Page 11 of Rescue

She gives me a look that’s hard to read—somewhere between exasperation and curiosity. “Sure you weren’t,” she says lightly, but the slight smile tugging at her lips suggests she’s not entirely offended.

Just as Abigail turns to leave, I stop her. “Sorry. One more thing,” She turns back to me, her eyebrows raised, expectant.

I hesitate for a moment, then clear my throat. “The pub here—does it serve dinner? I didn’t see anything about it when I checked online.”

She shakes her head. “Oh no, it doesn’t. Hasn’t for a while, actually. It closed down after Covid.”

“Closed?” I repeat, frowning. “Completely?”

“Completely,” she confirms. “The owner retired and decided not to reopen. There wasn’t enough foot traffic to make it worthwhile anymore. Shame, really—it was a proper hub for the hamlet.”

Great. Of course, the one bit of convenience I was banking on is gone. “So, what’s the nearest option?”

She adjusts the tea towel she’s holding, leaning her weight onto one leg. “There’s a pub in St Claire—The Black Horse. It’s about a twenty-minute drive, give or take. They do good food, and it’s usually not too crowded.”

I sigh internally. A drive wasn’t part of the plan for tonight.

Abigail seems to sense my reluctance because she tilts her head slightly and offers, “Or, if you’d rather stay in, you’re welcome to join Layla and me for dinner. I always give guests the option.”

My head tilts, “You cook for your guests?”

“Not like a full-service hotel or anything,” she clarifies. “It’s just whatever I’m making for us, so there is no menu to choose from. But I only charge a tenner, and it’s all you can eat. Tonight’s cottage pie.”

Cottage pie. The simple mention of it makes my stomach rumble with hunger. But the thought of sitting down with Abigail and her daughter, making polite conversation while pretending I’m comfortable, feels daunting.

“That’s… generous,” I say, trying not to sound too curt. “But it’s not necessary.”

“It’s no trouble, honestly,” she replies, her smile unwavering. “Dinner’s at six. You can decide then.”

At that moment, Layla comes bounding back into the room, holding a mug adorned with a cartoon penguin. “Mum! Look! I got my penguin mug!”

Abigail crouches down to her daughter’s level, her face lighting up in a way that softens her entire presence. “Good choice, love,” she says warmly, brushing a hand through Layla’s hair before straightening up.

She glances at me again, her tone lighter now. “Offer’s there. Up to you.”

I nod curtly, unsure of what else to say, and watch as she and Layla disappear into the hallway.Cottage pie for a tenner. No pressure.It’s simple enough, but my gut churns at the thought of having to make small talk all evening. Then again, the idea of driving into St. Claire isn’t exactly appealing either.

I sit down on the edge of my bed, staring at the borrowed book on the nightstand. “Dinner at six,” I mutter to myself. Maybe.

Chapter 4

Abigail

The kitchen smells divine,the rich aroma of beef, onions, and gravy wafting from the oven as I pull the cottage pie out, its golden, cheesy crust bubbling just slightly around the edges. I set it on the hob to cool and glance at the clock on the wall… 6 p.m. on the dot.

“Perfect timing,” I mutter to myself, wiping my hands on a tea towel.

Layla sits at the oak dining table, her little tongue sticking out as she focuses on colouring in a tabby cat in her book. The crayons are scattered around her, a cheerful mess of colours. She hums softly to herself, the kind of tuneless melody only a six-year-old can create.

The table is already laid—simple but cosy. Plates, cutlery, and glasses sit in their places for three, though I’m starting to wonder if the third setting is wishful thinking. Jon hadn’t exactly jumped at the dinner offer earlier.

“Mummy, do cats like cheese?” Layla pipes up, holding up her crayon as if the question is part of her artistic process.

I chuckle, leaning against the counter. “Some do, but it’s not very good for them. Why?”

Her face scrunches in concentration. “I’m making the cat eat cheese. Should I change it to fish instead?”

“Well, cheese is fine for now,” I reply. “But if you want to make it a healthy cat, maybe draw some fish on the plate too.”

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