‘Flow with the breeze, just flow, just relax,’ Teo soothed.

  Rita felt her body grow heavy, her eyes closed, the breeze brushing her face like perfect kisses. And for a few glorious minutes, she let herself just be. No worries, no lists, no more grief dragging behind her like a shadow.

  Teo continued his soothing mantra. ‘Just breathe. Just peace. Just now.’

  Then, all of a sudden: chug-chug-chug-chug. The unmistakable sound of Archie’s old tractor cut through the stillness like an unexpected thunderclap.

  With a deep sigh, Rita opened her eyes. Teo took her hand to help her up. ‘I think your cowboy is here.’

  Rita groaned softly as she sat up. ‘He’s not my cowboy.’

  Teo nodded wisely. ‘So, I overhear your good guest news. I shall go and tell Zenya, sí.’

  ‘Thank you, Teo, you really are a star.’

  Rita sloped across the courtyard, her hair everywhere, tear streaks still evident. But she felt younger somehow, as if the burden of the last few months had been gently lifted. Like a natural beauty was shining from within.

  She couldn’t help but smile back at Jago’s lopsided grin as he climbed down from the tractor, pushing his wild dark curls back to show off his piercing green eyes. ‘Hope I didn’t interrupt some kind of sacred ritual.’

  ‘You’ll be the first on my list if there’s a public flogging.’ She quickly wiped at her face and scraped at her hair to try and get it into some kind of order.

  Jago laughed. ‘Here I am going out of my way to help you again and all I get is full-on abuse.’

  Rita pointed to the trailer attached to the tractor. ‘What you got on there, anyway? I’ve got enough yurts, thanks.’

  ‘Hold your horses, madam.’ Jago peeled back the tarpaulin covering the long, unidentified item with a flourish. ‘Stan told me you needed somewhere for the guests to eat. It’s a marquee and a couple of long bench seats. My old man used to use it for family parties, but being on my own now, I don’t seem to have had time to follow that tradition.’

  Rita blinked, her throat tightening. ‘Why are you being so good to me? I know that you and Archie were never the best of friends but I kind of never asked why?’

  Rita was sure that she could see a tear in big Jago Jenken’s eye. He looked away and coughed loudly.

  Avoiding her gaze, he began unstrapping the frame. ‘I just thought it might help.’ His voice tightened. ‘No big deal if you don’t want it.’

  ‘You’ve already helped with the yurts, fixed some fences and are paying for Stan to help me… and now this?’

  And just like that, her composure cracked for the second time that day. Maybe it was the savasana; maybe it had loosened something deep inside her, unknotted a part of her she’d been holding tight for too long. Whatever it was, the tears came again before she could stop them. Quiet at first, slipping down her cheeks in silence, then with that awful hitching breath that a big sob courted.

  ‘Oh God.’ She wiped her face with her sleeve. ‘Ignore me. I don’t know what’s up with me today. I was on cloud nine earlier.’

  ‘Hey.’ His voice had lost its usual swagger. He took a cautious step forward.

  Rita turned her face away, wiping at her cheeks with the back of her hand like it might undo the moment, but it was too late. The crack had widened. She felt exposed, embarrassed by the rawness of it all.

  Jago didn’t try to joke, didn’t offer some clumsy one-liner. He just stood there for a second, uncertain, then closed the distance between them.

  ‘Rita, tell me. What’s going on?’

  She shook her head and sniffed. He reached out, slow, and deliberate, placing a hand gently on her arm.

  ‘You don’t have to tell me anything if you don’t want to,’ he said, his voice soft, encouraging.

  And that’s when she looked up at him, like really looked. His face wasn’t mocking or smug or amused. It was open. Concerned. And maybe something else too. The silence between them stretched, and in it, something shifted. Jago brushed a thumb beneath her eye, catching a tear. The contact was feather-light. She didn’t move. Maybe she couldn’t.

  Then his hand moved to her chin, cupping it gently, like he was giving her every opportunity to pull away. But she didn’t. And before she even had a chance to think if she wanted to, it was happening. Jago Jenken was leaning in to kiss her.

  It was soft, tentative. There was no swagger in it. Just warmth. Sincerity. And something that felt a little like longing. For a moment, Rita kissed him back.

