Alicia Martinez is determined to keep a low profile. After a tough year, she deletes all of her social media and retreats to the small coastal town of St Andrews in the hopes of starting over - and avoiding her tumultuous past.
Oliver Hogarth is a...
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Alicia had completely forgotten.
She scampered around the flat, stuffing laundry under the sofa and shoving empty wine bottles into cupboards at random. She had exactly 30 seconds before her mother and Tess would follow her up the stairs with the luggage, and she knew how her mother felt about mess. She surveyed the flat.
No dust? Check.
The bins? Empty.
Her sanity? Gone.
Alicia blew out a breath. This was as clean as it was going to get. Which was good, because she could hear the creak of the door.
"Córcholis, mija, these stairs are horrible!"
She smiled, taking the bag from her mother, who promptly made a beeline for the kitchen. Alicia trailed her in, flipping on the kettle.
"Tea?"
"Yes, please," Tess chirped, throwing herself on to a chair. "I'm parched."
"How was the drive?"
Her mother pulled a face. "Long. Your sister played the same album on repeat. For seven hours, if you can believe it."
"It's a good album," Tess said defensively. "Any Patriots fan will tell you so." She smiled as Alicia doled out the boiling water into mugs. "Milk for me, porfa."
Her mother's eyes skipped around the room, drinking in the cluttered countertops. The heart-shaped magnets on their fridge. The wooden coat rack. Not that there was much to see there; all of the coats were put away. Well, except for—
Alicia froze.
Oh, god. Oliver's coat.
Alicia threw herself into the chair with the staunch determination of a soldier throwing himself on a landmine. She managed to drag the coat down, so that she was sitting on top of the navy wool, blocking it from view. Tess gave her an odd look.
"Aren't you going to finish the tea?"
"Can you do it?" Alicia pulled at her shirt. "I feel suddenly dizzy."
This was the wrong thing to say.
Her mother rose from her seat. "You're not running a fever, are you?" She took a step towards her. "Let me feel your forehead."
"No!" Alicia held up a hand. "Don't come any closer." She could feel the coat digging into her back. "It could be contagious."
"But I—"
"Seriously, Mum, stay where you are."
Unfortunately, giving directions to her mother was a lot like telling a toddler not to smear mashed carrot all over the walls: pointless, and never particularly well received. Her mother's dark eyes narrowed.
"Por Dios, Alicia," she growled, marching towards her, "if you don't take better care of yourself, then one day you'll—" She broke off, her eyes widening. "What's that?"
