Abby wipes her hands on a tea towel and crosses the room to hug me. “It’s really good to see you, Aaron. You look exhausted.”
“Long drive,” I reply, smiling as she lets go. “And I got caught behind a tractor somewhere near Skipton. I think it was doing seven miles an hour.”
The wood creaks beneath me as I drop into the chair opposite Jon. Abby heads back to the counter, humming while she tidies, and Layla resumes stirring the mixture with complete seriousness.
Jon takes a sip of his tea, then gives me that doctor’s look of his—the one that manages to be both kind and annoyingly perceptive. “So, how are you really doing?”
“Not bad,” I lie. “Bit of a reset, that’s all. Needed a change of scenery.”
He nods slowly. “Fair enough. You’re welcome for as long as you need. Plenty of space—no one usually stays in January unless there’s a wedding at Morton Hall… the hotel in the village.”
“That’s exactly why I picked now,” I say. “Peace and quiet. And whilst we are at it, I’d really like to pay you for the room.”
Jon waves the idea away immediately. “Don’t start that again.”
“Come on, mate. I’m not here on charity.”
Abby turns around, smiling. “You’re here as a friend. That’s different. We’ve got the room sitting empty, and it’s nice to have some company when the weather’s grim.”
“Exactly,” Jon says. “If you insist on paying, you’ll ruin my reputation as a generous host.”
I grin, holding up my hands in surrender. “Fine. I’ll stop arguing. You win.”
“That’s more like it,” Jon says, nodding with satisfaction.
Before I can say anything else, Layla looks up from the bowl, her face lighting up. “Do you like roast dinner? I love roast dinner! The pub does such a good one. Even better than mum’s!” she says. “They do the best Yorkshire pudding and pigs in blankets. Proper ones, not the tiny ones from the supermarket.”
Abby laughs softly. “She’s not wrong. The roast dinners at The Running Horse are worth braving the weather for. They are so popular they have them on their menu all week, not just for Sunday lunch.”
Jon glances over at me. “Would you be up for it at some point whilst you're here?”
“Absolutely! Why don’t we go tonight? Saves Abby having to cook,” I say. “But it’s my treat. Least I can do to say thanks for letting me stay.”
Abby waves the idea away. “Don’t be daft.”
“I mean it,” I insist. “You’re putting me up, feeding me, making sure I behave. The least I can do is buy a roast dinner.”
Jon chuckles. “If you insist. But just so you know, Layla eats her own body weight in roast potatoes.”
Layla grins proudly. “And pigs in blankets.”
“Sounds like money well spent,” I grin.
Abby slides the tray into the oven and turns back to the table, the scent of chocolate and butter filling the air. The kitchen is warm with relaxed chatter, and the tight knot I've been carrying for months finally starts to loosen.
Chapter 2
Eve
The teacup in frontof me has been empty for so long it’s starting to look decorative.
I eye it for a moment, then glance around the grand reception lounge of Morton Hall. Nothing. Not a single waiter in sight. They drift through occasionally, all crisp shirts and polite smiles, but somehow none of them notice the woman tucked behind a potted fern, quietly fading into the wallpaper.
Normally, that suits me perfectly. Being invisible is a skill I’ve spent years perfecting. But right now, I’d quite like a top-up. Preferably before I start wondering if the plant next to me is getting better service than I am.
The room really is stunning, all carved oak and soft gold light fittings, the kind of place that looks like it should have its own string quartet just to fill the silence. When my therapist suggested I take a break, I decided to do something uncharacteristically indulgent. A proper hotel. No self-catering cottage where I’d end up working anyway. No chatty B&B owners asking why I’m travelling alone. Just somewhere quiet, where no one expects conversation.
Morton Hall fits the bill. Elegant. Peaceful. Expensive enough that the guests mind their own business.
