“Fine, so far. And uh, yes, thank you.” They made it so easy, as natural as breathing. Chat, laugh, drink, eat. Life was both simple and full. At least it could be. But everything felt mechanical to her, as if she had to tell herself what to do. Smile. Nod. Take a sip of the wine Ava just handed to you. Try to act normal.
“It’s going to be quite big, this fundraiser, isn’t it?” Ava remarked as they all moved into the lounge, where two overstuffed sofas framed a cheerily blazing hearth. “Olivia, are you taking part?”
“Oh, yes. Emily asked me, too.” She gave her a quick, friendly smile that felt like an apology, her anxious gaze scanning Emily’s face. They hadn’t spoken since Emily had marched out of her cottage, and Emily thought she was the one who should be apologising. She tried to smile back. “I was thinking about doing cupcakes again.”
“Oh, I adore your cupcakes,” Ava said, and Simon put an arm around Olivia as they settled on the sofa.
“So do I,” he said, with a knowing smile, and Emily knew there had to be a story there. Had they fallen in love over the buttercream icing?
“Olivia did a Twelve Days of Cupcakes last Christmas,” Ava explained. “A different cupcake every day. They were absolutely gorgeous.”
“I came in every day for one,” Simon confessed with a laugh, “although admittedly it wasn’t just for the cupcakes.” He and Olivia gave each other another loved-up look that made Ava roll her eyes good-naturedly. Emily’s gaze snagged with Owen’s and his laughing look had it skittering away again, panicked. This evening was sure to be awkward in all sorts of ways.
“It’s always nice to have things that draw the village together,” Ava said comfortably. “Especially now they’ve cancelled the Easter fete.”
“Have they?” Olivia looked surprised. “Why?”
“Don’t you remember, some louts last year barged in, drunk as skunks, and wrecked a bunch of stalls?” Jace answered. “Unfortunately there’s no way to keep them out, with it being on the village green.”
“What about the fundraiser? It’ll be up at the manor?”
“Yes, on the grounds,” Emily said, although she had barely got that far in her planning.
“You’ll ticket it, I suppose?” Ava said. “To keep the riffraff out?”
“Of course they will,” Owen interjected, his voice light. He was smiling, but his eyes were rather hard. “You can’t have just anyone coming up to the manor, can you?”
Emily felt her cheeks warm. “It’s not that kind of event,” she said, which she’d already told him, that day in the pub. “It’s meant to be very inclusive. Everyone is invited, and if there are tickets, it will just be to keep track of the numbers.” She forced herself to meet Owen’s gaze. He gave her a grudging nod back, and Emily wondered what he had against the manor, or maybe just Henry. No one else seemed to notice it, but she’d sensed a hostility from him whenever either were mentioned.
“And I’m sure it will be,” Ava agreed easily. “It’s bound to be fab.”
The conversation moved on, and Emily sipped her wine, shooting Owen sideways, speculative looks she hoped he didn’t notice, wondering again what he had against the manor. Or maybe it was just her. Despite that weird almost-moment in the courtyard, she was starting to think he might not like her very much. He certainly wasn’t paying her any attention tonight. A fact that normally wouldn’t bother her at all, because she never wanted attention, shied away from it at every opportunity…but somehow tonight it did.
“Right, food’s ready, so shall we all take a seat?” Ava said brightly. “Simon and Olivia, you on that side, Jace on the other end…Owen, can you take that seat?” She gave Emily an entirely bland look. “And, Emily, you next…everyone happy?”
Of course Emily had been seated next to Owen. Ava didn’t do subtle, apparently, as innocent as her look had been. Emily wondered how anyone could think she and Owen were suited. They were as chalk and cheese as two people could possibly be—he so gregarious and larger than life, she a small mouse hiding in the shadows.
Owen seemed to be thinking the same thing, for he slanted her a wry, laughing look as she put her wineglass on the table and sat in the seat next to him.
“Don’t look quite so horrified,” he told her with one of his booming laughs. “I don’t bite.”
“I’m not horrified,” Emily said stiffly. “No more than you are, anyway.” Now where had that come from? It seemed his barbed comment from earlier had drawn blood, after all.
“Horrified?” Owen raised his eyebrows, amused. “Is that what you think I am? Now where did you get that idea?”
Emily shrugged and reached for her napkin. “I don’t know whether it’s me or the manor or both, but something seems to have got your back up.” She smoothed the napkin across her lap, not quite willing to meet his gaze. She wasn’t normally so forthright, and it made her feel all shaky inside. She shouldn’t have said anything.
“You’re right about that,” Owen said after a moment, the laughter gone from his voice. “Although I don’t think anyone else has much noticed. But the whole manor set sticks in my craw a bit. I’m not ashamed to admit it, although I generally don’t.” He sounded so serious that Emily risked a look up. Everyone else was chatting and serving food, heads angled away from them, giving them the illusion of privacy even at a crowded dinner table—something she suspected was completely intentional.
“The manor set?” she repeated.
“Henry and his like. The privileged few, and they know it.” He shrugged. “I suppose I’ve got a chip on my shoulder, but there it is. They go their way and I go mine, and usually it’s fine.”
“Henry Trent does take a bit of getting used to,” Emily said after a moment, when she’d
