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“It doesn’t feel right taking money.”
“You can’t offer them for free.”
“Matthew suggested I donate the money to charity.”
“You could. But another thing to consider is that there’s a lot of upkeep for this house, especially in the area that’s accessible to the public. A lot of feet traipse through there every day.”
I tilted my head to side. “I could split it. All the money from the gift shop goes to the house, and from anywhere else to charity.”
“Now you’re thinking like you’ve got your head screwed on properly. We’ve all done our bit for the upkeep. Do you know I’m the one who opened the gift shop?”
“You are?”
She nodded. “Like I said, dear, this place isn’t cheap to run. When we started opening to the public, we needed a little something to fill the coffers, so we opened the café and gift shop. Gerwyn’s sister ran the café, and I took control of the gift shop.”
“That’s fun. What did you sell when you got started?”
Ffion chuckled. “Not a lot of anything, let me tell you. We had some seasonal flowers—you know, daffodils in the spring and the like. We were well known for our daffs, and we still are. We have a load of them in different colours and sell them all season long.”
I tapped my pencil against my lips. “What about seasonal postcards, then?”
She pointed a finger at me. “Yes. People love kitschy shit like that.”
It was hilarious to me every single time she swore.
She really was living her best life as someone who didn’t give a monkey’s uncle about what people thought of her.
I scribbled that down, too. I loved the idea of having seasonal ones, and—“Oh!” I clapped my hands together. “Limited runs each season! Change them every year.”
“Like stamps!” Ffion sat upright. “Make them collectors’ items!”
“Do people collect postcards?”
“I have no idea. You’re the one with the Google.”
The Google.
Fighting back a laugh, I turned to my laptop and swiftly typed the question in. “People do collect postcards,” I said, scrolling through a forum discussion. “They’re called deltiologists, and it’s a real hobby, apparently.”
“Sounds like good money. Do that.”
This time, I just laughed. She was crazy, but if she’d opened the gift shop, she clearly knew what people liked.
That or she was simply trying to keep me busy.
I didn’t mind either.
“Okay, so we have eight ideas for regular ones,” I said slowly, boxing them off on the piece of paper. “And one for seasonal, which is the daffodils. What else can we do?”
“Why do I have to come up with it all?”
“Because you started it, Ffion.”
Her eyes twinkled. “Call me Nan.”
• • •
“Now you’re best friends?” Matthew asked, undoing the buttons of his shirt. “What kind of sense does that make?”
“About as much as you coming in here and intruding on my bath,” I grumbled, reaching out of the gorgeous, freestanding tub to the stool where my bubbles were.
I was running out.
“Should you be lying in a hot bath? Isn’t there a rule against that?”
“It’s not hot,” I replied. “It’s warm, but not hot. Don’t worry. After we became best friends, Nan ran me through all the dos and don’ts of pregnancy. I think some of them went out of date around World War Two, but I appreciated the sentiment.”
“You appreciated the sentiment,” he said slowly, watching as I sat up and pulled the plug. “Are you done?”
“No. I’m running out of bubbles, so I’m letting out water and getting more.” I eyed the level until it was almost low enough, then started the hot tap, making sure to move my leg out of the way of the water.
This place was old, but the plumbing was bloody brilliant.
The baths were my favourite thing in the world.
Matthew shook his head. “I just don’t understand how you’re now suddenly best friends.”
“Is it a problem? Would you like me to stop calling her Nan?” I raised my eyebrows, putting the plug back in the hole. “You’d have to take that up with her, though, because she no longer responds when I call her Ffion.”
He didn’t say anything, just stared at me as he continued undressing.
Look, I wasn’t mad about the view, all right? Pretty woodland out of the window, hot guy in front of me.
I’d had much, much worse views.
“Granted, that’s pretty small fry compared to her fortune telling business plans.”
“I don’t want to know,” he muttered and stepped out of his trousers. “Scooch over.”
“Excuse you! This is my bath. Freeloader.”
Matthew laughed and got in by my feet, so I was forced to bend my knees to give him space. It took far too much manoeuvring to get the both of us in here comfortably, despite the humungous tub, and I frowned at him for coming in here and ruining my moment.
“I do not approve of this, by the way.”
He grinned. “Too late. I’m here now.”
