Page 65 of Carry Me Home

‘Thank you, darling.’

Cara looks between us with genuine delight. ‘Tom really undersold this village. Film stars. Dramatic rescues. Adorable dogs. What else is he hiding?’

‘The ghost in the pub cellar,’ Maisie says. ‘But nobody believes me.’

‘There’s no ghost,’ Isla says.

‘There’s absolutely a ghost. I’ve heard it. It sighs.’

‘That’s the pipes.’

‘Pipes don’t sigh, Isla. Pipes clank. This is spectral.’

Cara laughs – real, delighted – and I watch her watching my life. The chaos and warmth of it. Chips has wandered back to me, sitting on my feet, and I curl my toes against his warm side and feel the tightness in my chest loosen slightly, the way it always does when Chips is there. This small, unexpected world I’ve built. The dog. The friends. The café.

All the things I didn’t know I needed until they arrived.

Isla and Maisie leave after twenty minutes. Cara watches them go.

‘That was Isla Quinn,’ she says. ‘In your café. Drinking an iced latte.’

‘She lives here. Her partner Kit’s on the lifeboat crew with Tom.’

‘Tom definitely didn’t mention that.’ She shakes her head, still smiling, then reaches for her bag. ‘This was lovely. Thank you for the coffee.’

‘Anytime.’

‘I mean it.’ She stands, slinging her bag over her shoulder. ‘Tom said you’d make me feel welcome and you have. He knows you very well.’

‘We’ve been friends a long time.’

‘I can tell.’ She pauses at the door. ‘He described the way you run this place – everyone who walks in feels like they matter. He was right. You do that.’

‘That’s just … hospitality.’

‘It’s more than hospitality.’ She smiles. ‘It’s a gift. I can see why he—’ She stops. Adjusts her bag on her shoulder. ‘I can see why he loves this village so much.’

That wasn’t the sentence she started. I heard the edit. The same way I’ve been hearing Tom’s edits lately – the swerves, the substitutions, the sentences that land somewhere safer than where they began.

‘I hope you have a good visit,’ I say.

‘I think I will.’ She waves – easy, friendly – and slips out into the heat.

I watch her go. The swing of her sundress. The confidence. The way she pauses outside to look at the harbour, tilting her face to the sun, completely at ease.

I like her. That’s the uncomfortable truth. I want to find a flaw – a sharpness, an edge, a reason to dismiss her – and there isn’t one. She’s warm and smart and she clearly cares about Tom and she said I had a gift and I can’t find fault with any of it.

So why is my jaw tight? Why are my hands gripping the counter? Why did I hear her say Tom’s friend and feel a door close within me that I didn’t know was open?

Chips nudges my hand. I look down at him – scruffy, ridiculous, devoted – and the tightness eases, slightly.

‘Don’t go anywhere,’ I tell him. ‘Okay? Just stay.’

He thumps his tail. The café settles around us. The bear watches from its corner with its glassy pink eyes.

Tom appears at closing time.

‘So?’ He’s in the doorway, hands in pockets, trying for casual and missing by a mile. Chips bounds over, tail going. ‘What did you think?’