‘Don’t forget to roast the lamb on a rack,’ Rosie said, by way of farewell. ‘And rub some chopped rosemary and butter into the skin, if you have it.’
After a trip to the bathroom, Rosie made her way to the kitchen. Aled was already in there, leaning against the countertop and dressed in damp exercise clothes.
She tried not to notice the way his t-shirt clung to his broad torso, or the defined muscles that corded his exposed arms. It took considerable effort.
There was a pile of mail next to him, obviously retrieved from the corridor as he returned from whatever workout he’d just done. One of the envelopes was huge: thick and A4-sized, presumably with a stack of important paperwork inside it. It was stamped with the logo of a law firm.
On top of that was a postcard – a pretty, vintage-style image of a beach. It was the sort of picture Rosie might frame and add to a gallery wall. ‘You’re popular this weekend,’ she said, nodding her head at the pile.
Aled shifted from one foot to the other, suddenly self-conscious. ‘It’s just legal stuff. To do with the house.’
Rosie narrowed her eyes at him playfully. ‘That’s not from a law firm,’ she said, pointing at the postcard.
‘No,’ he admitted. ‘That’s … from someone I never thought I’d hear from again.’
Rosie felt her blood turn cold. It was obviously from a woman: someone so cool and mysterious that they’d send a cryptic postcard to their ex – or possiblyfuture– lover, instead of dropping them a WhatsApp, like a normal person.
‘Are you OK?’ Aled asked, stepping aside so Rosie could reach the kettle. ‘You look a bit shell-shocked.’
Ah. Yes. She had been upset by the conversation she’d just had with her mum.
‘Mostly OK,’ Rosie said, sighing – glad of a reason for looking crestfallen that had nothing to do with fancying him. ‘I’ve just had a phone call from my mother, who seems to think I’m a completely useless person and yet requires me to go to her house and cook dinner.’
‘What?’ He frowned, not understanding.
‘I finally told her James had moved out. She always thought I was punching above my weight with him, I think – not least because shealsothinks I could afford to lose a couple of stone. How’s that for irony?’
‘What?’ Aled said again, gawping. ‘You’re joking.’
‘I wish I was,’ Rosie told him, rolling her eyes.
‘If anyone was punching, it certainly wasn’t you,’ he muttered darkly. ‘Surely your own family can see that?’
‘There’s no reason why you’d already know this, so I understand the shock and horror,’ Rosie said, managing a wan smile. ‘But I don’t have the best relationship with my family. For the most part they mean well – but when my brother and I were kids, he could do no wrong. I was always a bit awkward. Too bookish, a little overweight … I don’t think they quite knew what to do with me.’
‘I mean, it’s pretty simple, isn’t it?’ he said, with a note of anger in his deep voice that she hadn’t heard before. ‘You have kids, you love them. For who they are, not who you imagine they should be.’
God. He somehow seemed more handsome than ever when he was being earnest.
Rosie swallowed. ‘That’s the theory, I believe. But, you know … what can you do?’ Aled nodded sympathetically, but said nothing. She recognised this as an invitation to go on.
‘A lot of it is rooted in Mum being a bit of a Stepford wife and me not fitting the mould,’ Rosie continued. ‘I’ve just done something Niamh would undoubtedly refer to as “setting a boundary”. She’s very into those.’
‘Oh?’
‘Yeah. I was supposed to go over there for Sunday lunch. It’s a regular thing, and Iregularlyend up doing ninety-nine per cent of the cooking. And clearing up. It was the last thing I needed today, so I told her I was busy.’
Aled whistled, impressed. ‘How did that go over?’
‘Pretty badly, but I stood my ground. For the first time since I was eighteen.’
‘Whoa. That’s a big deal. Worth celebrating, I reckon. How do you feel about pancakes? American ones – the fluffy kind?’
‘Very positive,’ Rosie said, squinting up at him. ‘Unless, like my mother, this is your way of askingmeto make them.’
‘It isn’t,’ he laughed. ‘Now take your tea and sit down.’
Rosie did as she was told, and before long the luscious smell of browning butter and maple syrup filled the air.
