His problems hadn’t magically vanished. ClosetAura still needed funding. His cottage still looked like a building site. His loneliness still sat in his chest like a stone.
But something had shifted.
Not been fixed. Shifted.
A satisfying nap later, he opened the laptop again.
The rejection email still sat there, smug and dismissive in his inbox.
He didn’t delete it.
He also didn’t let it stop him.
He clicked into the onboarding flow and began rewriting, fingers moving with renewed purpose.
On the screen, the wardrobe icon still had that ridiculous little sparkle.
Kieran hovered the cursor over it.
Then, despite himself, he left it there.
For now.
Because a little sparkle never hurt anyone.
Chapter Seven
The alarm roused Beth from a sleep so deep she almost forgot where she was. Her earbuds were still in; the relaxation app had clearly done its job.
She swung her legs from the bed and went through her stretching routine – slow, deliberate movements that shook sleep from her limbs and warded off the early rumblings of anxiety. Breathe in … breathe out. A hot shower, a mug of camomile tea and a round of buttered toast later, she felt almost human.
‘Morning!’ Angela greeted her with a smile. Only a bluish tinge under her eyes suggested she hadn’t slept as well as Beth.
‘Morning,’ Beth replied, then turned at a whimpering sound.
Ed appeared behind her, baby Ruairi strapped to his chest in a soft pouch, his hands automatically stroking his son’s downy head. The whimpering subsided instantly.
‘Did you sleep OK?’ Ed asked, eyes soft with fatherly exhaustion.
‘Hopefully not like a baby,’ grumbled Angela. ‘Which must be one of the dumbest expressions ever. Because who wants towake up on the hour every hour, either soaked in wee or covered in poop.’
‘Yes, I slept fine,’ Beth said.And I’d give anything to spend endless sleepless nights with a baby in my arms.
She swallowed the thought before it could take root.
By mid-morning, the kitchen buzzed with purposeful noise. Mushrooms sliced into neat crescents, potatoes peeled and piled, raw meat waiting obediently on trays. Rose moved with the unselfconscious energy of someone who hadn’t yet been properly walloped by life.
Beth envied her that.
Lunch came and went in a blur of plates and praise. At one point, Ed insisted Beth step out from the kitchen and the applause caught her off guard – warm, genuine, and dangerously close to hope.
By mid-afternoon, with the pub quiet again and Rose heading home, Beth should have rested. Instead, she found herself standing at the top of the basement stairs.
The door groaned as if resentful of being disturbed.
Beth tugged the light chain. The single bulb flickered, steadied, then cast a weak yellow pool over the first few steps. Cold air crept up to meet her.
‘You’re being ridiculous,’ she muttered, but descended anyway.
