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“There will be other schools and kids who need a teacher like you. It’s not the end.”

“But it won’t feel the same. How many teachers get to teach where they were a student? I loved it there.”

“Did you, though?” asked Cecilia. “See, I remember all the times you called completely exhausted or near tears. Georgie, your father would’ve hated that. He wanted you happy and healthy, not worked to the bone, chasing a promotion that doesn’t exist. You know, maybe this change will be a good thing⁠—”

“It’s not.” Georgie glared mid-sob.

“I know it doesn’t feel like it right now, but you might feel differently in time and—” The ring of the doorbell interrupted her. She glanced up at the clock. “Is Michael coming over?”

Georgie shook her head as Cecilia pushed back her chair, muttering, “If that’s the bloody cable company again…”

As her mum stormed down the hall, Georgie plunged a fry in the Chalet dipping sauce and abandoned it, letting it drown in the brown liquid. She listened intently, but the muffled voices at the door quieted with its closure.

“Mum…” She called out, pushing her plate away.

“Bug?”

Georgie’s shoulders loosened. “Oliver.” She launched out of the chair and met him halfway, wrapping her arms around him as he pulled her in close. She buried her puffy, tear-stained face in the coldness of his coat and dissolved into loud sobs.

“Oh, love.” As they rocked back and forth together, Oliver cradled the back of her head. “I went to your place as soon as I heard.”

“How’d you know I was here?”

“I called Kait when I didn’t find you. She said you always come home when you’re upset.”

Cecilia opened a cupboard. “Oliver, can I get you something to drink? Tea or coffee or something stronger? Goodness knows the occasion calls for it.”

“I’m okay, but thanks.” He eyed their meals on the table. “Don’t let me keep you from your dinner.”

Georgie peeled back and smothered the tears rolling down her cheeks with her hand. “Oh shit, you’re missing dinner with Will. You can have mine. I’m not hungry.”

“Not for the sauce?” Removing his coat, Oliver waited for her to sit, then lowered himself onto the chair beside her, moving it closer. “I thought you loved it so much you drank it?”

“She usually does,” said Cecilia, exchanging a glass of water for his coat.

“Thank you.” Oliver flashed a grin then turned to Georgie, draping his arm around her shoulders. “What did Laporte say? Tell me everything.”

Georgie curved into him, her eyes red and stingy. “He called me into his office”—she sniffed—“and said I was doing a fantastic job…”

* * *

Her career-altering news shared, Georgie headed up to her old bedroom with Oliver.

“I’m gonna sleep here tonight.” She glanced over her shoulder. “I don’t think I can face an empty apartment.”

Oliver’s expression softened. “You could always stay with me?”

His kindness soothed Georgie’s shattered heart. “I would, but Mum already promised my favourite breakfast in the morning.”

“Which is?”

“Poached eggs, tattie scones—which are kinda like potato pancakes—smoked haddock and oatcakes. It’s the same meal my grandmother used to make for Mum back in Orkney.”

“I love how things like that get passed down,” said Oliver as they stopped atop the second floor landing. “Sounds hearty and comforting.”

“Yeah.” She nudged open her bedroom door. “Brace yourself, you’re now entering the 1970s.”

Brows rising, Oliver scrutinized the walls plastered with old posters and pin-ups as Georgie tugged open a dresser drawer, removing the flannel tartan pyjamas she kept at her mum’s.