Page 70 of One Last Gift

“And what, because you’re ready now, it’s OK?” It was barely more than a whisper.

He opened his mouth to say something, then closed it, shook his head. “This is real, Cassie, this is—”

“No.” Her voice was a snap, and it cut him off. She took a breath, stepped away from his touch. “No,” she said again. “I gave you a chance then, Sam, and I…” She turned from him, picked up her clue off the ground, and sped back to the cottage without another word. Her eyes were burning, and she felt like she might break down into sobs. She tried to take slow, calming breaths as she ran inside, grabbed her suitcase. She’d already packed, of course, just to be organized.

Then she found the taxi driver’s card, called the number. Sam probably thought she was just calming down, or getting a glass of water or something. And that was fine, that was better, because she didn’t want to face him. She couldn’t do this. She just couldn’t.

It was only when she heard a car arriving that she went back outside. Sam was frowning, looking from the taxi to her. It was raining more heavily now, his hair starting to darken with it, droplets clinging to her skin as she crossed to the car and put her suitcase into the trunk.

“Cassie,” Sam said, slowly. “What the fuck are you doing?”

She drew herself up, made herself look at him. “I can’t do this, Sam.” Her lips wanted to tremble, and she pressed them together to stop them. “It’s too much. And we’re both…We’re not…” She opened the door of the car. “It’s just too much, OK?”

She gave him no chance to reply, got into the taxi as quickly as she could, told the driver to go. Sam didn’t try to stop her. Didn’t run after her or call her name. When she turned to look back at him, one last time, he was just standing there in the rain, watching her go. And it was only then, alone in the car, that she allowed the tears to fall.

Three Months Later

Chapter Thirty-Three

Cassie sat on the cobbled street outside the little restaurant, sipping a glass of the best red wine she’d ever tasted and contemplating just one more slice of the cheese platter that Claire had ordered. The evening sun was still warm, even in mid-September, and her shoulders were bare in the flowery dress she’d bought on impulse just before she, Hazel, and Linda had left for Bordeaux. All around her were beautiful buildings, sand-colored, the pink evening light making them glow. Across from the restaurant there was a tall building of flats, each with its own balcony. A woman stood there, her face tanned, wearing a bright red-and-green dress, and she was laughing on the phone, talking loudly, apparently unbothered by the tourists that hovered below.

“Go on,” Claire said, nudging the cheese platter toward her. “I’ve seen you eyeing up the brie.” Cassie cut into it—if you couldn’t indulge in extra brie when on holiday, then when could you?

Claire looked more relaxed than Cassie thought she’d ever seen her. Since moving to Bordeaux she’d gotten a tan, and she’d stopped dyeing her hair, so that the natural brunette now showed through the bottled red. She didn’t even seem bothered about the gray that was woven through—and she shouldn’t, thought Cassie, because it suited her, looked kind of fashionable, like it was intentional. She’d put on a bit of weight—probably from all the wine, cheese, and pastries, if Cassie’s week here was anything to go by—and she looked good with it. Healthier.

Across from Cassie, Linda sighed, pushing her chair back from the table and folding her arms across her stomach. Her rings glinted in the evening sunlight. “You know, Claire, I think I might move here too.” She picked up her wine, took a sip. “I could open a restaurant here instead.”

Cassie exchanged a look with Hazel, who was sitting next to her. The thought of Linda running something out here didn’t quite fit, and Cassie saw from Hazel’s face that she agreed. Besides, despite what she said, Cassie knew Linda would never leave the pub. But the fact that she’d left it for a few days to go on holiday, the fact that she seemed to be getting on well with Katie, the manager, was definitely a positive thing.

“Well, you’re welcome here anytime,” Claire said. “It’s been so lovely to see you. To see all of you. Like having a little slice of home here.” Cassie shot her aunt a look. She hadn’t thought Claire really cared about that. Claire gave her a little smile, like she knew exactly what she was thinking, and Cassie took another sip of wine. It really was good, though she had no idea what it was, apart from the fact that it was local to the region.

She felt more content than she had in a while, the edge taken off her in a way that made her realize how much stress she’d been carrying around recently. Robert was making everything at work seem stressful, making her wonder if there was something going on at management level that she and Josh didn’t know about. And OK…maybe, she admitted to herself, some of that stress came from the fact that she couldn’t stop replaying that night in Cornwall. Couldn’t stop seeing Sam’s face as she drove away from him in the rain. Hadn’t been able to shake it, even though weeks had passed.

He hadn’t called. She hadn’t called either. There had been no more emails, obviously. And she’d completely let go of the idea of the house in Wales.

On top of that was the fact that she still hadn’t gotten up the courage to open Tom’s final clue, and the little envelope with the number five in the corner had been hanging over her since the summer.

“I’ll do it too,” Hazel announced, lifting her glass in a salute. Her green eyes sparkled above the rim. “Move here, I mean. They need advertising people here, right?”

“Sure,” Claire said. “Those that speak French, I’d imagine.”

Hazel waved her wineglass, the remaining liquid sloshing a little dangerously. “I’ll learn.”

The waiter came along at that moment to clear their plates away—an attractive man in his twenties, Cassie would guess, giving off tall, dark, and handsome vibes, with cheekbones that looked like they had been sculpted.

“Merci,” Cassie said as he took her plate.

He gestured to her near-empty wineglass. “Un autre vin?”

“Non, merci. Un café au lait, peut-être?” He gave her that warm smile, which she returned. She’d only just gotten brave enough these last two days to try out her high school French. In all honesty, she wasn’t totally sure she knew what a café au lait was, but it was one of the only things she remembered from school in terms of beverages, and she knew it was coffee, at least. Maybe she could come back, learn some more French. The prospect was strangely appealing, and she found herself mentally checking her work diary to see when she’d be able to come and visit again.

The waiter had turned from Cassie to Hazel now, his brown eyes becoming slightly more intent—something Hazel seemed oblivious to. “Et pour vous?”

“Vin!” she announced. “S’il vous plaît. Nous sommes en vacances!” She said it all with a very English accent, which made both Cassie and the waiter grin. But Hazel looked at Cassie. “See? I’ll be fluent in no time.”

The waiter cleared the remaining plates, but hovered on Hazel’s side of the table. “Pour combien de temps?” Hazel looked at him blankly and he switched to English, proof that he’d been humoring them with the French. Cassie liked that he had, though, that he’d given them the chance to try, without making them feel stupid about it. “For how long are you here?”

“Oh, until Friday.”