The stairs of the old cottage creaked under Nova’s feet. She’d gotten used to the sound many years ago, so that it didn’t even register anymore.

But she heard it today. Just as she felt every bump and groove of the worn banister under her hand. Everything felt…more today. The very day itself seemed to be magnified to unmanageable proportions.

The smell of bacon drifted from the kitchen. It was a smell that would normally bring Nova’s taste buds to life with anticipation. But today her nose wrinkled with distaste, and her stomach, already a twisting mass of dread, fear and nerves, gave an unpleasant lurch.

Nova stopped at the bottom of the stairs and looked at the front door. Her coat was hanging right next to it. It would be easy to just slip out—

A crash from the direction of the kitchen made her jump, and she felt a stab of guilt. You are not a coward, Nova Granger. Get a grip.

She closed her eyes for a moment, stiffened her spine, and took a deep breath to centre herself. When she opened her eyes again the first thing she saw was her coat hanging on its peg by the art deco mirror. Her resolve began to slip, so she turned on the flat heel of her boot and headed towards the kitchen before she could give it any more thought.

With only a slight pause for another breath, she pushed open the door and stepped into the warmth of the room heated by the Aga range that took up most of the wall opposite, fragrant with the combined scents of breakfast and coffee. The familiarity and automatic association with comfort and home caused a smile to tug at the corners of Nova’s mouth. But that smile died before it even got the chance to bloom when she saw the mess of broken china lying on the floor by the big, stripped pine table that seemed always to fight with the Aga for dominance of the room.

Nova’s eyes flicked between the other two women present. Aunt Poppy was biting her lower lip, blue eyes wide and clouded with concern. Standing in front of the sink, back to the room, shoulders visibly tight, Luna was breathing heavily.

“What…?” Nova turned back to Aunt Poppy.

The smile her aunt gave her was big and clearly forced. “Oh, good morning, Nova, dear. Sorry about the drama, but we had a little accident with some dishes. Didn’t we, Luna?” The hollow cheer in her voice was jarring.

Nova moved around the table, closer to the shards of Poppy’s breakfast china and within touching distance of Luna. She didn’t reach out, though. These days Luna was inclined to bite the hand that tried to comfort her.

“Luna,” she said quietly, trying to project calm to her sister, the way one might with a wounded animal.

And Luna was wounded, right to her soul.

Nova’s heart twisted when Luna turned her head slowly until their eyes met. The blue-grey depths of her eyes seemed to swim with pain.

For one long, silent moment, Nova thought that her sister was going to reach out to her, to accept the comfort that she had been spurning for weeks. But instead, Luna straightened and squared her shoulders, then flicked her long hair so that it fell in blonde waves down her back.

“Sorry about that, Aunt P. I’ll clean this lot up.” Luna turned away to retrieve a dustpan and brush, then moved to the mess on the floor, crouched down and began to sweep it up.

Nova bent down beside Luna. “Let me help with that.” She reached for the dustpan, but Luna snatched it back, out of Nova’s reach.

“I can do it,” Luna said, somehow managing to inject a note of accusation into the words.

Nova stiffened but didn’t move away. “I know you can, but I’d like to help,” she said, trying not to let her rising frustration leak into her tone.

“I don’t need help!” Luna practically shrieked and shot back to her feet. Anger radiated from her as she paced the few steps between the table and the sink. She threw the dustpan to the floor so hard that it bounced a couple of times before coming to rest under the table. “I am perfectly capable—”

“We know you are, dear,” Poppy said in her softest voice—the one Nova had heard her aunt use with the sickest of her patients. Poppy moved closer to Luna and hesitantly curled the fingers of one hand around Luna’s lower arm. “We just… We want you to know that we’re here for you. We both know how difficult this day is for you.”

Luna jerked her arm free. Her pretty face contorted into something ugly, and rage boiled up in her eyes.

“How could you know?” she demanded, pressing herself back against the sink, arms crossed over her chest. “How could you possibly know? Did your husband die alone and frightened? Did you have to watch the man responsible walk free as if nothing happened?” The last two words were emitted on a sob.