  But then panic flared in her chest like a struck match. She stepped back sharply, breath catching, eyes wide.

  ‘I – I can’t, Jago, it’s too soon. I’m so sorry. It’s just… What are you doing?’

  He froze, hurt flickering across his face so quickly that Rita missed it. Then he nodded once, jaw tightening.

  ‘Yeah. No. Of course not. What was I thinking?’ He took a step back, clearing his throat. ‘I should go.’

  He turned and headed back to the tractor, boots crunching against the gravel. She watched him climb in and drive away, the marquee and benches rattling on the trailer, the released tarpaulin flapping in the breeze.

  Rita stood frozen, heart thudding, lips tingling from a kiss that had not only taken her completely by surprise but had left her unsure what to feel.

  TWENTY

  It was a blistering hot day. Rita sat beneath the Singing Tree, knees hugged to her chest, her back against the inscription on Archie’s bench. The wind moved through the leaves above, setting them whispering in a way that always felt like they were trying to tell her something she wasn’t quite ready to hear.

  She stared out across the ocean. Gulls were screeching into the wind; the horizon looked back at her, its perfect line a leveller for any human being. She let her mind drift, inevitably, to the kiss. She hadn’t seen him since. She touched her lips absently, remembering how unexpectedly tender it had been. How Jago had looked at her, not like someone to fix, but like someone already whole. And how, despite everything in her that had wanted to lean into it, her feet had carried her the other way. The truth was, she didn’t really know much about the man at all, only that he lived across the meadow and that he belonged to the Jenken family. And while the historical feud between the Jorys and the Jenkens wasn’t spoken of often, it ran deep enough to still cast a shadow.

  It was when Archie was still alive that she’d first read – through the ever-entertaining Queen of the Seahaven Bay Facebook Gossip Group – that Jago Jenken had once been married. The post had been tucked between a photo of someone’s lost cat and a heated debate about seagull-proof bins. At the time, Rita had skimmed past it, but now, with that unexpected kiss lingering on her lips and Jago’s quiet acts of kindness stacking like Russian dolls, she found herself wondering about the woman who’d come before. What had happened between them? And in a town as full of gossip as Seahaven Bay why she had not heard more.

  What would Archie want for her future, she wondered. He had never been a jealous man; a selfish one sometimes, but he always had her best interests at heart. He had always encouraged her to do more if she wanted to. But she had been happy with her life, the majority of the time, and had taken to motherhood well. She had enjoyed being the organiser. And even though now she really was the organiser of her own destiny, a new relationship had been the last thing on her mind.

  For she’d built something. Something real. And tomorrow five paying guests would arrive with bags and expectations and a need for peace, and she was ready (she hoped!) to meet them with everything they needed for a truly relaxing escape.

  The melodic song of a blackbird above drew her gently out of her thoughts. As her eyes drifted down, they landed on the cubby hole. On impulse, she crouched and reached in, not expecting to find anything. Then after a good root around, her fingers brushed against something, causing her to act as if she’d been burned.

  ‘No bloody way.’ She laughed. Slowly, carefully, she drew out a small white piece of folded paper, her curiosity rising like a tide.

  If you don’t know what to do, do nothing and let the answer come to you.

  No name. Typed again. Just that single, steady sentence.

  Rita stared at it, her heart twisting. For a fleeting moment, she wondered, could it have been her husband? Maybe, somehow, he’d left it behind. Maybe she’d missed it when she was here with Sennen before. A message from the past, waiting to catch her just as she was about to fall. She smiled, because wasn’t that exactly how the retreat idea had come to her? Out of nowhere, just when she needed it most.

  Tucking the note into the pocket of her jeans, she headed to the yurts. She opened up all of the flaps to let the morning air drift in then headed back down the meadow path toward the barn. As she came around the corner, she stopped dead.

  The space behind the barn, just yesterday a bare patch of concrete, now stood adorned with a smart white marquee. The front was rolled open, and she could see picnic benches had been arranged snugly inside. Fairy lights were strung inside and out. Her hand flew to her heart. Her bottom lip wobbled. There was clearly more to Jago Jenken than met the eye and on this occasion, his actions spoke louder than any words ever could. She stood for a moment, overwhelmed, then turned at the sound of gravel crunching.

