Wedding Bells at Butterfly Cove

In addition to drawing up the design for the barn refurbishment, Luke had jumped in with both feet when Mia asked him to work up a harem theme for a pair of rooms in the main house. Free of the shackles of his junior role at a prestigious firm of architects, Luke had seized on the projects at Butterfly Cove like a starving man. He was happier than Aaron had seen him in a long time. Something had happened to Luke about a year previously, stealing the easy laughter from his eyes, but he’d been tight-lipped about it, claiming it was a work problem and nothing he needed his big brother to sort out.

Being a tiny cog in a big wheel didn’t suit his little brother, any more than it suited him if Aaron was honest with himself. Getting a good degree and a placement with one of the big five accounting firms had always been top of his career wish list. But wishes and reality rarely gelled, and without the side work he took on, including looking after Daniel’s financial affairs, Aaron would be digging an escape tunnel.

Where had that thought come from? He had a good job, was one of the youngest team leaders in the company. A smart flat in an up-and-coming part of the city, a good pension pot and the beginnings of a decent investment portfolio. His dad had drummed it into him from an early age: work hard, save well, live the best life you can within your means. So why so restless? Another side effect of all the change in Daniel’s life. Perhaps thirty was the new threshold for a midlife crisis.

Feeling an uncomfortable itch between his shoulder blades, he turned to find Mia watching him with those big brown eyes of hers. She always saw too much. He flashed her a smile and tried to shake off the restless feelings stirring in his gut. Settled, steady, that was the life he had, and the life he wanted, too. No drama, no mad emotional roller-coaster. Boring. He frowned. Introspection was for moody, artistic types. He preferred action.

Luke opened the back door, letting the tangy scents of the ocean fill the kitchen. Aaron breathed deeply. He could almost taste the freshness of the post-storm air on the back of his tongue. The faint sound of birdsong drifted from the garden, making up his mind. It was too nice a day to be stuck in the house. He turned to Mia. ‘Leave the garden room, and I’ll finish the last bits later.’ Apart from glossing the doorframe, everything else was dressing.

She tilted her head, a quizzical look in her eyes. ‘If you’re sure?’

‘I’m sure. Don’t let me catch you up a ladder trying to hang those bloody curtains either.’ The creamy material, covered in huge cabbage roses, had been edged with a red-checked pattern. Not something he’d ever have put together, but Mia had an eye for design he couldn’t fault. Huge stacks of matching bedding, cushion covers and throws sat in neat piles on the dining-room table. He’d learnt more about pelmets, valances and padded headboards than he’d thought possible. And it would have taken a braver man than he to point out a fitted sheet, a couple of pillowcases and a duvet cover were all that was required to make a bed.

She gave him a look, like butter wouldn’t melt, and he knew she’d be rappelling from the upstairs bannisters if it took her fancy. ‘Will you be back for lunch?’

That was something else he liked about her. Even though they were rushing to get everything finished, it never escaped her that everyone was giving up their free time to see her dream achieved. She never demanded, never expected, just gratefully accepted whatever efforts people could put in. ‘I won’t be long, just fancied a bit of fresh air.’

‘Of course. Why don’t you take Jamie’s bike?’

Daniel glanced up from the drawings spread across the table. ‘It’s in the garage – help yourself.’ The way the two of them had come to terms with the subject of her late husband stunned him anew. He might never have lived in the sprawling house at Butterfly Cove, but Jamie’s memory lingered there in everyday objects. Jamie would always be a part of Mia’s life and Daniel accepted it without a fuss.

‘I’ll be back before lunch.’ He nudged his brother aside to get out of the back door and Luke’s hand fell companionably upon his shoulder. They walked in silence towards the garage where Luke gave him a hand to swing open the rusty up-and-over door and then to lift the silver mountain bike from the hooks on the wall.

‘Everything okay?’ The edges of Luke’s eyes crinkled in concern.

Aaron nodded. ‘Yes, Spud. Just need a bit of air, that’s all.’ He glanced over his shoulder towards the kitchen door. ‘Those two…’

Luke squeezed his shoulder. ‘Happy as pigs in shit. Nothing like true love to make a man feel hopelessly inadequate.’

Aaron tossed his brother a wry grin. ‘You, too?’

