Page 90 of Take Me Away

I can’t answer that. Don’t know how to explain that Kit Harding is the only thing making sense right now. That his hand in mine felt like coming home. That for the first time in a long, long while, I don’t feel like I’m pretending to be human.

‘I need more time,’ I say instead.

‘You don’t have time. Marcus is circling. He knows you’re vulnerable right now. He’s going to strike.’

‘Then let him.’ I stand up, moving to the window. The sea is grey and churning, beautiful and violent. ‘I’m not running anymore, Piper. I’m done.’

‘Isla—’

‘I have to go. I’ll call you later.’

I hang up before she can argue.

My hands are shaking. My heart’s pounding. But underneath the fear is something else – something that feels almost like anger.

I’m done hiding.

Kit said I should go to Dot’s shop. Face the village. Stop letting shame keep me locked in this cottage like I’m the one who did something wrong.

He’s right.

I grab my jacket – actually it’s Maggie’s, but who cares – and head for the door before I can talk myself out of it.

The village shop is exactly as I remember: cramped, overstocked, with a bell that jangles when you open the door and Dot Pendleton presiding over it all like a benevolent dictator.

She looks up when I enter, eyes widening behind her glasses.

‘Isla Quinn,’ she says, voice carrying across the shop. ‘Maggie’s favourite girl has come in at last.’

Every head turns. The two women browsing the magazine rack. The elderly man buying tobacco. Even the teenager restocking shelves stops mid-reach to stare.

My instinct is to flee. To mumble an apology and back out the door.

Instead, I lift my chin. ‘Hello, Mrs Pendleton.’

‘Dot,’ she corrects, coming around the counter. ‘We don’t stand on ceremony in Sea Salt Bay, as you well know.’ She’s looking me up and down, assessing. ‘You’ve got thin. London food doesn’t suit you.’

‘I’ve been told that before,’ I manage, lips twitching.

‘Well, come here then.’ She opens her arms, and before I can process what’s happening, she’s pulled me into a hug that smells like peppermints and washing powder. ‘Welcome home, love. About bloody time.’

My throat goes tight. I hug her back, probably too hard.

When she releases me, her eyes are damp. ‘Your gran would be so happy to know you’re here.’

‘I should have come sooner,’ I whisper.

‘Should-haves don’t feed the cat,’ Dot says briskly, wiping her eyes. ‘You’re here now. That’s what matters.’ She gestures around the shop. ‘Now, what do you need? And don’t say “just browsing”. I’ve known you since you were knee-high to a grasshopper. You came in here for a reason.’

I grab a basket, suddenly nervous again. ‘Just … supplies. I haven’t really stocked the cottage yet.’

‘Right then.’ Dot nods approvingly. ‘Bread’s fresh this morning. Nina brought over some of her shortbread – that girl’s a miracle with butter and sugar. Milk’s in the back. Tea’s where it’s always been.’

I move through the shop, loading the basket. Bread. Milk. Eggs. Tea. Biscuits. The basics.

‘Heard you went out on Jessie’s Dream yesterday,’ Dot says casually, rearranging a display of tinned beans that doesn’t need rearranging. ‘With Kit Harding.’

Here it is. The real reason I’m nervous.