Page 90 of Hard Lessons

“I hope you’ve got that one right.” He rubbed his temple. “Because we’re not going to want to be found, not once we go.”

“Ihavegot it right.” She grabbed the newspaper from the table. It was still open on the page with the advert for Hebridon. “And I’m packed and ready to go right this minute.”

“No suitcase?”

“Heels and cocktail dresses aren’t going to cut it where we’re going.”

“True.” He picked up the bike helmet. “Let’s go then.”

He grabbed her hand and they rushed outside, only pausing to lock the cottage door and tuck the key under the flowerpot.

Once at the bike, Luca produced another helmet from the shiny black box on the back.

“Hop on,” he said, swinging his leg over the seat. “And hang on tight, we’re getting the hell out of here.”

Serena jumped on behind him and slid her arms around his waist, his torso hard and solid beneath his t-shirt.

He pulled away, a fast acceleration that made her stomach flip.

“Yee-ha!” she shouted, allowing, finally, the thrill of adventure, the promise of a new start, and her undying—and as it turned out, unconditional—love for Luca to completely fill her soul.

Chapter Nineteen

Eighteen months later

Luca brought down the axe, splitting the stumpy log into two equal parts. They each clattered to the grassy bank as he reached for the next one.

It was hot work, filling the wood store, but essential. The easterly wind was on his side today, though, cooling the sweat on his back and shoulders as he worked.

He’d been at it for two hours; soon he’d have enough to keep them going until the weather changed. Or at least that’s what he hoped.

Each season was a learning curve on Hebridon. Their nearest neighbors were two miles away, but friendly and keen to share advice, as was everyone in the one village on the island. Living in the wild and at the mercy of the elements did that to people. It brought them together, wisdom and experience was distributed.

He split another log then paused and wiped the back of his arm over his brow. The low sunlight dappled through an old oak and he paused to look up at the heavy, lichen-coated branches.

It still amazed him how quickly this small rock of land in the northern seas had become home. The sounds, smells, and tastes were all so different to the bustling Italian city he’d grown up in, but they fit him. Hebridon was like wearing a comfortable sweater on a chilly day. He didn’t need it to be any more or any less. What it was, in its raw, unapologetic, isolated beauty suited him just fine.

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