his mouth only irritates me.

I didn’t want to upset you. At my look, which must be positively murderous, he adds, "Believe it or not, Sadie, there is a part of me that does love you. I’m just not in love with you."

It sounds like semantics to me, but who am I to argue with whatever nonsense is going on in his head.

Is this some sort of midlife crisis? I ask, even though both of us are in our early-thirties and nowhere near that stage yet.

We have a good life together—a beautiful home in Chelsea, high-flying jobs, good families… everything was set. Although clearly I’m a first-class idiot because while I thought everything was going swimmingly well, my husband-to-be was planning how to leave me standing at the altar.

Of course not. I just… I don’t think I want this anymore.

I nod, clasping my hands together in my lap as a numbness settles through me. I feel devoid of any emotion, incapable of feeling anything.

Right.

He doesn’t want me, and God does that steal the breath from my lungs. How did I read this whole thing so wrong? How did I think everything was so perfect? I was talking about flowers and bridesmaid dresses and catering while he was considering whether he wanted to be with me at all. I’m such a fool.

You don’t seem overly upset, he observes.

I snap my gaze to him as my rage flares again.

Oh, I’m upset, Richard. I want to strangle you right now and then dissolve into a puddle of tears but there is no chance I am walking out of here with my head held anything but high.

I push up out of the wedding planner’s desk chair, grabbing handfuls of my oversized skirts so I don’t trip, and brush past him.

Where are you going? he demands to know.

I stop at the door and stare at the old wood. It’s hardwood, possibly oak, and pockmarked from use over the years. The age of the barn building was something that drew us to it—the rustic beams and old brickwork, the quaint gardens and the beautiful gazebo that looks over a manmade lake. We’d both loved the fact the main floor where the ceremony was to be held looked out over the water—a main floor that is currently filled with guests.

I’m going home. You can tell everyone out there why.

I push the door open and heft up my skirts, stepping back out into the ceremony hall. I can hear the voices of our friends and family—no doubt trying to work out why the hell the groom shooed away the bridesmaids and my stepfather before dragging me off.

Sadie! Richard’s voice carries in the open space, the high beamed ceilings making it echo loudly.

All eyes come to us as our guests swivel in their chairs to get a front row seat of our drama. I see my mother standing near the front with Henry and my half-sister Lilliana. They start moving towards us and their concerned eyes make my stomach twist. I can’t stay strong with them in my space and I need to stay strong because falling apart is not what Greenwood women do, and I’m not about to shred the last of my dignity in front of everyone I know.

So, I turn towards the main doors of the venue.

Don’t leave like this, he says, grabbing my arm in an attempt to halt me. You’re too upset to be out there alone.

The sentiment is almost laughable, only I don’t feel much like laughing.

I roll to my toes, and hiss in his face, Fuck you, Richard.

Then I hoist my skirts and I rush from the wedding venue.

3

CALLUM

The air is choppy this morning, breezy but not enough to indicate a storm might be readying to blow through. It’s not optimum weather to be out on the open sea, but it’s not bad enough to keep us in port either. Truthfully, we’d be out there even if the weather was bad, so long as it’s not on the dangerous end of the scale. If we don’t go out, we don’t make money, simple as that, but we can’t make money if we sink the boat by heading into bad waters either, so we have to be sensible. As the captain—or skipper—it’s my job to keep me and my three-man crew safe.

Today should be a relatively easy run, providing the weather holds as it is. We’ll need to track where the fish are and then catch as much as we can before they move on again. The more fish we catch, the more money we’ll make at the end of the day when we hit the markets with our haul.

Fishing is in my blood. I’ve been fishing since I was sixteen-years-old and I don’t know how to do anything else. In fact, it’s my family legacy: my grandfather, Father and Uncle used to own the boat—the first version of the Scarlet Rose—but after Grandad died and Dad and Sam hung up their nets, me and my cousin, Alex, took over the business.