A cloud of sadness wiped the sunny smile from Luke’s face. ‘You have no idea, mate.’ He shook himself like a dog after a dip in a stream. ‘Don’t mind me. Enjoy your ride.’ Tucking his hands in the front pockets of his jeans, Luke strolled away. The casual pose might have worked better had his shoulders not been stiff with tension. Aaron frowned. It wasn’t like him to keep secrets. Pondering not only what Luke was hiding from him, but the best way to get him talking, Aaron peddled down the twisting driveway.

Blooms of white cow parsley and shiny yellow buttercups decorated the long grass verges on either side of the country lane, and the fields behind were a sea of pale-green wheat stalks. Reaching the crossroads to the main road, he paused to consider his options. Left would take him along the familiar route towards the main village of Orcombe Sands and the train station. Madeline and Richard lived somewhere towards the right. They’d likely be piling into Richard’s sleek Mercedes with Bill and Pat, ready for another day of toil in Mia’s garden. Not wanting to get caught skiving, he checked both ways then crossed the road to follow the lane into unexplored territory.

Muscles suitably warm, Aaron flicked the gears a couple of notches higher and increased his effort. A welcome burn began in his thigh muscles. He drew in a deep breath, letting it out on a happy laugh. Who would ever choose the gym if they had this on their doorstep? Cycling in London took a level of bravado he didn’t possess, and the car-choked streets around his flat would have filled his lungs with dirty fumes, not fresh air.

Fields gave way to trees, dappling the road with leafy shadows. Weeks away from their full thickness, the boughs offered glimpses of houses tucked a few feet away from the road. Old-fashioned wooden gates bearing carved nameplates told their stories: Willow Rest, Journey’s End, Honeysuckle Cottage. He squeezed the brakes and pulled over in the entrance of the last property. A sweet perfume floated on the air, proving the name to be more than a flight of fancy. The corner of a thatched roof was visible, crouching low over whitewashed walls and dark-framed square windows. Trellis covered part of the lower walls, thick with greenery and white-pink flowers. A proper chocolate-box cottage.

A loud thud and a sharp curse shattered the idyllic illusion. ‘Bloody hell, Karen. Be careful!’ Not a local accent, more the drawn-out vowels of the Midlands.

‘I told you it was too heavy for me. We should have got a proper firm in, instead of trying to do it ourselves.’ The woman’s protest carried a similar twang.

Curious, Aaron rested the bike against the open gate and hooked his helmet over the handlebars. A few strides down the drive brought him face to face with a sweating, frowning man about the same age as him, struggling to hold one end of a heavy-looking chest of drawers. The other end rested on the ground in front of an exasperated blonde. A white box van stood behind them, the tailgate down. He gave the couple a grin and a friendly wave. ‘Hey. Sorry to intrude. I was cycling by just now and it sounded like you might need a hand.’

The blonde cast him a tired smile. ‘Thank you. We’ve bitten off a bit more than we can chew here.’ She held out her hand. ‘Hi, I’m Karen. D’you live around here?’

Aaron stepped forward, shook her hand, then offered his own to the man, who’d placed his end of the dresser down. ‘Aaron. My friends live a couple of miles down the road, at Butterfly Cove.’

‘Dave.’ They shook hands. ‘Never heard of it. We’re down here trying to sort out Karen’s great aunt’s place.’ He gestured with his head towards the cottage. ‘She passed a couple of months ago, left her the cottage and all its contents in her will.’

Karen folded her arms across her chest and rubbed her biceps in a self-soothing gesture. A frown creased between her brows. ‘I didn’t really know her. She was my nan’s sister and I hadn’t seen her since I was a kid. She never married, some sad story about a lost love in the war, I remember nan telling me once. Turns out I’m her only living relative so it all came to me. Not that we can do anything with the place. There’s a few things we want to take, but we don’t have room for it and we can’t keep two houses running.’ Colour lit her cheeks and she gave an embarrassed little laugh. ‘Not that you want to hear our life story.’

Aaron stared at the cottage. Weeds had claimed the flowerbeds beneath the windows, and the paint was peeling a bit in places, but it looked sound enough. His mind started whirring. Luke would need to take a look, of course, and a proper surveyor. He could ask Richard for details of a local solicitor; Dave and Karen could use the one who’d handled her great aunt’s will. The flat in town had a two-month clause on the lease, but he was pretty sure he could find someone to take it off his hands quicker than that. Interest rates on his cash ISA were in the toilet, so it wasn’t like he’d be losing any interest if he withdrew it for a deposit…

A rushing sound filled his ears and he could feel his heart thumping in his chest. He didn’t do impulsive. Steady, solid, the man with the plan. A house martin swooped past and disappeared into the eaves. Feeling light-headed, light-hearted and thoroughly unlike himself, he turned to the couple. ‘So, you’re looking to sell the place then?’

