Ronnie and I love you all so much. I’ll say hi to our parents for you. I’ll see you when you get here.

  Be brave, Lucy. I love you for ever.

  Harry

  Lucy jerked the letter away before her tears marred it. She read it twice more, the tears multiplying each time her eyes ran over the words.

  ‘Oh, Harriet,’ she said between shuddery breaths. She looked up to the ceiling, till the tears had dried on her cheeks. ‘Way to play the sister card. You always, always knew how to pull a good guilt trip.’ A sob escaped her. ‘I can’t even argue with you! Kind of hard to hash it out with you now.’ She wiped at her face, wanting to pull herself back together. To get out of this room, this funk, and get back to doing.

  I’m better moving forward. If I wallow in this, stay still, I’ll be done.

  She drew a deep, shuddery breath into her lungs. ‘One more minute,’ she said to her sister. ‘One more minute, and then I’ll get up.’ Looking at the clock, she sobbed quietly as she watched the seconds on the clock tick down.

  * * *

  When she emerged from the room, the letter tucked into her bag, the two men were standing there. Jackson searched her face, as if he was looking for clues, and she scanned his.

  Can I do this? Can we really live together? Can I raise a child, with a man who irritates the hell out of me?

  All she could hear was her sister’s voice in her head. The words from the letter were embedded in her brain for eternity. She thought back to when it had just been the two of them, parentless and alone, so much older, more aware, than poor Zoe. They had memories Zoe would never have, as painful sometimes as they were to recall.

  The moment we knew we were alone.

  She recalled vividly drying her sister’s tears that day, telling her she would look after her, that everything was going to be okay. She knew just what to do then. She’d lived through this before. She could do it again and, as before, she would look after her niece. Her family. No matter what the personal cost.

  ‘I don’t want to contest the will,’ she said, her voice a ghost of its usual self. ‘Jackson?’

  It suddenly occurred to her that he might want to. All this was new to him too. It didn’t help that, for once, his usually very expressive face was like stone, immovable and impenetrable.

  ‘Jackson what?’ He also seemed to be playing dumb.

  Was he playing for time?

  She felt her heart thud in her chest.

  Do I want him to say yes?

  It was watching his stone-cold face that begged another question, one that she hadn’t asked before.

  What if he doesn’t, and I am going to be alone in this anyway? I’ve hardly been nice to him.

  She remembered what he’d said, about being by her side. He had been. He’d held her up at the funeral. He’d sorted out both their work leaves, though she’d chewed his ear off, even though he’d been right about them both needing the time off. He’d been there, every day, looking after Zoe, his parents and her. He’d rung her daily, offering to bring over food. She’d never said yes, but he’d tried.

  As confused as he made her feel sometimes, he was always there—whether she wanted him to be or not. This was a big shock to both of them and, right now, he was so angry with her she couldn’t tell which way the storm was blowing his sails.

  His deep-brown eyes grabbed her the instant she dared look him in the face. ‘So, do you want to? Contest the will, I mean?’

  She felt her face flush.

  ‘No,’ he said, his voice even, soft. ‘I don’t want to contest.’ The bite of his lip gave his worry away. ‘Unless you want me to.’

  She thought back to her panic seconds earlier: the prospect of doing this on her own; the letter from her sister that felt like a burning hot poker in her bag. Whether she liked it or not, they were in this together. Zoe needed people who loved her, who understood her. A mother’s last wish couldn’t be ignored over her own barriers.

  Six months. Give it six months.

  ‘We’ll have a lot to organise.’

  A slight nod was all she got at first. The tension in the room was so palpable she could have cut it with a scalpel.

  ‘We’ve got time,’ he added with a sad little smile. ‘We’ll figure it out, right?’

  CHAPTER FIVE

  AFTER SIGNING AWAY what felt like their whole lives, an hour later the pair of them stumbled out into the daylight. When Lucy reached for her phone, Jackson put his hand over the screen.

  ‘Don’t get a taxi. I’ll drive you.’ Before she could tell him to move his hand, he cut her off. ‘Get in the car, Lucy.’