The open water is my home. There’s something calming about the sea, although I’m also all too aware of its power as well. A healthy respect for the ocean keeps you coming home at the end of each day. Forgetting she can destroy you is a sure-fire way to get into serious trouble.

And that means the moment I step on the Scarlet Rose I need to have my head in the game. Being distracted can lead to dire consequences—permanent consequences. Since I have my life, Alex’s life and the other two crew members, Mason and Tanner, in my hands I need to keep my focus.

Concern that I’m not focused today is probably why my former brother-in-law keeps shooting me stink-eye from the stern of the boat where he’s loading supplies into the lockers on the deck. It’s mine and Mara’s wedding anniversary today; a painful reminder to us all that she’s gone before her time. Usually, I would be a wreck, but with every year that passes those feelings get less acute.

Mace thinks I can’t see him watching me, but I can feel his eyes boring into my back, practically stripping the flesh off my shoulders. I know why he’s worried and for that reason I shouldn’t be annoyed, but it’s getting old. Fast. I know how to do my job, and there isn’t a chance in hell I’d step one foot on this boat if I couldn’t do it. Mace knows this—so do Alex and Tanner—so his watching me like a hawk for the past twenty minutes is irritating. If he doesn’t stop I may smack him.

I head towards the stern of the boat, stacking up the supplies we’re going to need for today’s trip in front of him to load into the lockers. As I drop the boxes, I straighten and decide the best approach is to clear the air and clear it fast. I don’t want this festering over us while we’re out in the water.

If you’ve got something to say, then spit it out already.

Mason gives me a look that suggests innocence, but I’m not stupid; I’ve known him all his life—even before I married his sister; I can read him better than he can read himself.

Mace is three years younger than Mara and is also from a long line of fishermen. He’s a bloody good deckhand although he and Alex fight more than an old married couple. I feel for Tanner who gets stuck listening to their bullshit.

But I’ve worked with Mace for years, meaning his anxiety is pissing me off even more. He knows I’m careful.

I don’t have anything to say, he tells me.

I cock a brow at him.

You’ve been looking at me like you think I’m going to break since we started loading the boat.

To his credit, he does look a little sheepish. His hand goes to the back of his neck, rubbing as he straightens from his crouch. This brings him to his full height, which is, annoyingly, at least four inches taller than my five foot ten. He’s always enjoyed this fact, given I’m also older than him.

I’m not giving you looks. I’m just… He meets my gaze and sighs. I’d understand if you need to take the day off. We all would. He indicates Tanner and Alex, the former who is studiously ignoring our conversation by seeming consumed with checking the lines, and the latter who is glaring at Mace as if he can maim him with a look. If I don’t get control of this situation fast I’m going to have a fight on my hands.

I let out a calming breath. I don’t need to take a day off because I’m fine.

I know you’re fine but⁠—

But nothing, I interrupt. I’m fine. You have nothing to worry about. Maybe you should take a day off instead.

I’m not the skipper.

He said he’s fine. Alex steps in, growling his words and inwardly I sigh.

My cousin might be younger than me, but he’s always had that protective streak when it comes to family, and he and Mace don’t exactly see eye to eye.

I’m not worried, Cal.

If you aren’t worried, Alex mutters, then why in the hell are you bringing it up?

Mason turns to my cousin, his expression irritated. What’s this got to do with you?

I could ask you the same thing.

I hold up a hand, stopping their argument before it gets started. Alex, chill. Mace, I’m fine, okay?

He sighs, his gaze going out over the bay. The passenger ferry is docked near to the boat at the moorings, but won’t go out for another two hours, meaning we’re the only people at the dock. This is not unusual; we’re usually the only idiots up this early in the day.

Behind us, Kildirk rises against the backdrop of the sea, and the mainland can just about be made out on the horizon to the north of us, even through the early morning thin layer of mist.

After a moment, Mace brings his gaze back to me. Mum said⁠—

I can imagine what she said, I interrupt, and I can. Loretta, my former mother-in-law, is a bigger worrier than my own mother. But I’m fine. No way in hell would I be out here if I wasn’t, and you know that. My focus is on this job.

