Page 3 of The Clifftop Cottage

Maisie giggled, bouncing on the spot in her skeleton-covered pyjamas, curls flying everywhere.

Leah appeared behind her, rolling her eyes fondly. “Give her a minute to breathe, Maisie. She’s only just walked in.”

Erica let out a slow breath, her head still spinning slightly from the sudden shift in pace.

“You haven’t seen Maisie since last Christmas,” Leah added. “Remember? We came down to London.”

“Maisie,” Erica repeated, anchoring the name this time. “Of course.”

Maisie beamed like she’d just passed a test.

“You got me that massive cake,” she said proudly.

“With jelly,” Leah added.

“And sprinkles,” Maisie said.

“An architectural masterpiece,” Dylan called from the kitchen.

Erica huffed a quiet laugh, shaking her head. “How could I forget?”

“You were crazy busy back then,” she said, waving her hand dismissively. “But you still squeezed us in.”

She remembered the evening in question – rushing from one brand meeting to the next. Her mind had been elsewhere, focused on content creation and sponsorship deals, while her family had politely slotted themselves into the margins of her packed schedule.

Now she relied on her sister to let her in.

She nodded towards the mantelpiece. “You never told me there’s an artist in the family. Did you do that bat?”

Maisie straightened instantly. “Yes. And a zombie. It’s even better.”

“I’m sure it is,” Erica said.

“You have to come see it!”

Erica hesitated, exhaustion tugging hard at her. “Maybe tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow,” Leah said smoothly, stepping in. “Right now, dinner.”

Leah gave Erica a pointed look but kept her tone light. “I’ve made up the spare room for you. You don’t need to worry about anything tonight.”

“That’s sweet of you, thanks.” Erica waved a limp hand. “You don’t need to fuss over me, though.”

“Nonsense,” Leah replied briskly, steering a disappointed Maisie to the dining table. The kitchen smelled rich of garlic, tomatoes, something slow-cooked and familiar.

Erica’s stomach betrayed her with a quiet growl.

“Perfect timing,” Dylan said, setting down a bowl. “We were giving it another five minutes, but I was starting to lose hope.”

“I would never,” Leah said.

“You absolutely would,” he replied.

Maisie climbed into her chair. “Mum nearly burned the garlic bread.”

“I did not burn it.”

“It was black.”