Fred turned and smiled. “Yeah.”
“A little big-headed maybe,” Bella ventured.
“I think a lot of it is front.”
“Uh-huh. Did you kiss him yet?”
“Mum!”
“What? I saw the two of you sneaking off into the woods, don’t tell me you were just showing him the flora and fauna…in the dark.”
Her daughter’s cheeks colored, and she laughed. “Actually, I was telling him the history of the land. But he did kiss me on the cheek.”
“Goodness! How bold,” Bella teased, and Fred laughed.
“Not every date has to end with underwear bursting into flames, Mother.”
“But it’s better when it does.” Bella waggled her eyebrows.
Fred rolled her eyes. “Night, Mum.”
“Good night, darling.”
Bella waited until Fred was in her bedroom before going back into the kitchen and sitting on the chair where Liam had sat, splaying her hands out on the table where his fingers would have touched the grain, as though some echo of him might have been absorbed into the wood. She closed her eyes. Sometimes her longing was such dull, persistent agony, she marveled that she wasn’t being eroded like the weather-beaten cliffs outside.Please, she silently begged the universe.If we aren’t meant to be together, please make this feeling stop.
12
Fred
Monday, December 2
Warren’s travel piece about thePine Bluff Christmas Market was published in the Sunday edition of theDaily News, which happened to fall on December the first. It was a glowing review, full of affection for the place and the people, with the fulsome recommendation that anyone wanting to “experience the kind of holiday magic you thought you’d left in your childhood dreams” should get themselves to Scotland, quick smart. Hallow-Hart Crackers got a mention, as did Martha and Diggory’s Father Christmas Grotto, and Warren had many positive things to say about the artisanal producers across the market, with special emphasis on the food: “Leave your packed lunches at the hotel because you will want to try as many of the foods on offer as you can before you leave.”
Word quickly spread about the article and, gossip being what it was in the town, Fred soon found her social media deluged with messages from people who had heard of herconnection with Warren, and wanted her to pass on their thanks the next time she saw him.
“It’s a brilliant article,” she gushed when they caught up over a coffee.
“I’m not sure it’s ‘brilliant,’ but thanks.” He smiled at her.
They were sat at a corner table in Meg’s Coffee Cup Café, working their way through a cinnamon latte cruffin each. Warren had suggested they share one, and Fred had suggested he wash his mouth out with soap.
“You’re being very humble about it. I guess when you have articles in newspapers all the time, it becomes quotidian.”
“It isn’t that.” He sighed. “Anyone who can write could have penned it.”
“But they didn’t. You did. It’s your name on the byline, nobody else’s.”
“I’m tired of being generic.”
“Oh, trust me, you are far from generic in Pine Bluff,” she said, passing her phone across the table for him to read the messages. “You are particularly popular with the Pine Bluff Jezebels and the chamber of commerce.”
She watched his mouth twitch as he scrolled down the comments. But his smile quickly faded as he passed the phone back. “Now look at the online version,” he said.
Fred pulled up theDaily Newswebsite and found Warren’s article.
“Scroll to the comments,” he instructed her.
Again, she did as she was told. They seemed positiveenough; lots of people tagging friends with comments like “Shall we?” or “Let’s go here!”
