“I have some dinner on the hob.” Another lie. “I should go.”
“Of course. I only worry,” she replies, satisfaction tucked neatly under the sentence. “Promise me you’ll keep your feet on the ground.”
“I will.”
“Good girl,” she murmurs, then hangs up.
The silence afterwards is thick. The water is warm but somehow I feel chilled all the way through. Only ten minutes ago I was smiling into my phone, feeling hopeful, lighter than I have in years.
Now Mum’s voice sits in my chest like a stone, whispering old stories I thought I’d outgrown. Stories about women like me needing to be grateful. Needing to expect less. Needing to settle.
And the worst part? Some tiny, traitorous part of me still believes her.
Chapter 11
Alex
Work has dragged allweek. Every plank I planed, every phone call I took, every job I ticked off was really just a way of pushing time towards Friday. I’ve pulled ten-hour days to make space for tonight, and finishing at noon feels like a hard-won reward.
On the drive out to Chris’s farm, the valley narrows until it feels like the hills are leaning close to listen. His place sits tucked between slopes, all weather-beaten stone and the steady smell ofhay. As I climb out of my car, Chris steps out of the barn wiping his hands on a rag.
“You going to tell me why you need my truck and one of my fields?” he asks, skipping hello entirely.
“I’m creating a memory,” I say.
His eyebrows lift. “Phil said you’d met someone. This for her?”
My grin answers for me.
We walk towards his pickup. It gleams more than usual; the cargo bed is freshly washed, exactly as I’d asked for. Only Chris would humour a strange request without demanding details. His truck is a two-seater American style model, the sort nobody in Britain really needs but every lad secretly wants.
“And your perfectly good Range Rover won’t do?” he chuckles.
I pat the smooth metal of the tailgate. “This has something mine doesn’t.”
“A ridiculous fuel bill?”
“A cargo bed.”
He gives me a long, knowing look but doesn’t push. Chris isn’t a gossip, but news in Fellside has a habit of travelling faster thanwildfire in a heatwave. Better to keep the surprise between me and Emma.
“Keys to Stone Meadow are in the glove box,” he says. “Bring her back in one piece.”
“You know me,” I tell him, shaking his hand before heading off.
By the time I reach Fellside, the clock says five minutes to seven. I park outside the florist instead of behind her cottage. The surprise begins the moment she opens her door.
And when she does, the breath genuinely leaves me.
She’s wearing jeans and a soft blue top that makes her eyes brighter than I’ve ever seen them. But it’s not the outfit that hits me. It’s the look she gives me: tentative, hopeful, trying to be brave. Something inside me settles.
“I wasn’t sure where we were going,” she admits. “Is this okay?”
I pull her gently against me and kiss her, slow and soft. “Perfect. You’re perfect.”
She blushes and rests her head against my chest for a moment. I stroke her back, wishing time would slow down already.
“Right,” I say. “Do you trust me?”
