Page 17 of Rescue

As she heads back into the house, I let out a breath, leaning against the bench and staring out at the garden. With me being the only guest staying at the moment, it is starting to feel a lot less like a business relationship and much more like a friendship. It’s strange, how easily they’ve folded me into their little routines, how quickly this place feels less like a B&B and more like a home.

I glance at my watch. A couple of hours until dinner. Enough time to read a few more chapters, though I doubt I’ll focus. The thought of fish finger sandwiches and Layla’s boundless energy has me smiling despite myself. It’s been a long time since I’ve looked forward to something so simple.

Abigail holds up a bottle of wine, her grin both charming and a little cheeky. “Go on, Jon. One glass won’t hurt.”

I hesitate, glancing toward the hallway leading to my room. “I don’t know. I’m not much of a drinker.”

She cocks her head, her tone teasing but kind. “Neither am I, but sometimes, after a long day, a glass of wine and some conversation is exactly what’s needed. Come on, humour me.”

I almost say no. Almost. But there’s something about her—maybe her persistence, maybe her warmth—that makes me relent. “Fine,” I say with a small sigh. “One glass.”

She beams as though she’s won a battle.

I follow her into the cosy living room, where she hands me a large glass of red wine before settling into the armchair across from me.

“To surviving another day of my daughter talking your ear off,” she says, raising her glass.

I clink mine against hers. “Cheers.”

“So,” she starts, taking a sip of her wine, “what do you think of Sunshine Cottage so far? Be honest—I can take it.”

“It’s charming,” I reply, the word feeling foreign on my tongue but accurate nonetheless. “Comfortable, quiet. Exactly what I needed.”

Her smile widens, a genuine warmth in her expression. “That’s good to hear. I put everything into this place, you know.”

I glance around, taking in the personal touches—the photos on the mantel, the colourful cushions on the sofa, the soft light from the lamps. “It shows.”

She sets her glass down, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “I bought it with the money from my husband’s life insurance. He always wanted us to live somewherequiet, away from the city. After he passed, it just… made sense to do it. For Layla and me.”

The openness in her voice takes me off guard, but I nod. “You’ve made it a good home.”

We sip in silence for a moment, and I feel myself relax. Abigail’s gaze flicks to me, her expression curious. “So, what brought you to Sunshine Cottage then?”

I take another sip of wine, the question catching me off guard. “Needed a break.”

“From work?” she prompts.

I nod. “And other things.”

Her brow lifts slightly. “Other things like... an ex, perhaps?”

The corner of my mouth twitches. “You don’t hold back, do you?”

She grins unapologetically. “Life’s too short to dance around questions. So? Was it an ex?”

“I'm divorced,” I admit, setting my glass down. “Have been for eight years.”

Her expression softens, and she leans forward slightly. “Eight years? That’s a long time. So… is that why you’re here? To recover?”

I let out a humourless chuckle. “If I needed eight years to recover, there’d be something seriously wrong with me.”

Her cheeks flush, and she holds up a hand. “Fair point. Sorry if I’m being nosy.”

I shake my head. “It’s fine. The divorce isn’t why I’m here.”

She tilts her head, studying me. “Then what is?”

I raise an eyebrow at her directness. She is definitely a lot more comfortable around me now than she was when I arrived.

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