I smile despite my exhaustion. “You know we’re becoming your unpaid quality-control team, right?”
“Best team a man could ask for.” He holds the tub out. “Carrot, parsnip, bit of chilli.”
“Sounds amazing. Thank you.”
“I was gonna give it to Martha, but she was busy with a man.” He smirks like he’s teasing.
My stomach dips with curiosity. “Oh, where was she?”
“In The Stag, having a drink with a stranger.”
I blink. “A stranger?”
“Never seen him before.” He scratches his jaw. “Tall bloke. Dark hair. Didn’t look like he was from ’round here.”
A prickle creeps across my skin. Villagers callanyunfamiliar face a stranger. Some poor delivery man could be branded as an outsider for weeks, but Martha never drinks with anyone she doesn’t know.
“Are you sure it wasn’t Tom?” I ask, hopeful.
Peter shakes his head. “Nope, definitely not Tom. This one looked . . . I dunno . . . city.”
City.My pulse falters.
“That’s odd,” I murmur, trying to play it off. “She didn’t mention meeting up with anyone.”
Peter smiles again, oblivious to the swirl in my gut. “Well, if you girls like the soup, let me know. And Eden?”
“Hm?”
“You look tired. Try and put your feet up, yeah?”
I manage a small smile. “I will. Thanks, Pete.”
Once he’s gone, the cottage feels oppressively quiet. I lock the door, take the soup to the kitchen, and try to shove the unease aside. Martha’s allowed a life, friends. We both deserved a fresh start.
Still . . . a stranger? A city stranger at that?
I run a bath and sink into the warmth, letting my muscles loosen. My hand drifts to my stomach, tracing the curve there.The baby wriggles, a soft flutter that always makes my breath catch.Almost halfway.
The bathroom door creaks open, and Martha’s head pops around it. “You decent?”
“Just about.” I smile. “How was your day?”
She slips inside, perching on the closed toilet lid.
“Good,” she says too casually. “Went into town. Picked up a few bits. Saw Tom.”
It’s the smallest lie, but easy to catch now I know the truth.
I narrow my eyes. “Funny. Peter said he saw you in The Stag.” Her bright expression falters. “With a stranger.” Martha’s lips press together.
She exhales slowly. “Damn villagers spot a stranger a mile off.”
“Exactly,” I reply softly. “So, who was he?”
Her shoulders drop in resignation. “Rabbit.”
My breath leaves me. “Rabbit?”
