‘Did anyone else hear that?’ Jo asked.
Wilma smiled. ‘Aye. Cranley’s got magic left in it yet.’
Beth squeezed Kieran’s hand. ‘I hope so,’ she said, with a smile.
Chapter Fifty-Five
Two weeks later
August settled over Cranley without ceremony, warm and lingering, the days stretching lazily into evenings that lent themselves to leisurely walks and cold drinks. The air smelled of cut grass and honeysuckle, and even after sunset there was a softness to everything, as though the village itself wasn’t ready to let go.
Beth didn’t mind.
A welcome week of sunshine didn’t fix things. It didn’t smooth the edges or make grief evaporate. But it helped. It made the days feel longer, the pauses less heavy.
It gave her room to breathe.
She’d started collecting small victories the way Janette collected opinions: loudly, regularly, and without asking anyone’s permission.
The new menu had landed. The punters approved. There’d been no kitchen fires, no mass food poisoning, and no rogue customers declaring that ‘THE STEAK PIE RUINED MY LIFE’ on TripAdvisor.
That alone felt significant.
The day had been busy – the good kind of busy, where her feet ached and her apron looked like it had lost a fight with tomato sauce, but the atmosphere had been easy. People lingered over drinks. Someone laughed too loudly. Someone else ordered pudding despite insisting they were full to bursting.
Beth turned the key in the pub door and listened to the familiar, grounding clunk of the lock. Safe. Shut. Finished.
She tucked the keys into her jeans pocket and stepped outside. The air was sultry, the sky a cloudless blue.
‘You smashed it again,’ Kieran said, falling into step beside her as if he was still working out where he fitted, but was content to wait. ‘Wilma told me she’d have licked the plate if social convention allowed.’
Beth snorted. ‘I doubt Wilma has ever been restrained by social convention.’
‘True. She also asked if the cauliflower cheese was sent from heaven.’
‘Did she?’
‘Everything you cook is heavenly. Now I sound cheesier than the cauliflower.’
They walked down the street, the village quiet but not asleep. Just pausing between moments.
Their hands brushed. With things still new and uncharted between them, Beth half-expected the familiar flicker of retreat, the instinct to pull away before things tipped into want.
Instead, Kieran took her hand properly. No hesitation. No ceremony. She let him, feeling the warmth zing between them.
They passed the boutique with its summer display and A Bit of Crumpet, lights still on inside. Beth could picture Jo pulling a late shift, sleeves rolled up, judging a tray of baked goods with forensic seriousness.
‘How are you doing?’ Kieran asked.
‘I’m good, I think. Steadier than I was a week ago. It still feels surreal, as if he was never here.’
But he was, and life will never be quite the same again.
‘You’ve got a lot on in the next few months,’ she said, to change the subject. To swap memories of a madcap genie for the reality of Kieran’s in-the-works app launch.
Kieran grimaced, although his eyes sparkled with anticipation. ‘Don’t remind me. If ClosetAura tanks, I’ll have to move into my parents’ shed and live off tinned soup.’
‘I’ll make you fresh soup and batch-freeze it.’
