Page 49 of A Smile in a Whisper

Sprinkling cinnamon and nutmeg into the oaty mix, Evie tossed her bangs out of her eyes. “It’s wild to think Nick hasn’t been back for three and a half years—basically Poppy’s entire existence.”

“Yep. At least he graced us with his presence at her baptism,” said Fiona. “But even then, he couldn’t hightail it back to New York fast enough.”

The last time we saw each other. Evie gave the oatmeal a determined swirl.

In the thirteen years since their split, Evie had only set eyes on Nick twice: Fiona and Rupert’s wedding ceremony ten years ago and Poppy’s baptism, his habit of missing most family gatherings and special occasions in Orkney making it easy for Evie to avoid him. However, with his schedule cleared for his second niece’s christening, Fiona had given her best friend a heads-up and Evie braced for impact. She prepared a highlight reel of brag-worthy talking points (her successful career, busy social life, a stylish flat), got a fresh manicure, and splashed out on a new dress. Evie’s life may have been far from perfect, but it was still pretty sweet and would be even sweeter once Nick knew how incredibly well she was doing…without him.

But on the actual day, Evie’s resolve had withered. Spotting Nick, tie loosened and beer in hand, crossing the party and headed in her direction, she bolted, robbing herself of the satisfaction of finding closure on her own terms.

And now, three and a half years later, swirling a wooden spoon through a large batch of oatmeal, she was back at that starting line again wanting to speak her piece and prove to Nick that she had not only survived since their split but had flourished.

But how to go about it?

Nick was her boss for the next two months, and a sharp-tongued “You were shitty for dumping me ’cause I had Crohn’s” speech could put a reference and future catering business with the BBC and other visiting broadcasters in jeopardy. She was at Nick’s mercy however she sliced it. Maybe putting her need for closure on the back burner was for the best?

Evie gave the oatmeal a succession of laborious stirs, feeling another nagging question bubbling up, the same one raised by Sunita two days earlier.

“Fi, did you know Nick was working this shoot?”

She set down her tea. “Oh god no. We were as surprised as you. Nick’s been keeping things on the down low lately.”

Lately my ass. Evie bit her tongue. Try always.

“Guilt does strange things to people, I guess,” Fiona concluded.

“I’m sorry I’ve made things awkward with him.”

“Any awkwardness is on him, not you, Eves,” said Fiona. “And you did nothing wrong.”

Except have Crohn’s. Grateful for Fiona’s loving loyalty, Evie smiled warmly, but with Nick’s unexpected return, angst percolated in her chest again. She dragged the spoon through the oats as Jamie popped his head around the doorjamb, his dark hair sticking out from beneath his beloved New York Yankees cap.

“The tea and coffee station’s done.” He rubbed his sleepy eyes. “What’s next?”

“Cutlery and napkins. Oh, and the oatmeal toppings: honey, banana, berries—you know, all the things we prepped earlier?”

“Got it.” Jamie rummaged through the cupboard, grabbing a box of cutlery, and left as quickly as he had arrived.

Evie glanced back at Fiona. “So you excited about being an extra?”

“I am! Barely slept last night. You should come up to the castle on your break. We’re filming in the library and apparently, there’s a secret passage hidden behind the bookshelves.”

“Maybe I should ask the builders to add one to the shop. Might come in handy the next time Nick pops in.”

Fiona adjusted the chin straps dangling from her nightcap. “Eves, don’t get mad, but…I think you two should talk.”

Exhausted from her pain medication and a late night of baking, Evie didn’t have it in her to get into the whole He’s my boss argument, so she gave in, albeit evasively.

“Talk about what?” She churned the goopy oats. “His marriage? The subsequent divorce? The salacious sex scandal? There’s so much to unpack.”

Evie didn’t know all the gory details, but she knew the gist of what Nick had been up to during the intervening years. Social media and the island gossip mill made sure of it, which raised the delicate question: which was worse—knowing or not knowing?

“You have every right to stick the knife in,” said Fiona, “but I don’t believe Nick’s a bad guy.”

“Well, he ain’t a saint! Clearly.”

“Has he made poor decisions? Yes, loads of ’em, but who hasn’t?”

Holding up her gauze-covered hand, Evie grimaced. “Guilty as charged.”