And that is the truth. I would never risk the lives of others. That he would even suggest it pisses me off.

Just finish loading the boat, yeah? I turn on my heel and head back to the dock to grab more supplies.

I know Mace means well. I know they all do, but I don’t need to be coddled. It’s been six years. Does it hurt still? Yeah, it does. There are days when my heart feels void, and there are days when I feel whole, but I can’t keep living in the past. It’s exhausting. I loved Mara; I still do, but she’s gone and life… it goes on. Do I wish she were still here? Of course, but I can’t change the facts. I can’t bring her back and I’m tired of living in the past.

When I bring the next lot of boxes up to deck, Mace looks a little unsure.

I didn’t mean to piss you off, man, he tells me. I just wanted to make sure you’re okay.

I drop the boxes and sigh. Sometimes, I feel like the entire island has put me under the shadow of the past and won’t let me come out from under it. How long am I expected to play the grieving widower?

It’s fine. You didn’t piss me off.

Mace’s gaze is distant. I just miss her. Every fucking day, I expect she’s going to come home, you know?

And I do, because I expected that too for a long time.

I put a hand to his shoulder and squeeze it, hoping this reassures him. Let’s finish loading and go make some money.

Mace gives me a tight smile but doesn’t say anything more. We finish loading and get the boat out into the open water, using the onboard radar equipment to search for schools of fish. I’m manning the controls while Tanner and Mace hover at the stern, watching the water.

Alex enters the cabin and hands me a flask of coffee. I murmur my thanks and expect him to head back out onto the deck, but he doesn’t.

I wait for him to gather his thoughts enough to speak, and it takes him a moment to collect them.

His eyes dart over my face, eyes that are similar to mine but different too. He definitely inherited mainly Vanstone genes.

They expect you to mourn her forever. It’s not right.

They just miss her. And they do. Mara was loved by everyone, not just me.

Alex nods then says, Mara’s gone, Cal. You’re still here. If you don’t live your life you might as well have died with her.

And with that parting shot, he leaves the cabin.

He’s not wrong though, and I know it. The thing is I’m ready to move on with my life; I’ve been ready for a while, but I know even entertaining the thought of it is going to lead to some backlash.

4

SADIE

My father died when I was six years old. It was sudden, completely out of the blue and utterly devastating. He had a massive heart attack in his sleep one night. He kissed my mother goodnight, closed his eyes and never woke up again. That scared the hell out of me enough to develop a sleep disorder throughout most of my teenage years. Even now, I find sleep difficult.

I’m now thirty-one and my father has been gone for twenty-five years. As each year passes my memory of him becomes hazier, like a photograph left in the sun to fade. I wish I could hold onto those memories of him for longer, but in time I know I will have lost it all.

And that is how I feel about Richard. There are days when I remember his touch vividly, but there are others when I can barely recall how it felt to be in his arms. He is a ghost in my life, a stain on my history.

Jilted.

It’s a horrible word. It’s one that is now synonymous with my name in our social circle. I will forever be ‘Jilted Sadie’. The humiliation and devastation will never leave me. There is a hole in my heart and a heavy feeling in my gut that no amount of time can heal.

Rejection is hard enough; public rejection is a whole other ball game.

It’s been three months since he told me those terrible words: I don’t want to marry you. It feels longer, yet the pain is stronger. Time is supposed to be a healer. For me, this has not been the case. I hope it will lessen because I can’t imagine feeling this way forever. Everything feels smaller, less colourful without him. I know I should hate him for what he did, and a part of me does, but mostly I just miss him.

I hate coming home alone, going to bed alone, waking up alone. I hate being Sadie, and not Sadie and Richard. And I hate that I hate that. I should want to cut his balls off and feed them to him; my friends had heatedly threatened that—and worse. But what I feel for him is at odds with what they think I should feel for him.

And everyone seems to have an opinion on this.

