Page 10 of Rescue

Nancy shrugs, unapologetic. “What are aunts for?”

Abigail shakes her head, clearly used to this kind of mischief. “Jon, would you like a chocolate chip muffin?” she asks, turning back to me. “They’re fresh out of the oven.”

I glance at the muffins, their golden tops dotted with melting chocolate chips. “That sounds great, thank you.”

“You’ll need your strength,” Nancy chimes in, her grin growing wider. “Surviving three weeks in Sunshine Cottage is no small feat, you know. Abby keeps you well-fed but makes sure you’re roped into her endless cheerfulness.”

Layla giggles again, clearly enjoying the teasing, and I find myself softening slightly despite the strange ache in my chest. There’s something about the dynamic here… messy and warm and loud in a way that feels... foreign.

“I’ll try to manage,” I say finally, leaning slightly against the doorway.

Abigail glances at me, her head tilting slightly, her hair catching the warm kitchen light. “Was there something you needed, Jon?”

“Yes, actually,” I say, clearing my throat. “I forgot to pack a book. Normally, I’d read on my phone, but since I’m... not using it for the next three weeks, I wondered if you had one or two I could borrow.”

Her face lights up. “Oh, of course! I’ve got a little bookshelf in the living room. Guests can make use of it. Come on, I’ll show you.”

I follow her through the hallway, past a few framed photos and a charming little window seat piled high with mismatched cushions. Layla’s giggles trail off behind us, still busy in the kitchen with Nancy.

The bookshelf isn’t large, just a simple wooden one tucked into a corner, but it’s crammed with books—some stacked neatly, others lying sideways as if she couldn’t quite decide where to put them. Abigail crouches slightly, running her fingers along the spines with obvious affection.

“Right, let’s see. I’ve got a few thrillers here—Lee Child, Robert Galbraith, maybe a bit of Patricia Cornwell. Oh, and there’s some Agatha Christie if you’re into the classics of the genre.”

I step closer, scanning the titles she’s pointing out. “A thriller could work,” I say. “Something to keep my brain ticking.”

“Good choice,” she says with a smile, pulling out a slightly battered copy ofGone Girl. “This one’s a twisty one—keeps you guessing.”

As she’s handing it to me, small footsteps patter into the room. Layla appears, her dark eyes sparkling with curiosity. “What are you doing?” she asks, glancing between me and her mum.

“Helping Jon find a book to read,” Abigail explains.

Layla’s gaze shoots to the top of the shelf, her face lighting up mischievously. She points a tiny finger skyward. “You should read those ones! Mummy says they’re adult books.”

“Layla!” Abigail’s cheeks flush immediately, and she shoots her daughter a wide-eyed look.

I glance at the top shelf and, despite myself, reach up and pull one of the books down. The title catches my eye immediately:Fierce Family. Below it, the tagline reads:Single mum falls for the local fire chief—it all sounds so simple until it isn’t.

I arch an eyebrow as I take in the cover—two people, he pushes her up against the wall, her legs locked around his hips, set against the backdrop of a blazing amber. The woman has flowing hair, and the man is shirtless, revealing a suspiciously chiselled back.

“Fierce Family,” I mutter, turning the book over to glance at the back cover. The blurb promises heartbreak, smouldering passion, and a small-town love that can’t be tamed. A soft scoff escapes me. “Interesting choice.”

Abigail makes a strangled sound behind me, and when I glance over, her cheeks are pink. “That’s not one of mine. Honestly, Nancy must’ve left that here. She’s obsessed with that sort of... stuff.”

“No explanation needed,” I reply, sliding the book back onto the shelf. “I'll stick to the thrillers.” I pull down the copy ofGone Girlshe’d suggested earlier.

“You’re not going to read the one with the firefighter?” Layla pipes up with a giggle.

“Not really my thing,” I say simply, tucking the thriller under my arm. “Though I’m sure it has... depth,” I add with a pointed look at Abigail.

Her mouth opens as if she’s about to retort, but Layla saves her by darting forward and tugging on her hand. “Mum, can we play a game now? You said we could after the baking is done.”

“Of course, sweetheart,” Abigail says, her voice softening as she looks down at her daughter. “Why don’t you go and pick one from the shelf? I’ll be right there.”

Layla beams and dashes off, her little feet pattering across the wooden floor.

Abigail turns back to me, her cheeks still faintly pink. “Well, I hope the book works for you.”

I nod. “Thanks.” I hesitate for a second, then add, “For the record, I wasn’t judging.”

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