Home.
She knew how lucky she was to have this place. Many of the locals had been driven out by the high prices and some of the cottages were now second homes and lay empty for much of the year, waiting for their owners to arrive, usually from London or the surrounding counties. This cottage had belonged to her grandmother and when she’d died, instead of selling it, her father had rented it to a local family. They’d moved out two years before and Evie had moved in. Much as she’d loved living with her father, she was grateful to have her own place. The fact that it was next door was a bonus in her opinion. She could still see her dad regularly, while enjoying her independence.
Having to leave this place would be one of the biggest disadvantages of moving to London. She wouldn’t sell it, of course. She’d rent it so that she always had the option of coming back.
It was an old fisherman’s cottage, tight on space, but full of charm and character with beams and flagstones and sash windows that flooded the rooms with light. There were views of the harbour and cliffs, and a small cottage garden that was crowded with colourful blooms that she was mostly too busy to tend.
She tossed her keys onto the table, slid off her running shoes and headed straight to the bathroom. She’d painted it a prettyocean blue and added a few nautical touches that reflected its coastal position.
She stepped into the shower and closed her eyes as the sharp sting of water washed away the cares of the day.
Then she dried her hair, pulled on a pair of shorts and a pale pink linen shirt, and headed downstairs.
She poured herself a glass of wine and was about to take a sip when there was a knock on the door. She wasn’t in the mood for company and was relieved to see it was her dad.
He eyed the glass in her hand. “I hope you’re not calling that dinner.”
“Are you judging me?”
“No. I’m worrying about you. Father’s prerogative. Have you eaten?”
“No. Haven’t got as far as thinking of food. I’ll probably have cheese and crackers.” Did she have cheese? She couldn’t remember. The contents of her fridge had been right at the bottom of her priority list for the past few weeks. Usually she loved cooking but since she’d had to step into Gerald’s job she never seemed to find the time to create anything elaborate. She opened the door wider. “Do you want to come in? There’s more wine where this came from. I might get fish and chips from Meg’s. You could join me?”
He pulled a disapproving face. “Cheese and crackers are not dinner, and fish and chips from Meg’s is delicious but I happen to know that’s what you ate last night.”
“Are you spying on me?”
“No, but I was told by at least two people in the village that last night you ordered small chips and medium cod.”
She sighed. This, she thought, was why she’d finally submitted her application. In London, she’d be able to eat junk food without being judged.
“We’re the only village in the South West that doesn’t need CCTV.”
“Look on the bright side—if you slip and knock your head someone will know and your body will be discovered within seconds. There might even be time to resuscitate you before the ambulance arrives.”
She laughed. “That is a comfort I suppose.”
“Talking of comfort, I have a lasagne in the oven, and I picked fresh salad from the garden. I can bring it round if you want to work. Or you can come round to mine to eat it and tell me why you’ve been looking exhausted and beaten all day.”
She’d looked exhausted and beaten?
“It was a long one, that’s all.”
He gave her a keen look. “You’re not afraid of hard work, so it’s not that. If you don’t want to talk about it that’s fine, but at least you should eat. We can sit in silence if you prefer.”
And this was just one of the reasons she loved him. He never pushed. Never overstepped. But he was always there for her.
She thought about the application she’d submitted and felt a stab of guilt. She should tell him. She really should.
But what was the point in telling him? She probably wouldn’t hear back from them, and then she would have worried her father for nothing.
Evie’s mother had died a few days after she was born. Her father had raised her alone, although his mother—Evie’s grandmother—who had lived next door had helped on plenty of occasions. But mostly it had been just her and her father. That was one reason they were close, the other being that her dad was an allaround good person.
If she refused the offer of dinner he’d worry, and she didn’t want him to worry. Also, she loved his lasagne. Which was probably why he’d made it. He wasn’t above being manipulative.
She put her wine glass down and picked up her keys.
“I can’t say no to your lasagne.”
