Page 174 of The Cottage at Brambleton Hall

From outside, tyres crunched on gravel.

Magnus turned his head slightly, attention already moving.

A blur of white shot down the corridor and through the door – Stop It, claws skidding briefly on the polished floor before he found his footing.

The house was in motion again. And Sammy was part of it.

They’d only ever come here for coffee. But tonight Nate was sitting at a table with a bottle of prosecco in a wine cooler, and two glasses.

When he spotted her, he pushed back his chair and got to his feet.

The terrace at Prosecco & Prose was fuller than Sammy expected for October, the noise rising and falling around her.

The sea was darker than it had been in the summer, the surface churning under the breeze, small white breaks where the tide pulled against itself.

‘You came,’ he said.

‘You asked.’

He poured, the prosecco fizzing as it filled the glasses.

Ivy appeared before either of them noticed her, the dog at her side, the patch over its eye giving it a permanently mischievous expression. ‘There you are,’ she said. ‘I said to Mabel, I said, she’ll be here tonight.’

Mabel followed close behind Ivy, a hessian bag over her arm.

‘We heard,’ Ivy went on, settling her hands on the table. ‘Back where you should be.’

‘Thank you,’ Sammy said.

‘Harvest supper next week,’ Mabel added ‘We’ll need help. I can’t reach half the things without a ladder.’

‘You’ll come, won’t you?’ Ivy said. ‘We’ll put you to work.’

Sammy let out a breath that softened into a laugh. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I’ll come.’

The two women moved on as quickly as they’d arrived, their voices carrying on to the next table.

‘They don’t miss much,’ Sammy said.

‘No,’ Nate replied. He hadn’t taken his eyes off her.

Sammy lifted her glass, taking a sip. ‘You’re quiet,’ she said.

‘I’m thinking.’

Nate set down his glass. ‘I thought if I kept things . . . contained, I’d protect myself . . . I thought you’d want things I didn’t want.’

Sammy traced the rim of her glass with her finger, then let her hand fall. ‘You never asked me,’ she said.

‘I know.’ Nate drew in a breath. ‘I love you,’ he said. ‘I’m terrified. But I’m saying it.’ He looked directly at her. ‘You just want me.’

‘I do,’ she said.

The last of the sun slipped lower, the light dimming. The sea moved beyond the terrace. A scatter of gulls drifted in from the open sea, riding the last lift of warm air before turning inland.

Nate’s hand reached for hers; this time he didn’t stop short. His hand closed over hers. Sammy waited for him to let go. He clung on, his fingers gripping hers.

Forty-one