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“Right, I’ll pop it in to warm up, then,” Archie answered.
It was all very cosy, Laurel thought, as the three of them sat around the table and drank tea while the pie warmed in the oven. One of the dogs, she didn’t know which, came and sat down next to her, resting its head on her knee. Another one stood by Zac and he stroked it absently as Archie went through all the work they’d done that day—mucking out barns, feeding sheep, and generally working hard and getting dirty, by the sounds of it.
Although he was quiet, Laurel could tell Zac had enjoyed the day; a satisfaction emanated from him like some sort of glow. As she sat there, listening, Laurel realised she was feeling the slightest twinge of jealousy, that Archie’s tough love and crazy Scots act had got farther with Zac than her baking, coddling, and Christmas tree had, and she was ashamed of herself for the entirely uncharitable feeling.
What did it matter how it had happened? The important thing was that Zac seemed happy and settled. And, amazingly, in this moment, he did.
Laurel let herself relax as they continued to chat, and then, a short while later, it felt weirdly natural to lay the table while Archie retrieved
the shepherd’s pie from the Aga, opened a bottle of elderflower cordial—“non-alcoholic” he assured her with a wink—and they sat and eat as they debated about which Marvel superhero film was the best. Laurel hadn’t seen any of them, so she let Archie and Zac hash it out; apparently they were both big fans, and she was both touched and the tiniest bit discomfited to see how animated Zac had become as he debated the merits of Thor versus Captain America.
After they’d eaten, Archie asked Zac to check on the animals for the night.
“By myself?” Zac looked slightly alarmed at the notion.
“You can do it, lad. You know how.”
Laurel watched him go, shaking her head as Zac pulled on his boots and coat and headed outside. She rose from the table and began clearing plates.
“You seem to have had the knack,” she remarked as she went to the sink and began to fill it with water.
“Maybe he just needed something different.”
“Yes.” Laurel squirted some dish soap into the hot water and swished it around. “It seemed he did.”
Archie brought an armful of dirty dishes to the counter. “You wash, I’ll dry?”
“All right.”
It was comfortingly companionable to wash the dishes in silence, the clink of cutlery and clank of plates the only sound, punctuated by the occasional doggy groan from Aon, Dha, or Tri.
“What is it?” Archie asked after a few minutes and Laurel glanced at him in surprise.
“What do you mean?”
“You’ve got a bee in your bonnet about something. I can tell.”
“I don’t…” Laurel began before faltering at Archie’s craggy, knowing smile. “I don’t, really,” she amended.
“What is it?”
It felt too petty to say. She didn’t really feel it anyway, at least not much.
“Well?” Archie prompted.
“It’s just I’ve been trying so hard,” Laurel burst out. “And nothing’s worked. Not the brownies, not the Christmas tree, not all the time and effort… and then you swan in and make him muck manure, and somehow that’s the miracle?” She let out a raggedy laugh. “Sorry, I know I sound like an absolute twit. I do, but—”
“I understand.”
“Do you?” Laurel turned to look at him. “I feel ridiculous and selfish for even saying that much—”
“They go together,” Archie told her. “You can’t have the manure without the brownie.”
Laurel let out an uncertain laugh. “That’s surely a motto to live by.”
“Works for me,” Archie answered with a grin. “And don’t fret yourself over Zac. He’s feeling his way, and to be sure it will take some time. Today wasn’t magic, much as you might be looking for it.”
Laurel let out an uncertain laugh. “I always seem to be looking for some magic,” she admitted on a sigh. “I don’t know why.”
