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CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
ELLIE
Not So Smooth Operator
Iknocked on the back door of Esme’s cottage and switched the carrier bag of things she’d asked for to the other hand. I wasn’t sure how I’d been roped into running errands for her, but she’d called this morning and said her hip was playing up, and would I mind awfully getting a few things for her from the store?
Of course I didn’t mind.
I’d never heard her moaning about her hip before, granted, but you know. She was getting on a bit, and Lord only knew I woke up sometimes with a stiff back that didn’t want to loosen up, so who was I to judge?
Nobody.
I was also procrastinating heavily this morning, so despite last night’s insistence to Megan that I needed to finish my book, I was doing everythingbutmaking progress towards that goal.
I was calling it self-care.
It sounded better than laziness.
You had to take your wins where you could get them.
The door of the little cottage swung open, and Esme appeared behind it with a black and white cat in her arms. “Ah, good. You’re here. Come in before it slices your fingers off. Why did you put it all in one bag?”
I should have known she’d ask that.
“They only had one bag at the shop,” I replied, shuffling past her and the cat. “I didn’t know you had a cat.”
“I don’t. This is Hamish. He’s a barn cat, but he just had his balls snipped off yesterday, so I’ve taken him in until he recovers. Don’t tell Max or he’ll accuse me of spoiling the little sod.”
It was hard to argue with that.
She kind of was spoiling him.
I wasn’t going to be the one to point that out, though.
“I couldn’t tell Max if I wanted to,” I replied, taking the bag through to her gorgeous little kitchen.
It was cosy and cluttered, and the rustic lemon-yellow cupboards were topped with pine wood that were covered with knickknacks and jars, two knife blocks, more chopping boards than anyone needed, and a fresh vase of flowers that I knew had come from her garden.
It was like the cutesy little kitchens from the movies.
I kind of wanted to photograph it so I could use it as a kitchen in a book.
That was the problem with being a writer. I wanted to hold onto everything to use at a later date. Inspiration was everywhere.
“Mm,” Esme said, pointing to the empty draining board. “Pop the bag down there, dear. You wouldn’t mind feeding this rascal, would you? Max put the darn food on top of the fridge, and I can’t reach it with my back.”
I thought it was her hip that was playing up.
My lips twitched and I did as she asked, even taking Hamish from her and setting him on the stone tiles beneath my feet. “Are you hungry, Hamish?”
He looked up at me with big amber eyes and meowed.
I smiled and retrieved the grey tin marked ‘cat food’ from the top of the fridge. There was a little scoop inside the tin, so I used that to measure out food for Hamish. “Where would you like the tin, Esme?”
“Just pop it next to the fruit bowl, dear. Thank you.”
I did just that. “Have you… spoken to Max?”
