Look Back at Me (Fleckney Fields Series, Book 1)

Lead by Example

Three weeks later...

Viola climbed out of her car, pulling her handbag after her, and then cringed. The melting snow from under her feet - the cold and dirty slush it had turned into - had just splashed onto her trousers and rushed into her shoe. Spring had officially arrived to Fleckney, and Viola couldn't say she was that fond of the season. She'd always preferred the coldness and the pristine whiteness of Winter.

Her phone rang in her bag, and she pulled it out.

"Morning, darling," Rhys purred, and Viola's mood immediately improved.

"Morning," she answered and took a few steps towards the cottage in front of her.

"What are you up to?" he asked in a jolly voice.

Sunny weather and the madness of Spring had always affected him, she remembered, although he would never admit it. Unlike Viola, who'd grown up in the concrete jungle of a big city, all of the Holyoakes, with the exception of John, perhaps, retained a strong connection to Nature and seasonal changes even in their adult years.

"I'm at Fiona's," Viola said. "I'm sitting for that portrait again."

"Ah, right," he said with a chuckle. "Can't wait to see it. What is it, a fairy queen, or something, right?"

"Yes, Queen Mab, the midwife of the fairies," Viola answered and shook her foot in slight annoyance. "Surprisingly, not an Ice Queen or some sort of a cold-blooded mermaid."

"You aren't cold, love. You're warm and soft and... delicious," he said, and Viola snorted.

"Only with you, my darling. Only with you." She shook her head in amusement. "I'm already at the cottage. Was there something you wanted?"

"I was wondering what time you're coming, so I can order our dinner."

"Ah, dinner," Viola drew out, faking pensiveness. "Have we planned it? I don't recall."

"Don't play with me, love." He gave out a rather convincing growl. "These have been very long three weeks."

Viola burst in a series of small giggles.

"You never could tolerate abstinence well," she said, and he groaned on the other end of the line. "I'll be at your place at six," she said.

"Alright. Any preference on the food? Not Chinese, I remember. Indian?"

"Fish and chips? I really don't care, to be honest. But I appreciate how you're turning our first shag since my diagnosis into such a special event," Viola drew out in a theatrical emotional tone, and even gave out a long, loud sigh. "It's so romantic."

"I'm going to come to Will's cottage now, throw you over my shoulder, and there will be no dinner or prelude to it at all, if you don't stop bollocksing," he snarled, and Viola laughed in her throat.

"But, darling, I require flowers and proclamations and– Bugger!" she hissed because her foot slipped into yet another puddle. "I can't stand all this melting and the muck. I think I've ruined my favourite Jimmy Choo's."

"It's Spring in Fleckney, Vi," he said with a chuckle. "Why are you even wearing those stilts of yours? Where are your wellies?"

"I forgot them at your place last week," she said. "Clearly, your cottage is still very much cluttered and disorganised if you haven't noticed a pair of aubergine coloured wellingtons lying around."

"You still haven't moved in," he said, and she could bet he'd just shrugged. "Come live with me, and I'll make it look like a magazine page."

"Let's start with a weekend of mindless sex," she said, "and then we can talk about the state of your cupboards."