I glance over as she washes up, sleeves pushed to her elbows, her movements steady and unhurried.
It’s such an ordinary moment, but it catches me off guard. She looks completely at home here, like she’s been part of this kitchen far longer than an afternoon.
When she turns and catches me looking, she smiles, and for a second, I forget what I’m supposed to be doing.
She dries her hands on a tea towel. There’s a look on her face—thoughtful, almost shy—like she’s about to say something important. Her mouth opens slightly, then she catches herself and looks away.
“What?” I ask, half smiling. “You look like you’re about to deliver a revelation.”
“It’s nothing,” she says quickly. “Just… nothing.”
I tilt my head, trying to read her expression. “That didn’t sound like nothing.”
She shakes her head, avoiding my eyes now, a small smile tugging at her lips. “It’s fine. Forget it.”
I want to ask again, but there’s something in her tone that makes me stop. She’s not retreating exactly—just holding something back until she’s ready.
“I might take him out for a quick walk while dinner cooks." She glances toward Bernard, who’s been pretending to nap by the Aga but perks up immediately at the mention of movement.
“It’s getting dark,” I protest, glancing towards the window. The reflection of the kitchen lights sits against a stretch of deepening blue. “You’ll vanish after ten steps.”
She smiles. “I’ll be fine. Bernard will protect me.”
That makes me laugh. “Protect you? He’d sell us both out if someone rattled a treat tin.”
She laughs too, shaking her head. “True. But at least he’d look cute doing it.”
Bernard wags his tail, entirely unbothered by the slander.
“Just down the drive, all right?” I say, giving in. “Stay where I can see you from the window.”
“Down the drive and back,” she promises. “Scout’s honour.”
“You were never a scout.”
“You don’t know that,” she says, already reaching for her coat.
She clips on Bernard’s lead and gives a little wave as she heads for the door. I watch her step out into the cool evening, framed by the small light above the entrance. Bernard trots happily at her side, nose down, tail swinging.
As the door closes behind them, the cottage settles into quiet. I move to the window, purely to make sure she stays in sight, and spot her at the end of the drive. She turns back for a moment, catching my eye through the glass, and lifts her hand in a small wave before continuing to the little patch of grass to the left of the drive.
Aaron, you are so falling for her!
After dinner, we move into the small living room next to the kitchen. Bernard trots in first, dragging a pink stuffed pig almost the same size as his head. He drops it in front of the fire, gives it an affectionate nudge, then curls around it like a dragon guarding treasure.
Eve laughs softly. “Please tell me that isn’t his.”
“Oh, it’s his now,” I say, pouring two glasses of wine. “Apparently, it used to belong to Layla—Jon and Abby’s daughter. Bernard found it the moment he arrived yesterday and decided it was his soulmate. I had to hide it this morning just to get him in the car to collect you. Thought he’d forgotten about it, but clearly not.”
Eve smiles, watching Bernard settle against the firelight. “That might be the sweetest thing I’ve ever seen.”
“It’s classic Bernard,” I say. “He’s got a soft spot for anything that doesn’t argue back.”
She laughs, the sound warm and low, and crosses to the sofa. When I sit down beside her, she shifts slightly, tucking one leg under herself and turning just enough that we’re facing each other. I hand her a glass of wine, our fingers brushing briefly as the fire pops behind us.
For a while, we just sit there. The cottage smells faintly of woodsmoke and dinner, the kind of scent that belongs entirely to winter evenings.
“This is nice,” she says after a pause. “I’d forgotten what it feels like to just… stop.”
