“Ready for some dinner? The pub food here is pretty good, I hear.”
I’ve spent no time at all in Bangalay. Mum and Dad bought the place not long before I disappeared overseas. So the only time I’ve been here was when we scattered Jess’s ashes. Afterwards, I couldn’t get away fast enough. I’m aware one day I’ll have to make the effort, but that’s probably not today. Or tomorrow.
“Sure.” Sadie smiles a little awkwardly. This can’t be easy for her. She’ll have picked up on the tensions.
I spend the short walk to the pub arguing with myself about how to handle the pickle I’ve got myself in. My mother raised us on a steady diet of honesty and treating others how you would want them to treat you. If I was Sadie, I’d want an explanation. So once we’re seated in the beautifully restored traditional dining room and we’ve ordered our meal and a bottle of wine, I clear my throat.
“I’m sorry about my behaviour this afternoon, Sadie.” She goes to interrupt, but I hold up a hand. “You’ve gone above andbeyond anything anyone could expect, and I was abrupt and rude, and I’d like to explain.”
“An apology is more than enough. You don’t need to explain.”
“Maybe not. But I want to. You may not know, but two years ago, my wife … died.” Sadie nods, which is not surprising. There are very few secrets in the world where we work. “Her ashes are scattered in a wildflower meadow on Mum and Dad’s farm. This is the first time I’ve been here since.”
“Oh, Ethan. I’m so sorry.” Tears spring to her eyes. One hand leaps to her mouth, and the other creeps across the table to rest gently over my wrist.
“I didn’t want to stay there because I’m not ready to go back yet.”
“That’s totally understandable.”
I don’t know where it comes from. Maybe it’s the compassion and understanding in her expression or her tone of voice. Whatever it is, something prompts me to make an admission I didn’t even know was hovering on my tongue.
“It seems like that’s my go-to response. When things get emotional, I shut down and walk away. That’s what I did when she died. Just walked away. Literally. Left the house and everything in it, got on a plane and flew to London.”
“I don’t think anyone could blame you for that. Sometimes, our subconscious takes over. Protects us from things we’re not ready to face.” She hesitates. “What happened to the house? I mean, was the one where we, where I …”
“No. That was a new house. My parents packed everything up, put it in storage and rented the house out. When I decided it was time to come back, I asked Ben to look around and find a house for me. He bid for me at the auction. The only things in that house from before Jess died are my books. And me.” Saying it out loud like that, it strikes me how much I asked of my parents when they were grieving too. And of Ben. Yet none of themhesitated. Or questioned. They were just there. When and where I needed them. I can’t take them for granted again.
Christ, I sound like a pathetic character. Any lingering feelings of attraction Sadie might’ve had have surely been extinguished by my inability to pick myself up and carry on.
“Sometimes a break is what we need to give our heart time to heal. You did what you had to do to get through a terrible experience. And you’ve come out the other side. That’s something to be proud of.”
That shocks me. I search her face and find nothing but sincerity.
I’m saved from answering by the server delivering our shared three dip entrée.
We eat in silence for a few minutes until Sadie seems to come to a decision.
“You know what? If you don’t want to go to your parents’ farm, you don’t have to. Nobody gets to tell you how you feel or when you’re ready to face it. But your brother brought two beautiful babies into the world today. Literally. I think that’s cause for celebration.” She holds up her glass. “To Will and Freyja and Theo and Cora.”
And that’s exactly what I needed. A line drawn under it. Sure, I’m yet again turning my back on dealing with shit. I know one day I’ll be able to face it. Until then, I’m good.
Mostly.
Chapter Sixteen
Sadie
This is bad. Really, really bad.
I couldn’t resist Ethan the night we met. But that was just physical. I’ve struggled to resist the insanely smart, committed, and honourable man I’ve got to know over the past couple of weeks. But the open, vulnerable, broken Ethan? How the hell am I supposed to resist him?
Half a bottle of red wine, several after-dinner Limoncellos and a game of pool where he proved his bona fides by shamelessly whipping my arse haven’t helped.
Right now I feel closer to this man than I’ve felt to, well, anyone I can think of.
We’re not the last to leave the pub, but we’re pretty close. We’re not drunk, but we’re not entirely sober either. Walls are down. Inhibitions are dampened. And judgement? If not slightly impaired, then it’s certainly been relegated to the back seat.
The street is deserted as we saunter back to the B & B, laughing as our breath steams in the cold night air.
