“It’s not your fault. It was an accident.”
I arch an eyebrow mischievously. “Or…wasit?”
A hint of a smirk forms. “I knew it.” He clears his throat, the sound rough. “I could make you a coffee, but I don’t want to risk you catching this. I’m hoping it’s just a cold, but…”
“Oh, don’t worry about me! I can fend for myself. I’ll just grab one in town later. It’s you we should be worried about.”
The words are barely out before my brain is already racing ahead.
Mum would make soup whenever Ellenor or I were sick.
“You need soup,” I say decisively.
He blinks. “Soup?”
“Yes. Proper soup. That’s what you do when someone’s sick.”
“A bit odd in summer.”
“Flu isa bit oddin summer,” I point out.
“Fair point.”
“I’ll have to grab some from town, though,” I add. “Safer than me cooking—unless you want slimy pumpkin seeds all over your ceiling.”
“You don’t have to do anything for me,” he says at once.
“I know, but—” I hesitate, then shrug. “I’ve got time. And it feels wrong to just…leave you.”
Something shifts in his expression, softening. “Well,” he says carefully, “I wouldn’t say no to some soup.”
Relief sparks through me, warm and immediate.
“Great. Then it’s settled.” I head for the door, but he calls after me.
“But I doubt you’ll find any soup this time of year—especially pumpkin. It’s really not a thing here.”
I linger in the doorway, trying to hide a smile. “Wanna bet?”
He studies me, understanding flickering across his face. “You found some already, didn’t you?”
I give him a knowing grin. “Get some rest. I’ll be back.”
It’s only once I’m outside, walking down the street away from the cottage, that doubt finally catches up with me. I was so busy trying to act normal—to smooth over the awkwardness of last night, of making a complete fool of myself—that I didn’t think it through.
Returning to Willoughby’s is probably not the best idea I’ve ever had.
16
Willoughby’s Café
Lily-Anne
I don’t go inside the café. I just stand there staring at it like an idiot. I tried in vain to find another place selling soup, earning a few sympathetic chuckles and a handful ofsorry, loves along the way.
So, I’m back here, standing in the same spot Brandon and I stood last night. Lingering, as if stepping inside might somehow betray him.
What happened here last night wasn’t the café’s fault. It was a song. Deeply emotional, but an accident. No one set out to blindside Brandon.
