1
Aria Wilson ran across the car park of the motorway service station in a panic. Moments before, she had been staring into space in her broken-down Kia, contemplating hitch-hiking the rest of the way to her home town. As if today wasn’t already bad enough.
‘Excuse me. Can I get through, please? I think I left my phone at the counter.’ Pushing to the front of the coffee queue, she caught the elbow of a man as he turned towards her with a hot drink in his hand. Quick as a flying fish, the small cup tipped, and an arc of dark liquid cascaded onto his jeans. He cursed under his breath, shifting from one foot to the other while brushing at the scalding mess on his thighs. Aria felt herself blush as she grabbed a pile of napkins on the counter to dab his trousers dry.
‘I’m so sorry, I—’
‘Need to watch where you’re going,’ he snapped, holding her away from him.
Straightening up, she found herself looking directly into a very attractive face. ‘Oh!’ she said, unable to bottle her response to the deepest, darkest eyes she had ever seen. ‘So brown,’ shemurmured as he huffed out a breath that could have blown the Beaufort scale.
‘Black, actually. An overpriced triple shot espresso.’
The barista appeared from behind the counter with a mop, clearly familiar with this type of incident. ‘Can I please ask you all to take a step back?’ he asked the scattered queue. ‘And sir, can I suggest you run the affected area under the tap? The bathrooms are over there.’
Aria’s eyes left the man’s face and landed on his crotch which bore the brunt of the geyser flow. ‘That could require quite some gymnastics,’ she said.
He raised an eyebrow, and a smile unexpectedly tugged at his lips. ‘I’ll see what I can do without my leotard.’ When he stooped to pick up some of the napkins she’d knocked to the floor, she couldn’t help wondering what he might look like in a mankini. She giggled briefly before snapping back to her own problems, which sadly couldn’t be sorted with a mop and bucket.
‘Sorry to bother you,’ she said to the barista as he finished clearing up, ‘especially as I’ve been such a nuisance to this gentleman, but I think I might have left my phone on the counter a few minutes ago. When the recovery services rang to say they were almost here, I grabbed my bags in a panic and left the queue to wait in my car. Then realised my phone wasn’t in my hand, or my coat, or indeed my bag—’ Aria stopped dead as she felt a vibration in her handbag. Opening it up, she discovered the device ringing merrily in the corner.
‘Well, that solves that problem, then. It seems I’m the only one out of pocket here,’ the man complained.
Wincing at the cost on the display board, Aria reluctantly said she’d buy him another.
‘It’s fine,’ he said, as the barista simultaneously offered to fix him a replacement on the house.
Grateful, if still a little flustered, she turned away to accept the call.
Her stepmother’s shrill voice rang out. ‘Are you nearly home? I’d like to talk to you before the funeral tomorrow. I’ve left several messages over the last couple of days.’
Aria took a step further away so the people in the queue didn’t overhear a lie. ‘I won’t be back in Inglemere until much later tonight. I’ve only just got onto the M6. Plus, I’ll need to settle at the B&B.’ She was unwilling to admit how close she was to home until she figured out how to get there. Glancing out of the window, she saw the rescue van drawing up and decided it was time to extract herself. ‘Gotta go. See you tomorrow.’ As she swung around, she narrowly missed tipping a second coffee down the man’s front, his grumpy expression prompting a more reluctant apology.
‘That’s what dry cleaners are for, right?’ he replied sarkily, and sipped his complimentary injection of caffeine, this time delivered in a cup with a lid.
‘Have a nice onward journey,’ she said, with a sickly sweet smile. As she crossed the car park, she found herself wishing men with that kind of sex appeal hung out in Inglemere. It might make the next few days easier to get through. The boys she’d known at school had looked like Herdwick sheep and smelled like farmers. And then there was Justin, a wolf in sheep’s clothing, when he bothered to cover himself at all. Inthe last few months of their relationship her ex-fiancé had developed a habit of walking around without a shirt on to show off his overdeveloped physique. His posturing was so like a peacock displaying its feathers that she’d always halfexpected him to emit a trumpet-like honk when a pretty woman passed by. Shuddering at the thought of seeing him again, she prayed the funeral would be a quiet affair. While it was true she was now completely alone, she could do without pitying looks from everyone from her past.
2
After buying some supplies for dinner, Nic Castle walked back to his Range Rover, making a mental note to find out when his new car would be ready. He felt a drop of rain fall and regretted failing to bring a coat to a region famous for its water. As he opened his door, he noticed the woman who’d doused him standing in another bay. Was that her vehicle being loaded onto the back of a breakdown truck? She’d certainly provided a jump start to his extremities when she brushed at his thighs. While it would be annoying to spend the next hour or so in damp clothes, it was a novelty to feel aroused. Theo’s accident last year had left Nic with little time or inclination for a relationship. He’d been too busy trying to keep the business afloat without his brother’s steadfast support and spreadsheets.
