Sweetly Isolated (The Swallow Barn Cottage Series, Book 1)

Epilogue

Christmas Eve

She heard the door open, and then the familiar thud of his briefcase being mercilessly thrown on the floor followed. Clementine snorted and shook her head.

"Remind me why I decided it was a good idea to have the office party on Christmas Eve," he asked, entering the room, pulling off his tie.

"Because yesterday you had to go to mine, and the day before there was that dinner at Richards', and–"

She had to stop, because he leaned in and kissed her firmly.

"Mmm, someone's been nicking biscottis from the tin," he murmured and kissed the tip of her nose. "Let me wash my hands and change."

"No!" Clementine exclaimed in fake horror, and hooked her finger to the collar of his white button-up. "The shirt has to stay!"

He chuckled.

"What? Your space pirates haven't satisfied you today, have they?"

"No," Clementine groaned and let him go. "Sometimes I think the readers won't get this sequel. I was so frustrated, I almost killed that copper you like in the Cox book!"

"Not Sergeant Baby Cheeks!" He gave her a theatrical judgemental look. "You're a dangerous woman, Popplewell."

He laughed and left the room. Clementine took another sip of her tea.

"We need to call Lyn," she shouted towards the bathroom. "The girls wanted to thank you for the present. And Lyn wanted to 'thank you' too."

She heard him laugh in the hallway, and he came in - as Clementine obviously noticed and noted to herself - rolling up the sleeves on the same shirt. Mmm, the man's pressing all the right buttons! A white shirt, dark denim, and bare feet? Someone's clearly hinting on something.

"They did ask for a puppy," he said.

"Well, it'll make you even more popular in their books. In Lyn's, meanwhile–" She trailed away and gave him a pointed look.

"So, how's my Alphabet Gang doing today?" he asked, coming up to her, for a proper kiss, probably.

A few minutes later she swatted his shoulder and gently pushed him away.

"Dinner first," she ordered, and he guffawed.

"Will this cooking slavery ever end? It's been two years!" he exclaimed and went to the fridge. He looked inside. "Popplewell, where are the last two slices of strudel?"

He looked at her over his shoulder and raised his eyebrow.

"The Gang was hungry," she said with a shrug.

"The Gang at the moment are cumulatively the size of a large aubergine, Clementine," he said sardonically. "Those strudel slices were bigger than them."

"You just wanted it for yourself. I'll bake you another one," Clementine dismissed.

"You better," he grumbled and took a pack of chicken breasts out.

"Oh, remember that interview I gave a couple of weeks ago? On being the uncrowned Queen slash King of modern hard-boiled fiction?" she said, nibbling on a baby carrot from the plate he'd placed in front of her.

"Oh, it's out? I love reading about your 'path to fame,'" he drew out sardonically. "They always get it wrong."

"Yeah, I'm sure it's once again something about the 'male dominated world of crime fiction,'" she scoffed. "I'm starting to think we should have thrown that 'identity reveal' party you'd suggested."