Chapter Three

Tap, tap, tap. ‘Hellooo? Mizz Sutherland, are you there?’ Mia closed her eyes and sent up a silent prayer for patience. They’d been open for guests for two weeks now and their grand-opening weekend had been such a success, it had spoiled her into believing running Butterfly House would be a doddle. Then the Chivers had arrived on Thursday for a five-night stay. Ten minutes of Mrs Chivers’ pointed disappointment in, well, everything had poured cold water on Mia’s cocky confidence. From the supposed inferior quality of the sheets on their bed in the beach room… ‘One expects at least five-hundred thread count from a quality establishment’… to the disdainful sniff given to the homemade chicken pie Mia had served for the previous evening’s supper… ‘It’s so hard to get an even, thin crust, isn’t it, dear?’… Mrs Chivers had picked and poked until Mia was ready to offer a full refund if she would just leave.

‘Bugger that,’ had been Daniel’s response to her suggestion. ‘Make the miserable old bat pay.’ She would have laughed if he hadn’t said it almost loud enough for her awkward guest to hear it. By contrast, Mr Chivers couldn’t have been kinder, and Mia wondered if he spent so many hours exploring the little beach behind the house as an excuse for a bit of peace and quiet.

Fixing a smile on her lips, Mia tugged off her washing-up gloves and turned towards the closed kitchen door. ‘It’s not locked, Mrs Chivers, please come in.’

Looking immaculate in a camel-coloured blouse and matching cords tucked into a pair of spotless walking boots, she looked as fresh as when she’d come down to breakfast that morning. Her highlighted hair, just a shade too perfect to be natural, swung around her face in a millimetre-perfect bob. ‘It’s such a pleasant afternoon, we thought we’d take tea on the patio.’

‘Of course. The scones are just warming in the oven. Why don’t you make yourselves comfortable and I’ll bring everything out to you shortly?’

‘That would be lovely, dear. I don’t suppose you have different preserves? Homemade has its place, but when one is used to Fortnum’s…’ Mrs Chivers heaved a martyred sigh so exaggerated that Mia had to bite her lip not to laugh.

‘Lady Begley will be sorry to hear her bramble jelly doesn’t meet your expectations.’ Mia busied herself removing the scones from the Aga, counting slowly to ten in her head. One, two, three…

‘Lady Begley?’ Was that a slight sputter? God, Mia hoped so.

Schooling her features, she began to lay the scones on the waiting cooling rack. ‘Yes, from the Hall. Didn’t you and Mr Chivers visit the gardens yesterday? Lady Begley is passionate about traditional homecrafts and most of the pickles and preserves they sell in their farm shop are made by her. I thought it would be a nice touch to cross-promote a local business.’

Mrs Chivers smoothed a nervous hand over her sleek hair. ‘Yes, well, perhaps our palettes have been slightly spoiled by mass-market products.’

Mia schooled her features into a bland smile. ‘I’m sure that’s it.’

The faint whirr of a drill sounded from outside. Although they’d made it clear at time of booking that conversion works were taking place in the barns, Daniel worked hard to schedule the noisy stuff for when their guests were out for the day. When they’d spoken at breakfast, the couple had planned to spend the day walking on Dartmoor and Mia hadn’t expected to see them much before supper. Afternoon tea had been hastily put together, but her fridge and pantry were well stocked enough to cover it without any trouble.

Mrs Chivers frowned and Mia cut her off before another complaint could be raised. ‘Why don’t you go and join your husband on the patio, and I’ll run out and tell Daniel to pack up for the day? I’ll bring your tray straight afterwards.’ Mrs Chivers pursed her lips, but didn’t say anything else.

‘Daniel?’ Mia peered around the door of the barn, but didn’t venture inside. He stood with his back to her, arms raised a bit above shoulder height as he drilled another hole in the wooden partition. The pose tightened his dusty T-shirt and she took a moment to admire the view. There was just something about a man working with his hands that made her shivery in all the right places. Not any man, though. Him. Daniel had a single-minded intensity he applied to every task, whether working or playing. But she had her guests to think of. Maybe later, when they were alone in their room on the third floor, she could find him some manual labour… She raised her voice over the drilling and called his name again.

