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

When It's All Over

Two days later...

Fiona climbed out of the cab and walked to the cottage entrance door. She heard him slam the car door closed behind her, and she assumed he followed. She unlocked the door. She couldn't remember the numbers for the alarm and rummaged in her pocket looking for the code. He entered and stopped near her. She finally fished out the piece of paper and typed in the digits. She started dragging the coat of herself, he just stood in the hallway without moving. She toed off her Sorels and finally looked at him. It was funny how she used to think his face was inexpressive. She could see the worry and the confusion and the irritation written in his features as clearly as if he'd just yelled them into her face.

"I'm alright," she said. "I am, I'm just–" She wasn't sure what to say, so she just shrugged.

"This is the first time you've spoken since you came out of that office," he said in a low voice.

"Ah, yes, probably," she said. "I just need to process it." She headed to the bathroom, but then stopped and looked at him. His eyes were roaming her face. "I'm sorry," she said. "I'm sorry I'm not– I just don't feel like talking," she said quietly.

"You don't have to," he said.

"I know." Fiona nodded. "I know, Will..."

She washed her hands and stepped out of the bathroom. He'd taken off his jacket and his boots but he wasn't on his usual spot on the sofa where he'd been writing for the past two days. He stood in the doorway to the lounge, leaning on it, waiting for her.

"I'd like to lie down," she said bleakly. "I'm tired."

His eyebrows jumped up, but he of course said nothing. Fiona went upstairs, undressed, pulled on his tee she found in the rumpled duvet, and lay down. Her head felt oddly empty. So much for taking the time to process. There's no processing happening. She closed her eyes and took a long breath. Maybe, if she just took a nap–

No sleep came. She just lay, and the words of the lawyer bounced in her noggin like ice cubes in a tall glass.

She realised there was a noise bothering her - and she focused on it. He was moving downstairs, his familiar steps creaking and echoing through the cottage. Is he pacing the lounge and the hallway?

Fiona stubbornly squeezed her eyes. She could of course get up, and go downstairs, and... let him make her feel better. He always made her feel better. What did he say then? 'Doesn't griping and moping feel better in bed with a lover?' Will Holyoake wasn't her 'lover,' though. That word just didn't feel right.

He turned around near the kitchen - on that one exceptionally creaky patch of the floor she was now familiar with - and she heard his cane thump into something. He immediately went quiet after that. He's probably trying not to wake you up, Fiona. Except you aren't sleeping. And you will feel better if you go down and talk to him.

Also, he's worried for you, that's why he's pacing.

It was the latter thought that made her roll off the bed, pull on her robe, and drag herself out of the bedroom. She opened the bedroom door, and saw him stand midway up the stairs, his face attentive - and then immediately nonchalant. Blimey, the man can be silent when he wants to.

"Did I just catch you stalking me when I'm presumably asleep?" Fiona asked him, feeling entertained - especially by his innocent face. Well, it's his usual stone face, but if he was anyone else, he'd be whistling and hiding his eyes right now.

He gave her his typical exasperated look from under a raised eyebrow, and she shook her head in amusement.

"Let's have a cuppa, yeah?" she said, and he turned around and started slowly going down the stairs.