Page 48 of Secret Paths

“Please do not,” Alexandra says.

Hunter smiles at her. “Noted.”

Peter exhales through his nose. “Monday.”

“No pressure.”

Alexandra makes a noise.

Hunter turns to her. “Some pressure from your sister, obviously.”

“Enormous pressure,” she says. “Delivered with love.”

“That is the worst kind,” Peter says.

“It is the only kind you listen to.”

He looks at her then, and something passes between them that shuts the rest of us out for a moment.

The cottage sits behind it. Their father. Their mother. All the things I know only because St Claire remembers everything and tells half of it over bar counters.

Peter nods once, looking at the bar as though someone has set something fragile in front of him.

“All right,” he says. “I will come on Monday.”

Alexandra closes her eyes for half a second.

When she opens them, she looks ready to cry, organise a rota and cook Peter a meal, all at once.

Peter spots it immediately. “Do not start.”

“I have not said anything.”

“I can see the tears.”

“Dry eyes all around.” She wipes over her cheeks to hide the evidence of the contrary.

“I still don’t trust the expression on your face, Lexi.”

Hunter leans closer to her, his shoulder brushing hers. “It is the face of a woman heroically swallowing seven suggestions.”

“At least nine,” she mutters.

Peter gives her a tired smile. “You may make one suggestion.”

“Eat something proper tonight.”

“That does not count.”

“It absolutely counts.”

“It is not helpful.”

“It is more useful than moping around alone,” Alexandra says.

For the first time since the words bank is closing left his mouth, Peter laughs properly.

Not loudly. Not for long.