  They headed towards Jackson’s car in silence, her head full of all the things they had to consider. Mr Cohen had explained that a date would be set for six months’ time to confirm that the arrangement was working. If both parties agreed, and everyone was satisfied that Zoe was well cared for, the arrangement would continue. Six months to figure out how to co-parent with the Head of A&E, a man who was the subject of her tongue lashings and was now going to play ‘Mummy and Daddy’ with her.

  ‘Whoa!’ She felt Jackson’s hand around her waist, yanking her back, just as the honk of a car in front startled her. ‘What the hell are you doing?’

  She’d walked out into the road. The driver wound his window down and shouted an obscenity in their direction.

  ‘Get lost!’ Jackson countered, his fist banging on the roof of the car. He spun her round, holding the tops of her arms tight. ‘You okay?’

  ‘Yeah. No. Not at all.’ His concerned features softened; his gaze was fixed on hers as if he was checking her for injuries. He wouldn’t find them. They were on the inside, buried so deep, no surgeon would be able to cut them away from the healthy flesh. ‘This is not normal, right?’

  His laugh surprised her, jolted her out of her melancholy.

  ‘No, Luce, this is far from normal.’ He put her arm through his and guided her to the car park. ‘Come on; let’s get out of here before you try to stop the traffic again.’

  * * *

  Lucy stared out of the window when the car came to a stop. She’d barely registered the car ride and, staring at the neat house in front of her, she wondered how long they’d been driving.

  ‘Come on.’ Jackson nudged her, coming to open her car door before she got a chance to object.

  ‘Where are we? Shouldn’t we get back?’ Over the last ten days, the pair of them had spent most of their time at his parents’ house or dealing with the funeral arrangements.

  ‘Zoe’s fine. I want to show you something.’

  She shrank back into the passenger seat.

  ‘You have to get out of the car for me to do that.’ He held out his hand and she gave in.

  ‘Fine.’ She huffed, getting out on her own and following him up the neat stone path. ‘Whose house is this?’

  He answered her with a key, which fit neatly into the front door.

  ‘My house. I realised you’ve never actually been here.’ He bent to pick up the post, stopping when he saw she was frozen on the doorstep. ‘You can cross the threshold, you know. I disabled the booby traps and removed the garlic cloves, Elvira.’

  She stepped over the threshold into a large, well-decorated hallway. He put the pile of post down on an end table near the door, rolling his eyes and pulling her in far enough to shut the door behind them both.

  ‘And why are we here?’

  His head snapped back at the question. ‘Well, Zoe can’t stay with my parents for ever. Now we know what’s going on, we need to start making some decisions. Since you live in a one-bedroom flat, I thought we’d make this place our base.’

  Our base. Our...base...

  ‘What makes you think I’d want to live here?’

  ‘The one bedroomed flat was the first clue. I have three bedrooms, a garden, space for all your and Zoe’s stuff. It’s not too far from work and...you’re bugging out.’

  Lucy closed the jaw she didn’t know had been gaping open, wrapping her arms tightly around herself as if she could shield herself from the lair of Jackson Denning.

  ‘I’m not bugging out.’

  ‘Did you tell your face that? You look like you’re about to be sent to war.’

  ‘Well...’

  He headed down the hallway, pushing open a door at the end. She followed him into the kitchen which looked like a stainless-steel fortress. Jackson stuck his head in the fridge, pulling out various items, then moving over and lighting the stove.

  ‘I thought we should eat, then I can show you around the place. The smallest bedroom is currently my office, but I can move things around. I can set up in the corner of the dining room or something.’

  He cracked some eggs into a bowl, motioning for her to sit down at one of the stools set under the island. She looked around, trying to reconcile the man she knew with the one standing in front of her. ‘Omelette okay?’

  Her stomach grumbled. Sheila Denning was always trying to feed her, but she couldn’t remember the last time she’d actually eaten anything substantial. ‘Sure. Thanks.’