Nic worked his windscreen wipers to the max as he pulled away from the service station, glancing at the breakdown truck in his rear mirror. He wondered how far the woman was from home.Not your problem, the little voice in his head assured him. Looking out at the drowning tarmac ahead, his thoughts turned to the bed that waited for him in theunfinished Lakeland development. He sighed as he turned his music up louder. When he’d offered Theo a room in his flat in Central London, he had intended to be there, helping him settle in. He’d been shocked when Theo accepted on the condition that Nic moved north to project-manage their Lakeland development in the initial weeks and give him some space. On the one hand he understood Theo’s decision. His younger brother’s pride had been dented by a slower recovery than expected and a longer than intended spell of living back with their mother in Brighton. He needed time and privacy to recuperate. But Nic worried Theo held the accident against him, despite all his protests to the contrary, and was anxious about him navigating the large apartment alone. Perhaps it was for the best. Living with his brother might have heaped on guilt and distraction when he really needed to focus on keeping all the plates spinning. And while small-town politics gave him hives, the Lake District was far removed from the south coast and the catastrophe that had cast a shadow on their lives. He briefly wondered how he’d cope with the trigger of living next to a lake, before deciding the only way to tackle his demons was to face them head on.
As he moved into the middle lane to avoid a truck, his mind drifted back to that whirlwind of a woman at the services – her curvy figure enhanced by a tumble of golden-red hair, and freckled cheeks flushed pink with embarrassment. It was hard to remain annoyed when he’d fully taken her in. Maybe he should have offered her a lift. But what were the chances of them going the same way?
3
By mid-afternoon the next day, Aria was feeling overwhelmed by kindness and condolences. As people poured into Inglemere Memorial Hall for their funeral tea, she took a moment to escape. In the bathroom, she pinned back the wayward tendrils that had escaped from her tight bun during the forest burial, and reflected on the service. Despite hoping it would be a small affair for her own reasons, she had been pleased on Dad’s behalf to see people standing all the way up the hill. The wildflower bouquet on the coffin was gorgeous and a local musician played his favourite Leonard Cohen song beautifully. As the wind carried the final notes away with her father’s spirit, Aria had broken down, steadying herself against a tree while ignoring Felicity’s offer of a tissue. Her stepmother had actually brought a whole box with her, crammed into the ageing backpack she carted around. As if to accentuate their loss, a bell had tolled in the distance. Even the birds seemed to quieten out of respect for a man who had served the community and the countryside his whole life. Aria had been grateful to her father’s colleague for writing a eulogy that reflected Dad’s personality and values, and felt she couldn’thave done a better job herself. Years ago, Eddie had asked her if she’d like to speak at his funeral and she’d brushed him off, telling him there would be no need as superheroes never died. Her words seemed so blasé now. At the end of the service, when the undertaker had offered her a handful of dried wildflower heads from a basket, she had considered it a small victory that he’d approached her before Felicity. And as her stepmother came forward to throw a few into the grave, Aria had thought about the last face-to-face conversation with her dad. At his retirement do – a barn dance in this very hall – he’d started a quiet conversation about his legacy. As the fiddle played and people promenaded around the room, he’d said she’d get what she needed after his death. She told him not to concern himself with all that, certain the house would come to her.
That had been a year ago. His sudden death from a heart attack still didn’t feel real, but the inheritance couldn’t have come at a better time.
Making a couple of final adjustments to her hair in the bathroom mirror, Aria’s heart sank as Felicity pushed open the door and strode in. She walked to the mirror and chuckled wanly at her reflection, pushing greying hair away from her face and retying the black-and-white scarf around her neck. Having avoided Felicity so far, Aria waited for the barrage of questions that was sure to come her way. Her stepmother had a habit of relentlessly checking on how everyone was doing, so much so that it felt as though she was drawing out your innermost thoughts for her own pleasure. Aria was not a sharer; she’d handled herself just fine for the past few years.As soon as they had arrived at the reception, Felicity had started going on about quiche for the vegetarians. Who cared what was in the quiche when the worst that could happen had already happened? As her stepmother scrubbed streaked mascara off her face with her knuckles, Aria decided to get out of there as quickly as she could.
‘Where’s that giant box of tissues when you need it?’ she muttered, turning away from the mirror.
‘I put it on one of the tables in case of spillages. You look exhausted, my love.’ When Felicity unexpectedly threw her arms around her, Aria stiffened, turning up her nose at the smell of home-made deodorant. The woman had foisted recycled bottles of the stuff on everyone last Christmas with a bag of chocolate money and a tangerine. Her stepmother’s hugs were to be avoided at all costs, but this time she was helpless to resist and counted four whole seconds of emoting before she was released. You could be killed in a lightning storm in less time.
‘How are you?’ came the inevitable question, which was followed up with, ‘Is now a good time for a chat?’ Both were issued with a side order of sympathy. But Aria wasn’t hungry for companionship or in need of a cuddle. She just wanted the afternoon to be over.
