Away With the Fairies (The Swallow Barn Cottage Series, Book 2)

Double Trouble

She settled with her easel in the lounge, and he sat down on the sofa and pulled on his headphones. She worked till lunch. The sun shifted, and she kept turning her chair, following it, keeping him in her sight at all times. She could've asked to simply take his photos for reference - but since he didn't seem to mind, she'd just look up whenever she needed a refresher. She'd made five sketches, and started on a watercolour of the first full illustration - the Greenman's face hiding among the branches of an oak tree - when she heard a mobile ring. It wasn't hers, her Samsung was on the coffee table in front of her.

She climbed off the chair and came up to him. His eyes flew open.

"Phone," she mouthed.

He smirked at her and picked up his phone thrown carelessly on the other end of the sofa. He looked at the screen and pushed his headphones off.

"Do you want me to leave?" she asked.

He glanced at her and shook his head. Fiona went back to her chair and stuffed her headphones into her ears. She probably wouldn't be able to stop herself from watching him, so she turned away and bent over a sketch on her lap. In a few minutes she felt the movement behind her, she looked over her shoulder and saw that he rose and left the room. Fiona went back to her easel.

When she decided to take a break, she saw it was half past two - and he still wasn't back in the lounge. She bit her bottom lip in unease. It was none of her business - but she felt suddenly worried. That's just stupid, Fiona. He's a grown man, and he can do whatever he wants. Maybe he went for a walk. Or he's taking a nap. Watching telly. Is there a telly in this cottage? Except she'd never seen him do either. He'd always been here, on this sofa. Listening to his music. On the other hand, she'd known him for two days and a bit. She sighed, wiped her hands, and went to the kitchen to start on lunch.

She found chorizo sausages, ham, and some fresh vegetables in the fridge, so a simple linguine dish could be conjured very easily. She was almost done cooking, when she heard the back door bang.

"Pasta's almost ready," she shouted towards it, without turning.

"Smells lovely."

That was not his voice - and she twirled on one spot, clenching a knife in her hand.

"Good afternoon, Mrs. King," John Holyoake said and smiled at her. "I apologise for the intrusion." He pointed at the knife in her hand with his eyes. "But I was under the impression you knew I was coming."

"No, but–" She lowered her weapon. "But it's your cottage. So, you obviously can come any time, and– Good afternoon, Mr. Holyoake."

She heard the front door open - and the familiar uneven steps approached.

"I assumed you'd come through the front door," Will grumbled and looked at Fiona.

"I'm making pasta," she said in a lost tone.

"Smells lovely," he said, and John Holyoake barked a short laugh.

"That's what I just said. Afternoon, Fred." He smiled widely. "How are you doing, Mrs. King? How are my illustrations going?"

"Oh, um– They're going well. Would you like to see some right away?"

She was ready to run to the lounge - when she heard Will's enraged low voice. That's a growl. "He's not here for your paintings, Fiona."

She threw a confused look at both brothers.

"I'm here to check on my illustrator," John Holyoake said in a nonchalant tone. "And it wouldn't have been such an absurd comedy moment if you hadn't failed to let Mrs. King know I was coming."