‘Morning,’ he said, staring at the screen as though fonts and layout options might rescue him.
She opened the fridge. ‘You’re out of oat milk,’ she said.
‘Then use normal milk.’
‘You know it upsets my stomach.’
‘Then maybe go buy some,’ he said evenly, knowing full well that oat milk didn’t feature on the shelves of Janette’s shop.
Her head snapped up. ‘You’re in a mood.’
‘I’m working.’
‘You’re always working. It’s boring.’
Kieran closed the laptop with a quiet click. ‘Lisa, we agreed you’d stay a few nights. Don’t you need to get back to work?’ As far as he knew, Lisa still worked as a freelance personal trainer/yoga coach/lifestyle guru.
‘I cancelled my bookings for a month to rediscover our connection, but you’re on another planet most of the time,’ Lisa pouted.
Kieran refrained from pointing out that Lisa inhabited her own planet, where oat milk was a basic human right and everyone else an inconvenient asteroid.
‘You don’t want me here,’ she said flatly, tugging the sleeves of his sweatshirt over her hands.
He hesitated. ‘It’s not that. It’s just?—’
‘You’ve met someone,’ she cut in.
‘What? No.’
‘You have.’ Her eyes narrowed. ‘The woman from the pub. Beth.’
His stomach tightened at the sound of her name. ‘Lisa, please don’t start.’
‘You’ve always had a type,’ she said bitterly. ‘Quiet, complicated ones who need fixing. You love a project.’
‘That’s not fair.’
‘Neither is you kicking me out because you’ve found someone else to moon over.’
‘Lisa,’ he said again, softer this time. ‘It’s not like that.’
She turned sharply, grabbed her coat from the chair and stormed out. The door slammed hard enough to make Prom jump.
Silence fell, heavy and accusing.
Prom padded across the table and brushed Kieran’s arm with his tail.
‘Don’t you start,’ Kieran said, scratching the cat’s head anyway. Prom purred, low and oddly knowing.
By lunchtime, Kieran had given up pretending to work. The light rain had eased off, and the cottage walls were closing in. He pulled on his jacket and headed out. He had no idea where Lisa was – perhaps browsing in Alison’s boutique or sipping coffee at A Bit of Crumpet, where Jo provided a variety of non-dairy milk options.
Cranley village smelled fresh. Kieran inhaled lungfuls of air, keen to eliminate the dampness that still pervaded the cottage. He waved at Peggy, welcoming an elderly customer at her salon. Further along, Sam was unloading something from his car, but Kieran scuttled past. He didn’t want conversation: just some headspace free of Lisa’s chatter and the voice that niggled at him.
He passed the boutique and nodded to Alison, who was rearranging a window display of colourful scarves and shiny sandals. She waved, cheerful as ever, but his attention had already shifted.
Beth was walking on the other side of the street. And she wasn’t alone.
A tall man with messy hair and the kind of easy confidence Kieran instantly distrusted was beside her. He was talking animatedly. She was listening, expression guarded, arms folded tight across her chest.
