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‘I’m not lying.’

Rita stared at him. Thom exhaled and reached for the kettle, fiddling with it. ‘Nothing’s going on.’

‘Right.’

‘Mum.’ He finally looked at her. ‘Seriously. It’s fine.’

That told Rita far more than a denial ever could.

Thom checked his phone. ‘Anyway, I’d better head off. Got stuff to do for the lord of the manor.’

‘Course you have. And please do remind him he needs to be back by five-thirty. I’m doing the official retreat meet and greet.’

He gave her a wary look, kissed the top of her head in passing and headed for the door.

‘Don’t work too hard, Mumsie.’

The door shut behind him.

Rita let out a slow breath. Would it really be so terrible if he and Chloe were seeing each other? Not really. Not now she was getting to know Chloe properly. Kind. Capable. Warm with the children. Lonely, perhaps, in ways she tried hard not to show. Rita could think of worse women for her son to fall for.

It would be messy, though. Very messy if it all went wrong… if Thom hurt her… the fallout would land right in the middle of all of them.

And there was something else that bothered her about it. Thom had lied to her before, bare-faced and convincing enough that she’d believed him right up until the truth about Archie’s will had landed in her lap. So yes, alarm bells easily rang these days. Not about the relationship itself. The lying. Because if he were lying again, looking her straight in the eye while doing it… Rita honestly wasn’t sure what she’d do.

She got up, deciding to ask Chloe outright. But the words stalled. Because part of her suddenly didn’t want to know. Not really. Not if it confirmed what she was afraid of.

Rita glanced down at her watch. An hour before she needed to head back up to the yurts. Jago had promised he’d return in time to babysit for the evening session, but she’d still better remind him too, just in case.

She reached for her phone.

From the lounge came the murmur of Chloe soothing one of the twins back to calm.

Rita sat down and took a slow drink of water.

She needed Chloe. The retreat needed Chloe.

But more than either of those things, she needed her children to be honest with her.

Thom pulled up outside Hawthorn Acre, killed the engine then reached for his phone. He stared at the message for a second before hitting send.

So, Lady Mary… are you up for later?

The reply took a minute to come back.

Lady? Not on my watch, cowboy. My place at 8?

A grin tugged at his mouth before he could stop it.

THIRTY-THREE

The evening was still, but cold in that clean December way that cut straight through to the bone.

Up at Yurt Avenue, the land dropped sharply away towards the sea, the shoreline fading into a pale smear of silver and dusk. Canvas yurts stood in a loose curve along the cliff edge, their guy ropes creaking softly in the wind, warm light spilling from inside like pockets of safety against the dark. Strings of fairy lights were strewn all around, reminding everyone that the festive season was upon them.

Inside the farmhouse behind them, Chloe had stayed later than planned, feeding the twins, then stretching bedtime routines out carefully in time for their daddy to see them.

Jago had arrived with little time to spare, scooping them up the moment she finally handed over, already smiling at the thought of the part he loved most, bathtime chaos, splashes, laughter, the small ordinary rituals that grounded everything else.