The noise cut out, and he turned, tugging down his face mask to reveal his bright smile through the dark hair of his beard. ‘Hello, love, everything all right?’

‘Oh yes, just admiring your handiwork.’ She cast him a fake-innocent look from under her lashes. ‘I think the bulb in the bedroom overhead light needs changing.’

His rich, deep laugh curled around her like a caress. ‘Behave yourself, woman. Did you come out here to admire the view?’ He lifted the bottom of his shirt to wipe his brow, giving her a flash of tanned skin in the process.

‘Ha! Now it’s your turn to behave.’ They shared a smile and the simple joy of the moment swelled in her heart. The art of flirting was yet another thing she’d assumed lost to her for ever when Jamie died. Such a little thing in the grand scheme, but each time they bantered like this, the bond between her and Daniel solidified a bit more. Learning what pleased the other, sharing a secret smile, using a codeword which meant nothing to anyone listening, but everything to them.

Covered in grime, damp hair clinging to his neck, clad in scruffy clothes and with his beard a few days past needing a trim, he looked a far cry from the pale, broken figure who’d landed on her doorstep five months previously. He looked fit and happy, with no trace of the shadows haunting his eyes, and if she could spend the rest of her days watching him grow and change, life would be good. Her stomach fluttered. Soon. She’d ask him soon. That was the deal between them.

Why not now?

She opened her mouth, but the question died on her tongue. Her guests were waiting, she had responsibilities and it seemed ridiculous to propose and run. Something as important as that should be done in a proper romantic setting, not a dusty barn. Calling herself ten types of coward, she rolled her eyes and imitated Mrs Chivers’ best put-upon sigh. ‘One simply can’t enjoy afternoon tea on the patio with this racket going on.’

Daniel frowned. ‘They’re back early then?’ She nodded and he shrugged. ‘We knew it would be a balancing act. I’ll finish up, then come and give you a hand with preparing dinner.’

Mia blew him a quick kiss. ‘I’ve saved you a scone.’

His eyes lit up. ‘And that’s why I love you.’

Her tummy fluttered and danced. It was still new, hearing those words from his lips, knowing them to be an echo of her feelings for him. After Jamie, she hadn’t expected, hadn’t wanted, this again. Loving someone, needing them, meant risking losing them, and she couldn’t go through that again. But Daniel had given her no choice. He’d stumbled into her life and into her heart when neither of them had their guard up. A pulse of blind fear struck. He’d been out here on his own, anything could have happened to him and it hadn’t occurred to her to check. Accidents happened. That’s what they said, and she damn well knew the aching, ugly truth of it.

Needing to break the spiral of her thoughts, she forced a wonky smile. ‘It’s my cooking you love.’

He closed the distance between them, no answering smile upon his face. ‘Don’t do that, don’t deflect.’ She tried to turn her head, but he caught her chin in a firm but gentle grip. ‘What is it, what’s put that look in your eyes?’

His features wavered through her suddenly watery gaze and she choked on the words. ‘Nothing. I’m being silly.’

He pulled her into his arms and she snuggled into his chest, not caring about the dirt and dust covering his T-shirt. ‘Talk to me,’ he murmured against her temple.

The words came easier when she didn’t have to see his face. ‘I got scared. What if you fell off a ladder or cut through a cable or something? I didn’t think to check and I should have, what if—’

‘Breathe, Mia. Take a breath, love, before you work yourself up over nothing.’ He stroked her back, rocking them both on the spot. ‘I never climb when I’m on my own in here, I promise, and all the power tools are battery-operated. Jordy would throw me out on my ear if he thought I was doing stuff like that.’

She nodded into his shoulder, knowing he was right. Jordy had given them all a serious talking to about what he would and wouldn’t accept if they took him on to run the project. ‘I’m sorry, I’m being silly.’ She sniffled, then laughed at the unattractive, wet sound. ‘I think I made a mess on your shirt.’

‘It’s destined for the wash, anyway. Look at me.’ He swiped his thumbs gently under her eyes to catch the tears shimmering there. ‘I’m not invincible, love, but I promise to do everything I can to be careful. Being with you is a gift I’m not going to squander if I can help it.’ He pressed a kiss to the tip of her nose, tickling her skin with his beard. ‘So, you’re stuck with me.’

