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“I didn’t lie. I just didn’t tell you.” Scratching Turtle between the ears, Sam avoided Evie’s gaze. “I also…may have helped with his grandma’s sheep—”

“May have?!” Evie’s voice rose as their mother pulled open the cutlery drawer.

“What? It’ll look good on my vet school application. And before you freak out more, I didn’t meet the grandmother or his brother, all right?”

“He has two, actually, Sam,” Evie sassed. “Two brothers.”

“Yeah, I met Rupert. We trimmed hooves together.”

She tossed up her hands. “Honestly!”

Marianne gave her daughter an exasperated look then lifted the fogged lid of the slow cooker and poked inside with a fork. Several drips of condensation splattered on the countertop. “The Balfours have lived here for generations.”

“You know them?” Evie slouched on the counter, the mouth-watering aroma of garlic-parmesan chicken teasing her nose.

“I’ve served the grandmother a few times.”

“She shops at ours?!” Evie straightened up, incredulous. “MUM!”

“But they keep to themselves,” said Marianne, lowering the glass lid. It kissed the slow cooker with a curt clink. “They’re polite but private.” She set the fork on a trivet.

Evie balled up the crisp bags, their crackly crinkle swiveling Turtle’s ears. “Fiona said their ancestors were lairds.”

“Who lost all their money. The current Balfours made their fortune drilling oil in the North Sea back in the 1980s.” Marianne opened the fridge door and pulled out a package of leafy greens. “They sold the company when the grandfather died. One son now runs a distillery, the other owns a chain of sporting goods shops.”

“That’s Nick’s dad. He owns Sports Now.” Sam returned Turtle to her threadbare sushi toy on the tile floor. “I went in the Inverness one.” He stole two biscuits while their mother cleaned the romaine lettuce under cold water.

Evie loved fresh salads, but unfortunately post-diagnosis, they no longer loved her back.

“It must be strange growing up on TV, always being on display,” said Marianne, scrubbing the leaves. “Evie, I know you like this lad, but he comes here to be a regular kid, not to sign autographs.”

“I don’t want an autograph.” She picked at a cat magnet stuck to the fridge.

“No, she wants his body…” Sam snickered between bites.

“Sammm!”

“I hate to break it to you, Sprout, but Nick wouldn’t be interested. He dates loads of girls. He’s practically fighting them off with a shitty stick.”

Evie’s stomach rolled. Where was this in Flirty Girl magazine? “That’s not true. He’s single. The magazines say so.”

“But they would, wouldn’t they?” reasoned Sam. “Think about it: if they mention Nick’s got a girlfriend, you lot will lose interest. You’ll stop buying them.”

“I wouldn’t!”

Sam handed her a biscuit. “Evie, look. You know I love you, I think you’re awesome, but you didn’t seriously—I mean, you’re only thirteen. You don’t even have boobs.”

Evie gasped into an incredulous open-mouthed glare. “Thanks a lot!”

“Samuel!” Marianne warned, turning off the faucet.

Snapping the cookie in half, Evie fumed as she crunched, but despite his teasing, her brother wasn’t wrong. She’d been mulling over the same thing. Nick probably did see her as too young, too inexperienced, unworldly. Sam’s “baby sister”. Sure, she had been useful, singing loudly by Nick’s side so he could silently mouth along and escape with his secret intact, and to his credit, he didn’t take her efforts for granted. On the rush out, Nick treated Evie to her favorite chocolate bar (a Twirl) from the vending machine then thanked her gracefully before disappearing into a waiting Range Rover. But her hopes for anything more felt like they were vanishing quicker than the biscuits in her brother’s hands.

She glanced down at her breasts, barely a bump in her t-shirt. Delayed puberty was a frustrating and embarrassing consequence of her Crohn’s disease. “I’m tired of looking like a little kid. All my friends have boobs and periods.”

Her face softening, Marianne left the lettuce on a paper towel and wiped her hands. “Honey, it won’t always be this way.” She wrapped her only daughter in a loving hug. “Trust me.”

Evie pouted. “I’ll never have a boyfriend.”