  A taxi pulled up on the courtyard and out tumbled Kelly with a bright pink wheelie case, owl-like sunglasses pushing back her thick blonde locks and red lipstick perfectly in place.

  ‘Reeeeeeeet!’ she squealed, flinging her arms in the air like a game show host. ‘The glam squad has landed!’

  Rita blinked, then burst out laughing.

  Kelly marched toward her, lifting a giant red tote bag. ‘Voila! One beauty kit. Hair dye, face creams, mini mani station, and my best chat. Hope you’ve got the vino blanco on ice.’

  Rita opened her arms and let herself be hugged, hard and fast, nearly choking on the familiar sickly perfume that her best mate had been drenching herself with daily for years.

  ‘Wine, yes. Sanity, debatable.’

  Kelly pulled back and beamed. ‘Doesn’t matter. You’ve got me now.’

  TWENTY-ONE

  Rita sat stiffly on an upcycled kitchen stool, a towel draped around her shoulders, while Kelly prowled around her with the focus of a seasoned stylist prepping a celebrity for the red carpet. A bottle of wine on the go.

  ‘I don’t know why I let you talk me into this.’ Rita laughed, eyeing the array of products on table. ‘I’m more wheelbarrow chic than runway sleek now.’

  ‘You never used to be like that and honestly, Reet, your hair. Even Vidal Sassoon would have struggled, the state it’s in.’

  ‘I know. I know. And before you say it, who’d have thought crows even had feet this big.’

  ‘Rubbish.’ Kelly double checked the hair dye instructions and took a slurp of wine. ‘You’ve got cheekbones that hardly even need a contour. And a wodge of moisturiser will sort out those fine lines. Now sit still and trust the process. You’re going to look like the mermaid of Seahaven Bay by the time I’m done. Actually, shit, I have a little gift for you.’ Kelly rooted around in her tote then pulled out a bright yellow rubber chicken.

  ‘Meet Nigel the second. You can take out all your rage on something that isn’t me.’

  Rita gave it an experimental squish, causing its eyes to pop out dramatically.

  ‘Dear God.’ Rita’s shoulders started to shake. ‘Actually, this is disturbingly satisfying.’

  ‘And a lot quieter,’ Kelly added, gauging Rita’s reaction. ‘I also got you a back-up in white, in case Nigel Mark II explodes under pressure.’

  Rita half smiled. ‘You’re still not forgiven. Bless that poor bird.’

  They both laughed, the sound echoing through the kitchen and out into the early evening. Rita let her shoulders drop and closed her eyes as Kelly began to work her magic.

  After a prolonged period of silence, her knowing best friend asked, ‘Are you all right, Reet? I mean, really all right.’

  ‘Yeah, just tired. Lots to think about and do, you know.’ Rita refilled their glasses.

  ‘I guess grieving could become quite draining, but you know you can tell me anything, right? Is it the will?’

  Rita’s throat tightened. She knew she could trust Kelly with even the messiest parts of her life.

  ‘No. I haven’t even thought about that for a while, to be honest. Haven’t got time to. I need money now and it’s quite obvious all he’s left me is debt anyway.’

  ‘Shit, I didn’t mean to make you think about it again, Reet.’

  ‘It’s fine.’ Rita took a deliberate slurp of wine. It had nothing to do with the will. It had everything to do with Jago Jenken. His kiss had knocked something loose in her, stirred up feelings she’d thought were long buried beneath grief and practicality. Everything felt tangled up with guilt and confusion. And she wasn’t quite ready for the questions. Or the answers. Or the weight of what it might all mean if something were to happen between them.

  ‘Fine or fine? Whatever it is, I’ve got your back, mate.’ Kelly squeezed Rita’s shoulder.

  ‘I know.’ Rita sighed as Kelly repeated the mantra they had used throughout their many years of friendship.

  ‘I’m always here with an ear.’

  A couple of hours later, Kelly’s magic had been worked. She held up a mirror with a flourish. ‘Now. Prepare to fall back in love… with yourself.’

