Page 18 of The Holiday Cottage

She looked and saw long legs, broad shoulders and strength honed by a life spent outdoors doing hard physical work. She thought about the incident in the summer, when he’d been called to help rescue a cow from the river. He’d waded waist deep into the river, sedated the cow just enough to stop her from trying to kill him and herself, and then hauled her to safety with the help of the farmer. The story had been all round the village before the evening, and Miles hadn’t had to buy himself a drink in the pub since.

Sybil would be proud, she thought.

“You’re positively puny,” she said briskly. “It’s a wonder you have the strength to lift your own mug of tea.”

“I struggle. Cake might help.”

“Cake?” She tutted her disapproval. “For breakfast?”

He shrugged. “I’ve been up all night so technically this could be dinner. I suppose I could force down a large bowl of porridge too if that would make you feel better. That special version you make with cinnamon and maple syrup. And maybe a bacon sandwich.”

Now she was frowning. “Do you seriously have no food at home?”

“Of course I have food at home, but my food never tastes as good as yours.” He leaned on the gate and studied the alpacas who had emerged from their shed to investigate the noise. “They’re looking good, Dorothy. You’re a wizard.”

“Teamwork.” She patted him on the shoulder. “Benson is going to have a starring role in the school play at Christmas. I don’t suppose I can tempt you to join me for animal duties.”

As Sara had predicted, he shuddered. “No thanks. Not after last time. I’m sure you’ll be fine, Dorothy. You don’t need me.”

“I’m sure you’re right.” She smiled. “Come on. If you eat a decent breakfast, I’ll give you chocolate cake to take home.”

They headed to the house, and he took his boots off by the door before following her through to the kitchen.

The table was covered in branches of holly and mistletoe that she’d cut the day before and she pushed it to one side, making room for him.

“Ignore my Christmas preparations. Sit down.”

“Now I’m feeling guilty for taking your time.” He washed his hands and then rescued some holly that had fallen onto the floor. “You’re busy.”

“Nothing that can’t wait. And it’s always good to see you.”

Not just because he was a connection to the past, but because she genuinely enjoyed his company.

She busied herself in the kitchen while he sprawled in a chair at her kitchen table, telling her about his week.

Soon the room was filled with the smell of fresh coffee and the sounds of bacon sizzling.

She enjoyed having someone to feed and spoil and watched with satisfaction and amusement as he devoured everything she put in front of him. He’d been the same as a boy.

“You’re not at all hungry, then?” It delighted her that he considered her home and company a respite.

“No.” He cleared the porridge bowl and reached for the bacon roll she’d placed in front of him. “I’m only eating this to be polite.”

“Tell me honestly—are you cooking properly for yourself?”

“Honestly? Not much. Too tired.” He finished the bacon roll and closed his eyes. “When I get home from my calls I collapse on the sofa. And this is supposed to be a quiet time of year. That was delicious, Dorothy. Marry me.”

“You’re thirty-two,” she said dryly, and he opened his eyes.

“So? I’m an old thirty-two. And given the number of nights I work, I’ve crammed an extra life into the years I’ve lived, so if you do the calculation based on waking hours and life experience, I’m probably closer to fifty.” He smiled at her and she thought to herself, not for the first time, that the woman who eventually persuaded Miles to leave behind his bachelor ways would be a lucky person.

“When did you last go on a date? A proper date.”

“What’s that?”

“Dinner? Movie?” She made him a fresh cup of coffee. “Remember that?”

“Not really. When am I going to fit that in?”

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