“Luna, darling,” Poppy soothed, unshed tears glittering in her eyes. “Please, we’ve been over this so many times. Tris—”

“Stop!” Luna cried, lifting her hands to cover her ears. “I won’t hear his name. I won’t!”

Before she’d even thought about it, Nova had moved to stand in front of Luna. From that close she could see that Luna was trembling, and tears were running down her pale cheeks.

Conflict warred in Nova’s chest. Compassion for her twin—a widow of eight years, after a mere two years of marriage, and still only twenty-six—battled with the bone deep exhaustion of two weeks trying to convince Luna that Tristan Ashcroft was not, in fact, to blame for her late-husband’s death, and that he had a right to return to the village that was his home.

She glanced over at Aunt Poppy. The lines etched into her face spoke of her own sleepless nights. They couldn’t go on like this. For two weeks, since they’d learned that Tris was about to be released from prison, their home had been like a pressure cooker.

Nova laid her hands lightly on Luna’s shoulders and waited for her sister to meet her eyes before she spoke, voice low but firm.

“Tris is coming home, Luna.” She tightened her hands when Luna would have moved away. “He’s served his time, and he has a right to come home. You must come to terms with that. Please.”

For long moments Luna simply stared at her, her expression unreadable. Nova dared to lift a hand to cup Luna’s cheek. Luna started, as if waking suddenly.

“Never,” she said, her voice barely a whisper. She slipped to the side, away from Nova, and crossed the room to the door, where she stopped, and turned. “You don’t understand. You will never understand.”

When her sister had left, Nova turned to Aunt Poppy, feeling defeated. There was an ache in her heart, and she could feel tears well in her eyes again.

“She’ll be okay,” Poppy reassured her, and she almost convinced Nova. “It will take time, but she’ll learn to cope. She’s done it before.”

Nova pushed away the memory of Luna’s utter devastation after Seth’s death. “I don’t know, Aunt P. She’s so filled with hate.”

“It’s just a manifestation of renewed grief,” Poppy said. Her face was so sweet and kind as she tried to smile around her own tears. “Now, shouldn’t you be at work?”

Nova felt her shoulders relax a little, only now realising how tense they’d been. She managed a smile for the woman who had been more of a mother to her than her own mother ever had. “Shouldn’t you?”

A small laugh escaped Poppy. “My first appointment isn’t until eleven. You go. I’ll stay here for a while.”

Nova lifted her eyes to the ceiling. “I can stay a while. Hari can manage the coffee delivery.”

A sound drew her gaze back from the direction of Luna’s bedroom, and Poppy moved to stand in front of her. She laid her hands on Nova’s shoulders, much as Nova had done to Luna just moments ago.

“We must live our lives, darling,” she said, touching her forehead briefly to Nova’s. “Luna will never move on if we hover over her like mother hens. If we treat her like she’s fragile, then she’ll believe she is. But she’s not. She’s overcome so much to get to this point. She’ll find a way to get past this too.”

Nova wanted desperately to believe her aunt, but the ache that had taken up residence behind her ribs showed no sign of letting up.

“Phone me if you need me. Promise?” she asked.

Poppy smiled and, turning Nova by the shoulders, she gently shoved her towards the door.

“I promise.”

With a deep sigh, Nova nodded and reached for her coat. She pulled it on and stood, laughing softly, while Poppy fastened the big buttons down the front.

“It’s cold out there today, so take a hat and scarf,” Poppy said, already reaching for Nova’s pink and grey check scarf.

* * * *

To say that the small village of Tuppence Corner was ‘quintessentially English’ was something of a cliché, but it was no less true for it. Situated no more than two hours north-east of London, the village was home to a grand total of three hundred eighty-seven people, housed in cottages that ranged in style from red brick, to Tudor, to stone painted in muted shades of orange and pink. It sat nestled in a lush green valley, and the surrounding hills gave her a sense of being sheltered.

