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Fergus felt a flutter of nerves in his stomach as Amelia beckoned him into the cabin.
‘Did I do something wrong?’ he said, raking a hand through his hair.
‘No. The opposite. You actually helped,’ she said, sniffing.
Fergus wondered if she’d felt the same warmth and comfort that he had. It had reminded him that hereallymissed being touched and held.
‘Here, sit down,’ she said, pointing at the bed.
‘No, first let me make you a warm drink,’ he said, noticing her shivering.
‘This is becoming a bit of a habit, isn’t it?’
He shrugged. ‘I’m used to making warm drinks. It’s my speciality.’
‘And saving damsels in distress?’ she said jokingly, ‘I’ve got some whisky in the cupboard, if you want something stronger?’
‘Nah, you’re okay. Tea’s fine.’ He bustled around the kitchen.
Amelia kicked off her boots and curled up on the bed. Fergus brought their mugs of tea over and pulled up a stool.
A few minutes passed before she started to tell him about her husband, Declan, and what had happened.
Fergus didn’t say anything. He just listened as she let her doubtless pent-up emotions from the past few months come tumbling out in a mixture of words and sobs. He longed to reach for her and stroke her back or hold her. Instead, he focused his gaze on her and listened.
‘My brother called me tonight to say Declan had been in touch with him. This is despite me calling and texting him begging for an explanation. He’s completely blanked me.’
‘And what did he say to your brother?’
She shrugged. ‘He’s sorry and wants to talk to me but is too scared to call.’
‘Scared or cowardly?’ He shook his head and smiled at her. ‘Sorry, it’s none of my business. I shouldn’t have said that. I’m sorry about everything that’s happened.’ He stood up and placed the blanket at the end of the bed over Amelia. ‘Another cuppa?’
Amelia nodded gratefully and he could tell she was watching him as he walked to the kitchenette and bustled about.
‘Peppermint?’ he asked when he realised it was the only option. ‘Looks like you’re out of builder’s.’
‘Perfect. Thank you. What about you? Have you ever been married?’ she asked.
He didn’t respond immediately and instead focused on straining the teabags. ‘Almost,’ he said. ‘I was once engaged.’
‘What happened?’ she asked gently.
He exhaled loudly. ‘It didn’t work out . . .’ He looked at her intensely.
‘Sorry, have I said something wrong?’
‘No. I find it hard to talk about,’ he said, his voice flat. ‘I don’t share much about my personal life with anyone.’
‘Please don’t feel you have to tell me,’ she said, sitting up on the bed. She held his gaze for a few moments.
He rubbed a hand over his jaw and pursed his lips. ‘You’ve been so open with me, it’s only fair I tell you what happened . . .’
Amelia hugged her knees to her chest and waited for him to continue.
‘I was engaged. Her name was Ellen . . . She was the love of my life,’ he said tenderly. ‘We were working in a ski resort in Canada. I was there working as a ski instructor and writing a travel piece. That’s what I used to do . . . before. After Whistler, we went to New Zealand, where she was from, and where we planned to settle.’
‘What happened?’