The funny thing about people is they will let you grieve in the open for a time, then they stop listening. It’s funny how compassion has a shelf-life. My window to feel upset about Richard has come and gone. I had a month’s grace. Then the eye rolls started.

So I stopped talking about Richard, but I didn’t stop feeling. I don’t know that I’ll ever stop. It feels some days like he died. It would have been easier if he had. I know I should move on but it isn’t that simple. My friends and my family tell me it’s his loss, as if that makes me feel better. It doesn’t. If anything it makes me feel worse because if I was such a great catch he would have stayed. He didn’t.

And before I can take a further trip into self-pity city, I slide the box I’m carrying onto the kitchen counter.

My new flat in Islington is a world away from the apartment I shared with Richard in Chelsea, an apartment I packed up the day after his big announcement in the wedding venue.

It is a tiny one-bed boho place in need of some serious redecorating, something I’m looking forward to trying my hand at. My mother nearly had a coronary when she walked through the front door. It’s not particularly in the best street, nor are my neighbours exactly what my mother deems ‘the right kind of people’. She demanded I come home with her immediately and when I refused she threw a small wobbler and insisted Henry call someone out to fix the locks. My stepfather was all too happy to oblige. I don’t think he was any less pleased by my new digs. I, on the other hand, love it. Okay, so it’s a little rough around the edges and it definitely would benefit from a couple of throw cushions—not to mention a plasterer—to give it a homey feel, but it’s reasonably priced and close to the Tube station. It’s also far enough away from my old stomping ground that I don’t run the risk of running into my ex or any of his arsehole friends.

As I slide a box onto the kitchen counter, I can’t help but feel like this is the start of something, and for the first time in months I feel like a piece of my heart has been repaired. Not the whole heart—that may never happen—but some of the cracks have been fixed and papered over.

I’m really not sure about you staying here, Sadie, my mother says as she emerges from the bedroom. It’s off the main living area, which is smaller than her dressing room.

I’ll be fine, I tell her with a slight roll of my eyes.

I love my mother, but she is a little overprotective at times, and while I appreciate her looking out for me, she also needs to understand I’m an adult—an adult who was on the cusp of getting married and setting up my own family just a few short months ago. Sometimes, I think she forgets that. Then again, I wasn’t exactly level after the wedding. I probably acted half-crazed and in need of protecting.

But I’m better now—I’m dealing—and I just want to get back on with my life. Richard devastated me, but I won’t allow him to have any more of me than he already has. I need to find Sadie again and discover who Sadie is without Richard. I can’t do that living under my mother’s roof. I need to be independent.

I don’t doubt you’ll be fine; you’re a Greenwood, after all, but that doesn’t mean I’m still not worried. This place is barely fit for habitation.

It’s fine, Mum.

Henry sighs as he deposits another box on the floor by the cooker and brushes his thick hank of salt and pepper hair back from his forehead. He’s wearing slacks and a polo shirt—his idea of casual. I don’t think Henry owns a pair of jeans. In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever seen denim near him—or my mother for that matter. I, on the other hand, am a jeans and baggy jumper kind of gal.

I can’t say I’m happy about you going, love. It’s been nice having you at home with us.

His words warm me to the core. Henry may not be blood, but he is family. The only thing that stops me calling him dad is respect for my late father.

It’s been nice staying, but it’s time to get back to real life. I can’t just hide out there forever.

He scoffs at my words. You’re not hiding, Sades. You were regrouping.

And this is why I love my stepfather—because he is always in my corner, no matter what. But I was hiding a little. Their house is an hour’s train ride outside of London—far enough away from the gossip mill for me to regain my strength without scrutiny but near enough I could commute into work, when I finally returned that was. Plus, I didn’t really have a choice. I was technically homeless after the wedding debacle since there was no chance in hell I was going back to the apartment. But I love Henry for saying that.

Well, now it’s time to regroup in the real world.

You say that as if we’re not in the real world, Mum