In the middle of the main street, with the tall spire of St Mary’s church at one end and a picturesque ford at the other, was a little row of bow-fronted shops. The post office and grocers combined together in the largest of the shops. Next door were two smaller shops—Molly’s Gifts, and Bygones Antiques, and separated from the shops by a narrow lane was the village police station, manned during the day by a single police constable, and closed in the evenings with that same PC on call. Not that he ever had much to do, other than the occasional disagreement between customers of the village pub, usually too drunk to be dangerous to anyone but themselves.

On the other side of the street, with two bow windows and a forest-green awning, was The Proper Coffee Cup, Tuppence Corner’s only café and unofficial hub.

Nova pushed open the door to the café, and immediately the smell of freshly ground coffee beans and home baking seemed to pull her into a warm hug. A spontaneous and real smile lifted Nova’s lips, and, for just a moment, she felt lighter.

“Morning, Boss,” Hardeep Sharma greeted her with a warm smile, never pausing in her task of placing fresh pasties and cakes in the display case by the till.

“Morning, Hari.” Nova unbuttoned her coat and unwound her scarf as she headed towards the small staff room beside the kitchen. “Sorry I’m late this morning. Did the coffee delivery arrive okay?”

“The guy was waiting when I arrived at seven-thirty,” Hari said. She sounded close, and, when Nova looked over her shoulder, she could see that her friend had followed her into the staff room and was watching her with a mischievous smile on her face. “I’m pretty sure he has a crush on me.”

A huff of laughter escaped Nova. Hari said that about every delivery driver who frequented the café, be they male or female. And she was probably right. Hari was a strikingly attractive young woman, with long, jet-black hair that shone in the overhead lighting, a smile that was as bright as high summer and bone structure to kill or die for.

Nova was not a falsely modest woman. With her slim figure, blonde hair and clear blue eyes, she knew that she attracted interested glances, and had been chatted up by the occasional delivery driver herself. But she knew she would never be Hari beautiful. Especially on days like this, when she felt not just tired but downright weary.

She turned away and removed her coat and scarf, then sat in one of the old armchairs she’d bought from a charity shop and changed her knee-length boots for a pair of pink Converse. She knew Hari was still watching her from the doorway, just as she knew that her friend’s warm brown eyes would be filled with concern for her. But Nova didn’t have the energy, or the desire to ‘talk about it’ right then. She just wanted to get to work and stop thinking about everything for a little while. She glanced up at the clock on the wall. Ten-fifteen. Two hours and forty-five minutes until one o’clock. She shook her head and got to her feet.

“So, the coffee order was all good?” she asked, not meeting Hari’s eyes. She edged past Hari and moved through the kitchen to the serving area. Hari’s soft footsteps followed her.

For a dread-filled moment, Nova thought her friend was going to make her talk, but instead, Hari—God bless her—went back to filling the cake display.

“Oh, yes, it’s all fine. He had a new Indonesian blend, said it was gourmet. I took a bag to try it. Hope that’s okay?”

“Of course,” Nova replied.

She was absently rearranging cups, since Hari had everything else well under control, and started when the bell over the door chimed. Glad for something to do, Nova turned and began serving her first customer of the day. Miss Aylward The Elder ordered two cups of Earl Grey for herself and her sister, Miss Aylward The Younger. Nova chatted with the post mistress while she made the tea, then put two warm scones in a bag and handed them over.

“Oh. I didn’t…” The elderly lady—for the Aylward sisters were most certainly ladies—gestured towards the bag with a long, bony finger.

Nova smiled and nudged the bag closer, then put the two cups into a cardboard holder. “On the house. They’re fresh out of the oven,” she added, with a little wink.

“Well, thank you, dear, that’s most kind of you. We shall have these for our morning snack.” She handed Nova the money for the tea, smiled a greeting to Hari then left again. A gust of chill wind entered the café as the door swung closed, and Nova shivered. Time to get out the winter woolies.

“The vicar’s wife called in this morning,” Hari said, pausing in her work to break off a piece of the croissant she was holding, and pop it in her mouth. It reminded Nova that she hadn’t eaten yet.