  He shrugged his shoulders, getting to work cutting ham into little slices and grating cheese. She watched him work. For once, the silence wasn’t entirely uncomfortable. The knives that usually cut through the air between them seemed to be resting in the drawer.

  ‘I don’t know why I’ve never been here before.’

  He chuckled, mixing the ingredients in a large glass bowl.

  ‘I know. I did invite you to the house warming, and a few barbecues, but you always said you were washing your hair.’ He flashed her a sarcastic grin. ‘You seem to wash your hair a lot. Remember when Arron from the fracture clinic kept asking you out? I’m pretty sure you gave him that same excuse for two months before he gave up.’

  How did he know that? She thought she’d been discreet in turning him down.

  ‘I remember,’ she muttered, still distracted by the sight of Jackson doing something domestic. She was used to seeing him on the A&E floor, in scrubs or covered in blood. Today he looked different with his sleeves rolled up, his corded forearms flexing as he spooned the mixture into a frying pan. ‘So, you own this? It’s pretty big.’

  ‘I bought it as a long-term investment.’ He shrugged. ‘I thought I might have a family one day, you know? I hate flats. I spent too much time in temporary digs whilst working away to live like that again—no gardens, thin walls. A buddy of mine’s a builder, and he updated it for me. I like having the space. When I had a flat, I felt like I was on top of people, you know? Being so busy at work all day, the chaos, the noise; it batters the senses after a while.’

  He pushed a plate holding a folded-up omelette over to her, together with cutlery. ‘It’s quiet here. I sit in the garden sometimes and have a beer, or fire up the grill. It’s nice.’

  He spoke about living here as if it was a foregone conclusion, and that got her hackles up.

  ‘So you want us to live here just like that?’

  He took a seat next to her with his own food, tucking in. ‘It makes sense. It’s near to work, there’s room for two cars. You can have your own room. Space for us all.’

  He noticed she wasn’t eating, gently nudging her arm with his. Cutting off a piece, she popped it into her mouth. ‘Wow.’ It was quite possibly the best omelette she’d ever had, fluffy and filling. ‘This is good.’

  His bashful grin told her he didn’t do this a lot. ‘I like to cook too.’ He waved his fork around the kitchen. ‘State of the art.’

  ‘Bragger. Bet you tell that to all the conquests you bring here too.’

  He almost choked on his omelette. ‘Conquests?’

  ‘Yeah; Ronnie told Harriet things.’ His brows shot up into his hairline. ‘Sisters talk too.’

  ‘Nice!’ He huffed. ‘Cheers for that, brother.’ He saluted the ceiling, and they both went quiet, reminded of their loss.

  ‘That’s a point, though—dating.’

  She felt him stiffen at her side.

  ‘I didn’t realise you were seeing someone.’

  ‘I’m not.’ She laughed at the absurdity, snorting by accident.

  ‘All right, Miss Piggy.’

  ‘Shut up!’ She jabbed him with an elbow. ‘I didn’t mean to!’

  His shoulders were shaking with mirth. ‘Oh, I know, but that was funny. I intend to make you snort more often.’

  ‘Jerk,’ she said, but she was laughing along with him.

  ‘You’re really not dating, at all?’

  She shook her head, finishing off the last morsels of food on her plate. ‘Nope. No time for all that.’ She thought of Zoe. ‘Guess that won’t be changing any time soon either, but if you date anyone we’ll have to come up with some kind of plan.’

  Jackson stood, collecting their empty plates and stacking them neatly into the dishwasher.

  ‘I won’t,’ he said simply, leaning back against one of the tall, shiny, steel cupboards. ‘I didn’t do it much anyway, and never here.’

  Wait, what?

  ‘Never?’

  ‘Nope.’ He chuckled as he came over and pulled her to her feet. ‘You’ll be the first woman to sleep over, believe it or not.’ He yanked her up so fast that she wobbled on her feet. Steadying herself against his chest with her hands, she looked up at him and heard his surprised gasp before she stepped back a little. He licked his lips and withdrew. ‘Er... I’ll show you around, then we’d better get back.’

