That’s a lie.
I am thinking about it constantly.
The smugness is difficult to suppress.
The afternoon sun has taken the edge off the sea breeze, turning everything gold at the edges. Mark sits opposite me in a faded black T-shirt and jeans, leaning back with one ankle hooked over his knee, looking entirely too comfortable for someone who has thoroughly rearranged my internal organs before lunch.
I stab a chip into tartare sauce.
“This is all your fault.”
Mark glances up from his food.
“What is?”
I gesture vaguely between us.
“This weekend.”
He raises one eyebrow.
“I’m fairly sure you were there.”
“Physically, yes. Emotionally I feel underprepared.”
The corner of his mouth lifts.
I take another bite before he can reply and glance over to the patio doors.
Heath’s cage is just inside, near the open doorway where the sun spills across the floorboards.
He is curled inside the beanie, only one tiny paw visible.
I fight a smile and lose.
“I thought a bit of daylight might do him good.”
Mark follows my gaze.
“He’s asleep.”
“He’s nocturnal. That doesn’t mean he can’t absorb ambience.”
Mark snorts softly.
“Absorb ambience.”
“Yes.”
I point a chip at him.
“He has had a stressful forty-eight hours. We are creating a healing coastal retreat.”
“We?”
“Don’t undermine the programme.”
Mark shakes his head, smiling into his food.