She snagged another croissant from the tray, and bit into it. She raised her eyebrow in question as she chewed.

“She’s having the parish committee over for afternoon tea and wants some ‘goodies’ delivered.”

Nova nodded and took another bite of her croissant. When she’d swallowed, she said, “I’ll sort that out. I have a couple of other deliveries this afternoon, so I’ll do them all together.” She headed back towards the kitchen, finishing her croissant, and started to make the sandwiches for the vicar’s wife. Smoked salmon and cream cheese, and egg and cress. All on wholegrain bread, cut up into dainty triangles.

She glanced up at the clock. Two hours and thirty-five minutes until one o’clock.

* * * *

After dropping off the ‘goodies’ at the vicarage, Nova stopped by the doctor’s surgery and left some lunch—ham, cheese and light mustard sandwiches, and a large latte—at the reception desk, to be handed in to Poppy when she was free. Nova then dropped into the tiny village library to see Luna. Her sister had been the part-time librarian for nearly two years, and she loved her job—she was even talking about convincing the parish committee to consider funding for full-time opening hours.

She seemed more composed, sitting at her desk, surrounded by her books, and relief went some way to settling the unease in Nova’s chest. The fact that she had even come to work was a small victory.

“I brought you some lentil soup and a cheese panini,” Nova said, setting the food down on the table.

“I am quite hungry,” Luna replied. She placed her pen on the shiny surface of the desk and reached for the takeaway bowl. But she paused, hand on top, and chewed on the inside of her lip for a moment, before lifting her gaze to meet Nova’s. “I’m sorry about this morning, and last night, and, you know, everything”

Nova nodded, placed her hand over Luna’s and smiled. “I know. I’ll see you at home later.”

When she left the library, Nova glanced at the clock in the church tower. One-o-five. Her stomach did an odd little flip, and she breathed deeply as she crossed the road to the lane beside the café. There she got into a small white van with a coffee cup on the side, and the words The Proper Coffee Cup composed of the ‘steam’ rising from the cup.

She drove through the village at an easy pace, though she had to fight the urge to press down on the accelerator. Her skin was tingling, and she knew it had nothing to do with the cool breeze coming in through the one-inch gap in the window.

At a fork in the road, a mile outside the village, she took the left option, and soon arrived at a sign reading Wildefoot Farm. The sign was worn, the wood chipped and paint fading. Nova turned onto a long driveway and sped up just a touch. Her stomach was doing all kinds of gymnastics now, and her hands gripping the steering wheel were slippery with perspiration. Her breathing became shallow when the farmhouse came into view, and by the time she’d parked the van, collected the box from the passenger seat, got out and walked to the front door, she was feeling lightheaded.

She knocked three times on the weather-beaten door and waited, fingers tightening convulsively around the box. When she heard footsteps inside the house coming ever closer, she took a step back, and tried to control her breathing before she passed out.

The hinges creaked as the door opened, and Nova was looking at Tristan Ashcroft, her childhood friend and teenage crush. She could only stare. Eight years in prison had banished the skinny boy he’d been, and in his place stood a wall of tightly honed muscle under skin pale from too little natural sunshine.

Her gaze lifted, almost reluctantly, to his face. His crystal blue eyes had not dimmed during his incarceration. Faint laugh lines crept out at the corners of his eyes, his jaw was strong, almost sculpted and his smile was as wide and bright as it had ever been.

Nova smiled as warmth spread through her body. “You said in your letter that you’d be home by lunch time. I brought lunch.” She held out the box with hands that trembled slightly.

“Thank you,” Tris said. He took the food from her, twisted slightly to his side, and laid it down. When he turned back to her his gaze had softened, and his smile seemed more intimate. “God, I’m so glad to see you.”

With that he stepped closer and pulled her tight against his hard body. His arms wrapped around her waist, and he all but lifted her off the ground.

After the briefest of hesitations, Nova wound her arms around his shoulders and tucked her face into his neck.

“I’m so happy you’re home,” she said. Her words were muffled, but the way Tris’ arms further tightened told her that he’d heard.