  He strode away, and she saw his fists clench together at his sides.

  That was... They’d been...close.

  ‘You coming?’ he asked from the doorway.

  ‘Yep.’ She shrugged herself out of...whatever that had been. The last couple of weeks were giving her whiplash. She thought of her sister’s letter, looking around at Jackson’s house. Could she really live here, give up her life? Taking a deep, galvanising breath, she went to find Jackson.

  ‘I think it’s only fair if you see my place,’ she said when she found him in the living room. ‘Before we make any firm decisions.’

  To his credit, he readily agreed. ‘Fine; we have time. I’ve shown you mine,’ he said with a wink. ‘Let’s see what you’ve got.’

  * * *

  ‘You can’t be serious.’

  There was no mistaking his mocking tone and, now she was here, she couldn’t blame him. Compared to his place, her flat was a little on the small side. She’d never needed a big home, and had never wanted the expense or felt the need to rattle around in some huge, posh abode. She didn’t have the time for decorating, and she didn’t entertain. She was barely at home—she usually took extra shifts, ended up at the gym or went out with friends or with her sister. Her days off at home were usually spent sleeping or doing laundry so she didn’t have to wear the grungy undies at the back of her drawer on the next shift at work. Having Jackson standing in her kitchen, rooting through her fridge, she almost felt silly at feeling so stubborn.

  ‘Smells like something died in here.’ He pulled out an old pizza box, opening it and retching.

  Oh, yeah, I forgot about that tuna and sweetcorn pizza I had in there. When did I order that—last week?

  He looked around the neat, little unused kitchen. ‘Bin?’

  She shrugged, taking the box from him. ‘I usually just use plastic bags and take them out daily.’

  He raised a brow but said nothing. ‘I’m not here a lot. I don’t really eat here.’

  ‘Zoe will, though.’ He motioned around him. ‘This place is nice, but my place is a house, with a garden—like she’s used to. I know that you want to keep your life, but maybe... Oh, I don’t know.’ He seemed to shrink into himself. Even then she had to look up to meet his eye line. ‘It’s only been a couple of hours. I can’t tell you what to do; I don’t know myself.’

  ‘I don’t know either, that’s the problem. It’s a lot to take in.’ She joined him in peering at the fridge innards. ‘Wow, it does stink.’ Leaning forward, she pulled out a takeaway box that was pretty much mush. She couldn’t even remember what it had been, let alone when she’d ordered it. ‘Oh, my Lord, it smells like medical waste.’

  ‘Told ya,’ he muttered and, when she caught his eye, she couldn’t help but laugh. He dissolved into laughter along with her, and the two of them were laughing hysterically in seconds. ‘I knew you usually ate at work. Now I know why. It’s not like the canteen food is that good.’

  She wanted to bite back at him but couldn’t stop laughing long enough to get any words out. She laughed till her sides hurt, Jackson laughing along with her. He leaned against the counter when their laughter subsided, looking around him at her home. He was here, in her space. The fact it wasn’t the weirdest thing that had happened that day didn’t make it any less...odd.

  ‘I can’t believe you’re standing in my kitchen and we were laughing again. Us laughing in kitchens is becoming a habit.’ She pulled her hair back into a bun and fastened it with a couple of chopsticks she pulled from her cutlery drawer—her very spartan cutlery drawer. ‘It’s been a weird day.’

  ‘A weird time,’ he said with a rueful smile. ‘It’s not a bad place. I hope you don’t think I was—’

  ‘I don’t.’ Lucy pulled a large disposable bag from a stack in the drawer, getting to work on emptying the fridge. ‘I’m kind of a slob, I get it.’ She looked around at the barely used utensils in the pot on the side. ‘Harriet bought that for me. She said it would encourage me to cook more.’ Her voice cracked, and she fell silent. Yesterday she’d had a different life, now she was barrelling blindly into a new one. Still, there was no time to stop. Stopping meant dwelling.