Alastair’s gaze held hers. “Not fate.”
He said it with certainty, but she wasn’t sure how to feel about that. Fate hadn’t delivered him to her doorstep—circumstance had. A carefully plotted crime, one that should have taken him from her forever, had instead brought him back.
“Fate’s overrated,” she eventually said.
Alastair pulled her onto his lap, and she went willingly, draping her legs over his thighs as if this was where she belonged. His arms came around her without hesitation, holding her close, his grip firm—certain.
He exhaled against her temple. “You were right about my uncle,” he admitted, his voice tinged with regret. One hand roamed up her back. “I hate that I failed to see what he was doing.”
Daisy softened against him, threading her fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck. “You couldn’t have known.”
But he shook his head, jaw clenched. “I should have.”
She pulled back just enough to meet his gaze, but he didn’t let her go far. Instead, his forehead rested against hers, their breath mingling, their bodies impossibly close. Whatever distance had been between them before had vanished entirely.
All those years, she’d secretly strolled past his townhouse, imagining he’d forgotten her—imagining he had found some other woman to love.
But he hadn’t.
“This is better than fate,” she said.
“This?”
“Love,” she answered. “Because with fate, we’re at the mercy of chance, but when it’s love, our future depends on us.”
Slowly, he lifted their joined hands and pressed a kiss to her knuckles. “You’re right,” he murmured, his lips warm against her skin. “I was careless with love once. I didn’t guard it the way I should have. But never again.”
The boy she had once loved had been passionate, full of reckless certainty. But the man before her now—this man—was steady, resolute.
A shiver ran through her, but not from fear. This was different. This was trust, anchoring her to him like the roots of an ancient oak.
“Love is not something to leave to chance,” he continued. “It’s something to fight for, to protect—always. And I swear to you, Daisy, I will protect ours with everything I am.”
Her breath caught, the words stealing past all the hurt, all the years, and settling deep inside her heart.
She had spent so long holding herself together. So long believing she had to do everything on her own.
But now… she wasn’t alone.
Not anymore.
A VICAR WHO ISN’T A CAT
Alastair and Daisy were not, as it turned out, left alone for long.
After Gilbert had resolutely decided to go to school—remarkably unfazed, all things considered—and the inspector and his men had finally cleared the body from her shop, yet another storm arrived at her doorstep.
Mrs. Farley bustled in without preamble, eyes sharp, already spouting questions as she set down her basket. “What in blazes happened here? The whole street is buzzing, and I’ll not be left in the dark.”
Daisy sighed, rubbing her temples. “Good morning, Mrs. Farley.”
“Morning is long gone, Daisy. Now, out with it.” She folded her arms expectantly.
Alastair, standing beside Daisy, murmured near her ear, “Is she always this subtle?”
Daisy fought a smile. “Not in the slightest.”
Of course, their neighbor had witnessed everything from her front window. Even the most reserved person would have been curious about the morning’s commotion—gunfire, shouting,and then a dead body carted away by an army of the new police force.
