Page 51 of The Clifftop Cottage

Better to go in person.

She hadn’t asked. She wouldn’t.

He turned to the cliffs.

When he tapped on the door, she answered with a bright, welcoming smile.

“What a busy morning!” she said, stepping aside to let him in. “I was just thinking I needed a coffee break.”

The warmth of the kitchen wrapped around him – coffee brewing, the Rayburn ticking softly, Lucky curled in his usual spot like he’d never moved.

“Although,” Erica added, already reaching for the plunger, “maybe we should take them outside. It’s a beautiful day.”

She poured a mug for him without asking how he took it.

Gabriel watched the dark coffee swirl pale. Something in him didn’t settle right – not displeasure exactly, just the faint sense that her mind was somewhere else, already moving on to the next thing.

“You said you were having a busy morning?” he asked, keeping his voice light.

She smiled. “Oh. Yes. And you might be a little cross with me.” Her eyes flicked up, almost playful. “I found those carvings. Pretty remarkable, actually.”

His shoulders went tight.

“And, well, it’s opened up a can of worms,” she went on. “I was on a podcast earlier, discussing it.” She checked her watch. “Which reminds me, I must prepare soon – I have another one later today.”

“A podcast?” Gabriel frowned. “Where are you doing them?”

“Here.” She laughed. “I have internet now – the works.”

Something in his chest dropped.

“You what?”

“It was easy, I called a company, they sent someone out. Now I don’t have to go to the bottom of the hill to check an email or make a call. It’s bliss.”

The mug was suddenly very warm in his hand.

“But … this cottage doesn’t have internet,” he said carefully. “It never has.”

“Well, it does now.”

A cold thread slid up his spine.

It wasn’t just that they’d never managed it. It was that every time his father had tried, something had gone wrong – wiring burned out, generators failed, money vanished into repairs that never fixed anything. The cottage didn’t want to be connected. That was what his father had always said.

And now Erica had done it in a single phone call.

“That was the whole point,” he muttered. “This place wasn’t meant for that.”

Her smile wavered. “Oh. I thought you just meant it was difficult to arrange. I didn’t realise it was … intentional.”

Gabriel set the mug down, harder than he meant to. “It was intentional,” he said. “If I’d wanted it connected, I’d have done it years ago.” He dragged a hand over his face. “You don’t know what you’ve just stirred up.”

“I-I didn’t think⁠—”

“No, you didn’t,” he cut in. “You just went ahead and did what suited you. That’s what people like you do. You come in, decide you know better, and change things without ever stopping to ask if you should.” The words surprised him with their force. “And now you’ve dug up those carvings as well,” he went on, his voice roughening. “Why couldn’t you leave it?”

Silence fell between them.