The offer is innocent. Sweet, even. And something in me aches, because he shouldn’thaveto offer because someone elseshould be here for this. Someone whose absence sits like a stone in my chest.
I swallow and smile softly. “That’s really kind, Pete. Honestly. But Martha’s coming with me.”
He nods a little too quickly, like he wants to make sure I don’t feel pressured. “Good. Good, that’s . . . yeah. Just wanted to put it out there.”
“It means a lot,” I say truthfully.
He gives me that warm, countryside boy smile again. “Right, I’ll let you get on. See you girls later for soup review number six.”
I laugh. “Bring it on.”
He leaves, the bell chiming behind him.
The shop settles into silence.
Then, from somewhere behind the travel section, a voice says, “Well, he likes you.”
I jump. “Mrs. Wainwright! How long have you been there?”
She shuffles out, arms loaded with books she definitely cannot lift safely. “Long enough to know that man would plough his entire field by hand if you asked him nicely.”
Heat creeps up my neck. “He’s just being friendly.”
“Friendly?” She snorts. “That boy’s been sniffing around you since you got here.”
I choke on air. “He has not.”
She gives me a look over the rim of her glasses, the kind that reminds me she knows every secret in this village and half the next.
“You could do worse,” she adds. “Much worse.”
I straighten a pile of books that are already perfectly straight. “We’re friends. That’s all.”
Mrs. Wainwright shrugs, wandering back towards the counter. “Suit yourself, dear, but one of these days, someone’s going to love you properly, and you’d best be ready for it when it happens.”
The words hit harder than she probably intends. Because someonedidlove me. Once upon a time.
And I left him behind.
I press a hand to my bump, grounding myself in the way it moves beneath my palm. “I’m not looking for anything,” I murmur.
Mrs. Wainwright hums, unconvinced. “Nobody ever is. That’s how it works.”
And as she disappears behind the counter, I’m left staring at the empty doorway where Pete stood and wondering why kindness feels so heavy when it comes from the wrong man.
KADE
I’m halfway through paperwork I have zero interest in when movement out the window catches my eye. Rabbit walks past the garage, hoodie up, hands shoved in his pockets. He never walks that slow unless something’s on his mind.
I rap my knuckles on the glass. “Oi.”
He looks over, startled. I jerk my head towards the office. He hesitates then pushes the door open. “Pres?”
“Sit,” I say, leaning back in my chair as if I’m not studying every damn twitch in his face.
He drops into the chair opposite.
“What’s happening with the garage?” I ask casually. “Need anything ordered?”
