Page 87 of Take Me Away

I’m still thinking about her words as Maisie is clambering into bed, exhausted but glowing. ‘Will Uncle Jude be here in the morning?’ she asks, duvet up by her chin.

‘No, why would he?’ I pat her legs and snatch the book we’re reading for bedtime from the bedside table.

Wiggling toes squeeze under my legs. ‘I don’t know. He was here this morning, because you were with Isla.’

‘Maisie, that was a one-off and I did explain.’ I didn’t, not really, but I pretended to.

‘I like her, Dad. You don’t have to hide things from me.’

With a sigh, I lean forward and press a kiss on her forehead. ‘I’m not hiding anything. I don’t know how long Isla will be here for.’

‘And you think she will leave like Mum did?’

My breath snatches in my windpipe, raw and harsh. ‘Maisie, your mum didn’t want to leave us. She wanted to stay so much it broke her heart.’

Maisie’s small fingers reach for mine. ‘Dad, I know that. And maybe Isla will want to stay too, if you tell her.’

I let out a laugh, shaking my head. ‘Who made you so big and wise?’

‘You. You grew me good.’

‘I grew you cheeky. Are we reading this story?’

‘Maybe.’ Her grin is smug. ‘But I saw you smiling today.’

‘I always smile!’ To prove the point, I grimace a flash of my teeth.

‘No, you don’t, Dad. And I’ve missed it.’

Well, fuck.

‘If we don’t read this next chapter soon I might forget how to smile at all.’

She giggles and pats the bed next to her. ‘Come on, then. I’m waiting for you. But maybe you should ask Isla on a date.’

Definitely cheeky.

‘A date, huh?’

‘Yeah, a date.’

‘And what do you know about dates?’ There’s a curl of dark hair stuck up on the pillow, and reaching up, I smooth it down.

‘Lots. Uncle Jude told me.’

Christ.

‘Let’s get to sleep. We can think about dates another day.’

After she’s asleep, I head down into the house that we’ve been growing in together, and maybe for the first time in a fair while I don’t feel as hollow as a tomb as I look at the brick around me, because now I’m thinking about going on dates with Isla Quinn, and wondering how a film star might ever want to stay.

Chapter Twenty

ISLA

The cottage is still warm when I get back from the boat. My hair too – wind-tangled, damp with spray. I catch my reflection in the hallway mirror and barely recognise myself. No makeup. Cheeks pink from cold and sun. Wearing Maggie’s cardigan over jeans that have actual mud on them. Smiling like an idiot because Kit Harding held my hand in front of his daughter and didn’t let go.

I look like I belong here.