  Rita gasped. Her hair, now a shiny and soft chestnut brown all over, sat in waves around her face, her skin glowed and her eyes looked brighter. More awake somehow.

  ‘I look like… well, I look like me. The pre-Archie-going me.’

  ‘You look like you’re about to host the most fabulous retreat this county has ever seen.’ Kelly beamed.

  With Kelly now relaxing in a hot bath, Rita rang the annexe doorbell with her nose, whilst balancing a plate with two slices of pizza. The scent of pepperoni and roasted vegetables wafted up as she waited.

  Hilda opened it in her leopard print dressing gown, eyebrows already raised. ‘I don’t recall asking for meals on wheels. And definitely not at this unearthly hour.’

  ‘Don’t get excited, it’s just shop-bought pizza. Kelly is staying, we had some left over and I know how much you love it.’

  Rita could hear the faint sound of grime music coming from Teo’s room above. Hilda took the plate, eyeing Rita over the rim of her glasses. ‘You’ve done something to your hair.’

  Rita hesitated. ‘Yes. I’ve had the full Kelly effect.’

  ‘Oh.’ Hilda’s gaze didn’t soften. ‘It looks nice. Bit of rouge always did make a difference to you. One wonders who you might be doing this for?’

  Rita tutted. ‘The retreat is open tomorrow, so Kel, well, and I, thought I should look the part.’

  But Hilda had already turned toward the little kitchenette, setting the plate down with a clink. ‘Don’t think I don’t see what he’s doing. All that helping out, turning up conveniently with things you didn’t ask for. Wrapping you round his little finger, one favour at a time.’

  Rita crossed her arms. ‘You’re being ridiculous; he’s… he’s just being kind.’ Praying that her hawk-eyed mother-in-law hadn’t seen the kiss, a stab of fear stung her.

  ‘You know who I’m talking about, then?’ Hilda turned slowly. ‘And am I being ridiculous? First it’s the yurts, then a marquee, then… who knows? He’ll have you signing something before you know it. You wait. Next thing, you’ll be handing over the farm and all that my Ralphy and your Archie worked for will be for nothing.’

  Rita’s jaw dropped. ‘No!’ She could feel her anger rising. ‘I would never…’

  Hilda’s expression didn’t change; however, her voice softened. ‘Just keep your wits about you, that’s all I’m saying. You’ve been through a lot. And sometimes we mistake kindness for something else. I just don’t want this to be a lesson to you for the bad.’

  Rita stared at her, the words still stinging. ‘You think I’m that stupid?’

  Hilda gave a small shrug and picked up her plate. ‘I think you’re still grieving. And that he’s far from stupid.’

  Rita felt deflated. ‘Maybe if you explained to me exactly what happened between both families then I would be able to understand your fury.’

  Hilda pursed her lips. ‘Not now, Rita. There’s a bottle of something fizzy on the top shelf of the fridge. Take it to celebrate tomorrow; you deserve it. Though technically, I paid for it… so raise a glass to me while you’re at it.’

  Realising that was all she was going to get, Rita replied tightly, ‘Thank you, Hilda.’

  ‘And I shall look forward to meeting your guests.’ The old woman’s lips twitched. ‘I promise not to embarrass you. Much.’

  Rita couldn’t help but smile. Hilda put her free hand on her daughter-in-law’s shoulder. ‘Just be careful, Rita. That’s all. Some people wear the face of an angel but have the mind of a devil.’

  With that, she reclined on her chair, turned up the news and shoved a piece of pizza in her mouth.

  As Rita walked back to the farmhouse, Hilda’s ‘face of an angel… mind of a devil’ comment echoed loudly around her mind. She didn’t want to believe it, and shook her head as if to physically dislodge the doubt. Didn’t want to think Jago’s warmth, his help, the kiss, could be anything other than real. Maybe grief had left her soft in places she used to be sharp. That scared her. She was a bright woman; surely she wouldn’t be fooled, wouldn’t fall for charm or convenience. And yet… she had never felt the need to ask why there had been such a rift between the families.

  She glanced up at the silhouette of the barn, the marquee now casting long, soft shadows in the field behind it. She took a huge breath. Please let me not be a fool, she thought, as she reached the farmhouse door. Please let me be right about him.

  TWENTY-TWO