Page 60 of The Devil’s Lair

She nods vigorously. Rebecca ruffles her hair. “You weren’t supposed to tell.”

“Too late. She’s already on my side.” I hold out my hand for a high-five. Isla obliges. Rebecca groans.

“Two against one. I don’t stand a chance.” There’s a smile in her voice that tells me she’s not offended by what I said. We’re still relative strangers. Sometimes it’s hard to know where to draw the line, and as much as I don’t feel the need to joke every five minutes with her, it’s difficult to scale back a habit I’ve had for years.

“How about we go out for breakfast? The wind has dropped, and there’s a nice place not too far from here.”

“Since it appears I’m not to be trusted with a toaster, that works for me.”

We head out, with Benton trailing a few feet behind us. The sea is calm today—a stark contrast from when we arrived yesterday—the waves gently lapping the shore. Isla skips along in front of us, stopping to pick up the odd seashell and put it in her pocket.

Wrenley Tea Rooms comes into view. Vanessa Wrenley has owned this quaint little café for as long as I can remember.

“Wrenley.” Rebecca chuckles. “I might have a claim on this business.”

I cant my head. “Why would you have a claim?”

“Because my maiden name was Wrenley.”

“Is that so?” I study her. “Well, my sweet little Wren, if you think you can take on Vanessa, the owner, who is pretty fierce by the way, have at it. I’ll be over here with popcorn to watch the showdown.”

Her eyes flare at the nickname that came out of nowhere, but she doesn’t correct me. In fact, she smiles. I make a mental note. It suits her. Wrens, despite their size, are a resilient breed, just like Rebecca.

The little bell over the door jingles as we enter. Benton stands by the entrance, hands behind his back. Rebecca leans a little closer to me.

“Should we ask him to join us? I feel terrible having him stand there while we eat.”

I shake my head. “He’d hate that. He’s doing his job, and he’s good at it.”

She doesn’t look convinced by my explanation, but if I asked Benton to join us, he’d be mortified. It’s just not done.

It’s the off season, so the place is quiet. I gesture to a table for four by the bay window with a view of the beach.

“I can recommend the sausage sandwich. Vanessa makes the sausages herself, and they are some of the best you’ll ever taste.”

“Some of the best.” Vanessa appears from behind the counter and clips me around the back of the head. “Cheeky so-and-so.”

I laugh. Vanessa’s known me since I was a kid, and I’ve had my fair share of clips around the ear from her. “Okay, the best. Rebecca, this is the owner, Vanessa, a possible distant relative of yours. Vanessa, this is my wife, Rebecca De Vil, formerly Rebecca Wrenley, and this is her gorgeous daughter, Isla.”

I purposely leave out La Salle. When the time is right, I’ll suggest Rebecca change Isla’s surname and put that family out of her mind for good. It doesn’t have to be my name if she’d rather not. Isla Wrenley has a nice ring to it, although no one would be prouder than me if Rebecca allowed me to adopt Isla and have her take my name.

One step at a time.

We order food and mugs of hot chocolate, and Vanessa brings Isla a coloring book and some crayons to play with. I thank her, and Isla sticks her thumb up in thanks, too. Rebecca’s gaze rests on her daughter, soft and tinged with hope.

“It’ll happen.” In a move very unlike me, I reach across the table and squeeze her hand briefly before drawing back.

“How did you know where my mind had gone?”

“Did I forget to mention I read minds?” I wink, and she smiles. “What has her therapist said?”

“Pretty much the same. When she’s ready, she’ll speak.”

“There you go then. And yours?” I try not to ask her about it, preferring to let her tell me in her own time. Although I’ve never tried therapy myself—and yes, I have thought about it more since Rebecca suggested it—I know from Xan that it’s often painful and leaves you feeling raw and exposed. Probably why I’ve avoided it so far.

“It’s going well. It’s… difficult. Not a quick fix.” She grimaces. “And costly. I’m hoping I won’t need it for very long.”

I refrain from telling her that Xan has been attending therapy for years, and even now he’s happy with Imogen and has Sasha to focus on, he still goes to see Lilian once a week. He probably will for the rest of his life.