Page 131 of Off the Pitch

“It’s perfect,” Hugo said, turning to look at me. “I think the kitchen is through here.” He gestured through the other door and followed me through into a large kitchen-dining room with a flagstone floor and yellow-curtained windows that looked out onto a small garden. “I also got some shopping delivered for us this morning,” he said. He pulled open the fridge and nodded happily. “They’ve put it away for us too, which was lovely of them.”

“That was very sweet. I’m surprised they let you do that.”

Hugo flushed, and I wondered if he’d offered them some extra money in return for the favour. It wouldn’t surprise me. You could do that if you earned as much money as I was sure Hugo did. Getting a cottage at the last minute couldn’t have been cheap either.

“I just thought it would be easier.”

“I’m definitely not complaining,” I said as I opened a cupboard to discover a full jar of Nutella and several packets of chocolate biscuits. “I suppose the bedroom is upstairs?”

“Oh, yes,” Hugo said, taking my hand and pulling me out the door before I could open any of the snacks. Spoilsport.

The stairs were steep, wooden, and hidden behind a door in the little corridor that connected the kitchen to the living room. Upstairs, there was a large bedroom filled with a huge bed covered in soft white sheets and colourful tartan cushions. There was a bright, rainbow painting of some highland cattle hanging above it that made me smile as I flopped onto the very comfortable mattress. Hugo was watching me from the doorway, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth.

“What’s wrong?” I asked, leaning up on one arm to look at him.

“Is this okay? The fact that there’s only one room.”

“Of course. We’ve been sharing in London, haven’t we? And besides, this bed is so massive that we could probably both lie like starfish and not touch!”

“Okay,” he paused, and it looked like there was something else he wanted to say. “I have something for you.”

“Another present?” This was too much. How on earth was I supposed to repay him for this? “Hugo, you’ve spoilt me rotten already, there can’t be anything else.”

Hugo shrugged. “You deserve it. Wait here.” He shot me a quick smile before disappearing back down the stairs. I heard him pottering around downstairs, and my brain tried to consider what he might have done this time, but I was too tired from all the travelling to think straight and my only possibilities seemed ridiculous.

Of course Hugo wouldn’t have bought me a highland cow, no matter how cute and orange they were.

“Come downstairs,” Hugo called a minute later. I sighed and heaved myself off the bed, silently promising to come back to it soon, and made my way down the creaky stairs.

“In here.” I followed Hugo’s voice into the living room, and my jaw dropped. Lined up on the sofa was an array of new canvases, each one blank and untouched, perfectly stretched across their frames. Beside them was all manner of brushes and palettes and paints and charcoal—each one new and fresh and begging to be used.

“I-I-I…” For the first time in my life, words failed me. “How?”

“I made a few calls,” Hugo said. “And I may have had a quick snoop in your studio when we dropped in the other day and you were chatting to the builders. I couldn’t work out how to get your stuff here, but I took lots of photos of your tools and got as much of the same stuff as I could, so hopefully it won’t be too different.”

“But… but you said no work.” I was still struggling to wrap my head around everything. Stepping forward, I reached out to open a tin of charcoal, running my fingers down the smooth, unbroken lengths and inhaling the sharp smell I loved so much.

“I don’t really think this counts as work. I think it’s more like relaxation.” He stepped close to me, pulling my back to his chest in a gentle hug. “You’ve been working so hard lately with no outlet, and you’re burning out,mon chéri. I thought a week away in a place this beautiful, with a chance to paint things for yourself, might do you some good.”

“Thank you,” I said finally, because it was all that was left to say. “What about you? What will you do while I paint?”

“Read, do some stretches, cook, colour. I bought myself another one of those books. It’s an under-the-sea one.” He kissed my neck gently. “I just want to spend time with you and make you happy.”

“Does that make you happy?” I knew Hugo’s divorce had been messy, and from the little bits he’d told me, I thought the end of their relationship had been as well. My heart ached for him because I wondered when the last time Hugo had been truly happy had been. Had he spent so much time trying to make Hélène happy that he’d forgotten to be happy himself? Was he worried that I’d walk away if he didn’t spend all his time trying to make me happy?

Some of these were questions I’d have to ask him, tactfully, of course. Which wasn’t always my strongest suit. Maybe David would have some advice he could give me over text. But still, they were things I needed to know the answers too, and I needed to tell Hugo that he didn’t have to spend his life trying to make me happy every single second of the day. As far as I was aware, most people fought in their relationships, but that usually wasn’t the end of the world. It was just what you did afterwards.

I shook my head, my thoughts buzzing like angry bees around my skull at a time when I really didn’t want them to.

“It does,” Hugo said softly. “You make me very happy,mon coeur.”

Something warm curled in my stomach as Hugo pulled me closer, a growing feeling of warmth and home.

Chapter Nineteen

Hugo[sent a picture] My brother sent me this today—look at the tiny puppy!

KitYou have a brother?

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