Reunited at The Altar

Leaving the little cottage, he walked to the neighbouring house and knocked on the white-painted front door. And he stared in utter shock when it opened, putting him face to face with Abigail Scott for the first time in nearly five years.

CHAPTER TWO

‘BRAD?’ ABIGAIL LOOKED as shocked as he felt, the colour draining from her face as she stared at him. ‘What are you doing here?’ she asked—at exactly the same time as he asked, ‘What are you doing here?’

‘I was looking for the owner of number one Quay Cottages,’ he said.

‘That would be me.’ She frowned. ‘So that means you’re hiring number two this week?’

‘Didn’t the letting agency tell you?’

‘They don’t always give me a name. They just said it was a single person who’d booked a Monday-to-Monday let.’

Which was clearly why she’d left him the fresh muffin today as a welcome gift. ‘I didn’t realise you lived here.’

‘No.’ She raised an eyebrow, as if to point out that it was really none of his business, since he was no longer married to her. ‘I assume there’s a problem next door?’

‘Yes. There’s no water,’ he said.

‘Ah.’ She grimaced. ‘Number three had a leaking pipe and the plumber borrowed the spare keys from me to turn off your water this morning, just in case it caused a problem in your house. Obviously he forgot to turn the water back on before he returned the keys, and I didn’t check because I assumed he would’ve already done that.’

‘And the stopcock isn’t in an obvious place.’

‘When these cottages were done up, let’s just say the building contractors made some unusual choices,’ she said. ‘I’ll come and show you where it is.’

‘Thanks.’

Abigail looked hardly any different from the way she’d looked five years ago, when Brad had last seen her. She was still the most beautiful woman he’d ever met, with eyes that he remembered being sea-green when she was happy and grey when she was sad, a heart-shaped face and a perfect cupid’s bow mouth. The striking difference was the way she wore her dark hair; he remembered it falling halfway down her back, and now it was cropped in a short pixie cut that made her grey-green eyes look huge.

‘Audrey Hepburn,’ he said.

She frowned. ‘What?’

‘Your hair. Breakfast at Tiffany’s.’

She inclined her head. ‘Thank you, but actually she had long hair for that film. This is more like her hair was in Sabrina.’

Of course Abigail would know. She and Ruby loved Hepburn’s films and had binge-watched them as teens in the summer holidays. And it was a stupid thing to say. ‘Sorry.’

‘It’s not important.’ She ushered him out of the house, and waited for him to let her into the cottage next door. ‘OK. The stopcock’s here in the lean-to at the back.’

He found the right key, unlocked the door and dealt with the stopcock.

‘I’ll wait to make sure the water’s working,’ she said. ‘And I’d better ask the agency to put a note about the stopcock’s position in the file they leave for clients.’

‘Good idea,’ he said. Abigail always had been practical and organised. She’d made him feel grounded and back in the real world after a hard day at the lab—and he’d missed that.

Not that he had a right to miss it.

He’d been the one to insist on a divorce. Even though he’d been sure he was doing the right thing for her, he knew it had hurt her.

There was nothing he could do to change the past; but he wanted things to be at least on an even keel between them, for the sake of Ruby’s wedding.

‘Thank you for helping,’ he said, turning on the taps and noting that thankfully the water ran clear.

‘No problem.’

* * *

Abigail knew this was her cue to leave, and to make herself a little bit scarce over the next few days.

Except Brad looked like hell, with dark smudges under his eyes. And she knew why: because he was back in Great Crowmell for the first time since his father’s death. Home, where he felt he’d failed. Even though Jim’s death most definitely hadn’t been his fault, Brad had blamed himself, and that was when their life together had started to unravel.