“Looks like you and Jack are warming up to each other,”Nova muses as we leave the café.
You don’t sound too pleased,I reply mentally.
“Well, I’m notdispleased.”She taps my shoulder with her lacquered nails like a spider prodding its prey.“You’re getting warmer, love. Much warmer.”
The streets are still. Lily-Anne and Ellenor walk ahead, their laughter carrying down the pavement.
Ellenor’s had a few drinks and insists she’ll fetch her car tomorrow, so we take the scenic route home. Along the promenade, Lily-Anne stops several times. At first, I think she’s watching the waves break against the rocks—until I notice her rubbing her hand.
Ellenor spots it before I can say anything.
“Here—let me take this,” she says, grabbing the hard case’s handle, only to groan. “Shit, it’s heavier than it looks. How much further to the cottage?”
I’m already taking it from her. “Allow me.”
We fall into step again, the sisters walking ahead, their voices overlapping as they chatter about the road trip. I trail behind, listening and trying not to read into every laugh, every plan.
Lily-Anne’s excited. I can hear it in her voice.
It hits me then: Ellenor’s arrival marks the beginning of the end. Lily-Anne was always going to leave. I haven’t let myself imagine the silence she’ll leave behind until now; how empty the cottage will feel when her laughter fades from its rooms.
I’m glad she accepted the gigs. It means she’ll stay in Whitstable a little longer.
I only wish it wasn’t because of Jack.
That evening, I struggle to fall asleep.
I don’t know what I’ll do when she leaves. I only know I’ll notice she’s gone. And if Jack can intervene to delay the inevitable, so can I.
Lily-Anne is helping Ellenor settle in upstairs. Meanwhile, I pace the hall, formulating a plan to entice the sisters to stay a little longer: I’ll offer to show them the local sights in Kent. None are Harry-Potter-related, but I have a few ideas in a similar spirit. It’s what a good host would do.
But first, there’s something I need to take care of. Tomorrow, after work, I’ll stop by the music shop and place a special order especially for her. Because while I might not like her going to the café, or her proximity to Willoughby, it’s not my place to tell her what she can or cannot do.
What matters is supporting her journey by doing something—anything—to make her life a little easier.
23
Something New
Lily-Anne
Four Weeks Later
Most mornings begin the same way. Brandon is up early, already making coffee by the time I wander into the kitchen. We sit at the patio table while the light comes up, mugs warming our hands, and I run new lyrics past him. Sometimes I bring my guitar and play a gentle melody. I like the peacefulness of it.
He never offers feedback unless I ask for it, just listens, attentive and still.
“Come on—I want people at the café to enjoy it,” I plead.
“Well, I wouldn’t change it for their sake,” he muses, before noticing my irritation. “You might increase the tempo. But I enjoy it as it is.”
It’s odd to have to prod him for an opinion, but I keep sharing my music with him anyway. When he does offer critique, I take it in stride—even when it stings—and he seems to relax. His observations come a little more freely.
He has a keen eye for what can be improved, and his quiet approval has come to mean a great deal to me. When his praise comes, it resonates.
The mornings, I’ve come to realise, are usually ours. Ellenor isn’t an early riser, still in bed at dawn as if she’s making up for years of late nights sleeping under her desk at the firm. But when she’s finally awake, she operates at two hundred percent with an appetite for chaos and adventure—something Brandon has graciously made sightseeing plans to accommodate.
I didn’t expect him to be so eager to get out and show Ellenor and me the local sights, but he comes home every afternoon and whisks us away someplace new. The past few weeks have blurred into laughter-filled excursions to markets, beaches, and forest trails.