Stretching on tiptoes she caught his lips with hers, for a brief, hot moment. ‘I like being stuck with you.’

Keeping an arm around her shoulder, Daniel walked with her back across the yard. He left her with a quick kiss to take his shower, and she gave her hands and face a rinse at the sink. Setting out the tray, she hurried through the dining room and out through the patio doors. Her guests bracketed one of the wrought-iron tables she’d picked up at a local DIY centre. Daniel had glossed them brilliant white and the matching chairs were covered in thick, bright-red cushions, made by Madeline as a surprise gift. Her friend was an absolute marvel when it came to sewing and embroidery. Mia was learning, slowly, but she’d get there. One of the best things about refurbishing Butterfly House had been the chance to learn new skills, to challenge herself in a creative way. Her youngest sister, Nee, was the artist in the family, but it had been a surprise to Mia to find she had her own talents, too.

‘This is lovely, dear.’ Mr Chivers patted her hand then began to load his plate with sandwiches and scones. ‘And not just the food, though I’ll be on strict rations when we get home, won’t I, Jen?’ He winked at his wife.

‘Silly old fool,’ Mrs Chivers said, but there was real affection in her voice.

Undaunted, Mr Chivers continued. ‘You’ve made a beautiful home here, inside and out.’

Mia smiled as a warm glow started inside. ‘I can’t take credit for the garden, my thumb is more brown than green. Luckily my friends and my in-laws have plenty of talent in that department. The garden and grounds are down to them. You should have seen the mess out here before.’

‘In-laws?’ Mrs Chivers’ tone held a hint of something sly. ‘I didn’t realise you and your young man were married.’ She nodded at Mia’s naked fingers. ‘No ring.’

This was another of those things she hadn’t taken into account when she decided to open a guest house. Hotels were impersonal, anonymous places, but opening your home to people was different. They expected to get to know you, even over the space of a few days. No one had been rude, but she’d been surprised at how open people were, how much they shared with her, and the kinds of questions they asked in return.

‘I was referring to my late husband’s parents, Mrs Chivers. Daniel and I aren’t married, yet.’

The iron legs of her chair scraped back and Mrs Chivers descended on Mia to gather her into a fierce hug. Shocked, and not altogether sure what to do, Mia returned the embrace with a tentative pat on her shoulder. Mrs Chivers pulled back, ‘Oh, my dear, it’s an absolute sod of a thing to lose the man you love. And you so young as well. At least I had thirty good years with my Tony.’

Mia couldn’t stop herself from glancing between the older couple. She’d assumed they’d been together for years. Mr Chivers gave her a nod, his expression supremely unconcerned. ‘That’s right. I’m the also-ran. Jen and I had a thing donkey’s years ago, but we drifted apart and found happiness with other partners. We ran into each other at one of those U3A clubs and it was like I’d seen her yesterday.’

Was that a blush on Mrs Chivers’ cheeks? Mia found herself softening to the woman. Yes, she was an awkward customer, but there was a kind heart under there, too. She squeezed her arm gently. ‘I’m glad you’ve found happiness again.’

Mrs Chivers touched her cheek. ‘And you have, too, I hope, my dear?’

‘Yes. Yes, I have.’ A lump formed in her throat. If she wasn’t careful, she’d get all weepy again. ‘If you’ll excuse me, I’ll leave you in peace to enjoy your tea.’

Mrs Chivers gave her one more quick hug then let her go. Needing a few minutes to compose herself, Mia escaped down the path rather than returning to the house. The grey army had done an amazing job with the garden, and the flowerbeds were already bright with colour. The shrubs and bushes edging the garden shone with every shade of green, a verdant promise of more to come. Buddleia lined the back of the lawn, framing the steps which led to the beach. Mia paused, picturing them ripe with white and purple blossom, covered in dancing butterflies.

It would be the perfect backdrop for a late-summer wedding. Chairs on the lawn for guests during the ceremony and a barbeque on the beach afterwards. They could offer a package for couples wanting an intimate, more casual affair, and the harem suite would serve as an unusual wedding-night setting. Daniel might even be persuaded to take a couple of pictures, unique souvenirs of a special day.

Warmth enveloped her back, and his arms encircled her waist. ‘I’ve been watching you for the past five minutes. You’ve got that look on your face. What are you planning?’

She glanced over her shoulder and the look of eager expectation on his face bowled her over. Whatever mad scheme she came up with, he would be first in line to cheer her on.