doors. Her guests bracketed one of the wrought-iron tables she’d picked up at a local DIY centre. Daniel had glossed them brilliant white and the matching chairs were covered in thick, bright-red cushions, made by Madeline as a surprise gift. Her friend was an absolute marvel when it came to sewing and embroidery. Mia was learning, slowly, but she’d get there. One of the best things about refurbishing Butterfly House had been the chance to learn new skills, to challenge herself in a creative way. Her youngest sister, Nee, was the artist in the family, but it had been a surprise to Mia to find she had her own talents, too.
‘This is lovely, dear.’ Mr Chivers patted her hand then began to load his plate with sandwiches and scones. ‘And not just the food, though I’ll be on strict rations when we get home, won’t I, Jen?’ He winked at his wife.
‘Silly old fool,’ Mrs Chivers said, but there was real affection in her voice.
Undaunted, Mr Chivers continued. ‘You’ve made a beautiful home here, inside and out.’
Mia smiled as a warm glow started inside. ‘I can’t take credit for the garden, my thumb is more brown than green. Luckily my friends and my in-laws have plenty of talent in that department. The garden and grounds are down to them. You should have seen the mess out here before.’
‘In-laws?’ Mrs Chivers’ tone held a hint of something sly. ‘I didn’t realise you and your young man were married.’ She nodded at Mia’s naked fingers. ‘No ring.’
This was another of those things she hadn’t taken into account when she decided to open a guest house. Hotels were impersonal, anonymous places, but opening your home to people was different. They expected to get to know you, even over the space of a few days. No one had been rude, but she’d been surprised at how open people were, how much they shared with her, and the kinds of questions they asked in return.
‘I was referring to my late husband’s parents, Mrs Chivers. Daniel and I aren’t married, yet.’
The iron legs of her chair scraped back and Mrs Chivers descended on Mia to gather her into a fierce hug. Shocked, and not altogether sure what to do, Mia returned the embrace with a tentative pat on her shoulder. Mrs Chivers pulled back, ‘Oh, my dear, it’s an absolute sod of a thing to lose the man you love. And you so young as well. At least I had thirty good years with my Tony.’
Mia couldn’t stop herself from glancing between the older couple. She’d assumed they’d been together for years. Mr Chivers gave her a nod, his expression supremely unconcerned. ‘That’s right. I’m the also-ran. Jen and I had a thing donkey’s years ago, but we drifted apart and found happiness with other partners. We ran into each other at one of those U3A clubs and it was like I’d seen her yesterday.’
Was that a blush on Mrs Chivers’ cheeks? Mia found herself softening to the woman. Yes, she was an awkward customer, but there was a kind heart under there, too. She squeezed her arm gently. ‘I’m glad you’ve found happiness again.’
Mrs Chivers touched her cheek. ‘And you have, too, I hope, my dear?’
‘Yes. Yes, I have.’ A lump formed in her throat. If she wasn’t careful, she’d get all weepy again. ‘If you’ll excuse me, I’ll leave you in peace to enjoy your tea.’
Mrs Chivers gave her one more quick hug then let her go. Needing a few minutes to compose herself, Mia escaped down the path rather than returning to the house. The grey army had done an amazing job with the garden, and the flowerbeds were already bright with colour. The shrubs and bushes edging the garden shone with every shade of green, a verdant promise of more to come. Buddleia lined the back of the lawn, framing the steps which led to the beach. Mia paused, picturing them ripe with white and purple blossom, covered in dancing butterflies.
It would be the perfect backdrop for a late-summer wedding. Chairs on the lawn for guests during the ceremony and a barbeque on the beach afterwards. They could offer a package for couples wanting an intimate, more casual affair, and the harem suite would serve as an unusual wedding-night setting. Daniel might even be persuaded to take a couple of pictures, unique souvenirs of a special day.
Warmth enveloped her back, and his arms encircled her waist. ‘I’ve been watching you for the past five minutes. You’ve got that look on your face. What are you planning?’
She glanced over her shoulder and the look of eager expectation on his face bowled her over. Whatever mad scheme she came up with, he would be first in line to cheer her on.
Not soon. Now.
‘I’m thinking we could hold weddings here at Butterfly Cove. We’d have to give it a dry run ourselves, of course.’
The corners of Daniel’s mouth kicked up and he repeated the words he’d said to her just a few feet away on the beach, the first time they’d made love. ‘Mia Sutherland, are you asking me to marry you?’
‘Yes, Daniel Fitzwilliams, I most certainly am.’
The miles slipped past the window, grey urban sprawl giving way to longer and longer stretches of green fields as the train took them east to west from London to Somerset. It was the same route they used when travelling to stay with their friends in Butterfly Cove, and Aaron wished they were heading further south to that peaceful spot on the coast rather than their actual destination. Luke sat opposite him, head resting against the window, eyes closed as he nodded along to whatever he was listening to through his headphones. A study in relaxation, if you could ignore his fingers drumming against his thigh. Aaron swallowed a sigh. Going home shouldn’t feel like a duty, but he’d dodged every invitation since Christmas. Maybe Cathy would be too busy being the centre of attention to bother with him.
It wasn’t fair. And yes, that made him sound like a whiny little kid instead of a grown man of nearly thirty, but damn it, it wasn’t fair. He loved his dad, adored his brother and would have loved Cathy, too, if she’d let him, but the time for that was long past. He’d settle for friendship; hell, he’d settle for being politely ignored. Anything would be a respite from the smiling barbs and digs. Each time he crossed the threshold of the one place on earth he should feel safe and happy, he swore he wouldn’t rise to the bait. He’d be like Teflon and let it all just slide right off him. Shrug and smile, move past it and let Dad and Luke breathe easier.
His fingers clenched around the small box in his pocket. The sharp corners dug into his skin to the point of pain. He could tell himself a hundred times he didn’t care, that he didn’t need her approval, her affection, but it was a lie. The cost of the gold Pandora charm in the box proved it. How many times would he do this to himself? Memories flashed of homemade cards hidden behind others on the mantelpiece, of flowers purchased with preciously hoarded pocket money left to wilt without water. Then there was the jumper she’d admired in a shop window which somehow ended up with a hole in it the first time she wore it. All easily explained away as silly accidents, but somehow it only ever happened with gifts from Aaron.
A nudge to his foot startled him and he blinked the burn from his eyes. Luke stared at him across the little table between them, a deep furrow between his brows. His headphones were looped around his neck and faint, tinny music echoed from them. ‘You don’t have to keep doing this, you know.’ As much as he loved his mum, Luke was under no illusions about her animosity towards Aaron.
‘Yeah, I do.’
Luke shook his head. ‘You really are a glutton for punishment. Ah, sod that, let’s talk about something else. Are
