She turned on her phone and then lay back again. For a moment she was still, her cheek against the cushion, her body wrapped in the comfortable heaviness that came from a deep sleep. Then the events of the previous evening snapped into place.
Oliver. Kissing. Talk of not getting involved. Being held.
She pushed herself up on one elbow. A throw had been draped over her sometime during the night. Her shoes sat neatly by the sofa. The music had long since stopped. Through the windows, the harbour looked newly scrubbed, the surface a soft grey-blue.
In the open-plan kitchen, Oliver stood at the bench, barefoot in jeans and a T-shirt, pouring coffee. He looked annoyingly good first thing in the morning.
‘Morning,’ he said when he sensed her movement and turned, offering her a mug. ‘I let you sleep.’
‘Morning,’ she croaked, tugging the throw a little higher around herself as she sat up. ‘What time is it?’
‘Just after eight.’
‘Eight!’ She clutched the mug he handed her. ‘I never sleep this late.’
‘You did last night,’ he said mildly. ‘You looked like you needed it.’
She couldn’t decide whether that made her feel cared for or exposed.
‘Thanks,’ she said, taking a sip. It was good. Strong and smooth, and exactly what she needed.
They exchanged a few slightly awkward pleasantries — about the view, about the coffee, about her needing to get back for work. He was easier than she was; he always seemed easy. She felt clumsy and off-balance, as if she’d left some essential part of her armour on the sofa with the blanket.
Her phone pinged.
‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘I should check that. It’s my sister.’
‘No problem.’
Her heart gave a stupid little kick. It was ridiculous that a simple notification could still trigger that old spike of dread, but after everything Jen had been through, Lucy wasn’t sure she’d ever see her name flash up without bracing for bad news.
She unlocked the screen.
Sam wants to know why you’re sleeping with the enemy! And so do I now!
Lucy stared, frowning. The enemy?
She glanced towards the bathroom as she heard the shower start up. Oliver had disappeared from sight. Even so, she didn’t want him to hear this conversation.
She slipped out onto the deck and hit video call.
The picture sprang into life. The familiar background of MacLeod’s Cottage kitchen came into view, then shifted as the phone moved and she saw her mother in the background talking to someone while Jen settled into the window seat, sunlight pouring in around her.
‘Hey, gorgeous,’ said Lucy. ‘You look like you’ve got a halo. You’re far too saintly for your own good.’
‘I know, darling,’ Jen said. ‘Just another cross I have to bear. And apparently one you don’t share. Dirty stop-out.’
‘Hey. It was innocent.’
‘Sure. Pull the other one.’
‘So is this why you called?’ Lucy asked. ‘To shame me from your moral high ground?’
‘Tempting,’ Jen said, eyes glinting, ‘but no. It’s something Sam said. I mentioned your guy’s name and he said he knew him.’
Lucy’s stomach tightened. ‘Sam knows him? I asked Oliver if he knew Sam and he… didn’t exactly say yes. But he didn’t exactly say no either.’ She frowned, replaying the previous night’s conversation. ‘Go on.’
‘Apparently they’ve worked in similar fields,’ Jen said. ‘Sam says Oliver is in a different league to him, but their paths crossed a few times — socially and in business. He also said your Oliver has quite the reputation.’
