Page 45 of Lipstick Kiss

He was so quiet as he spoke.

“But you know deep down you couldn’t have saved your dad. It was an impossible task. The aneurism was swift.”

“Not everyone believes that.”

“The only person I care about believing it is you, Luke Turner.”

Luke yanked her, so she collided with his chest and wrapped his arms around her in a bear hug. She knew it was the only way not to look at her face and crumble. It was the only way to hide his feelings from her and for that day when his dad died. They stood there for a beat or two until Freya wrapped her arms around his waist and burrowed closer, snuggling in like she was absorbing his pain. She had no idea how much she had done from the moment his mum left to right then. She was always there to share his pain. Even if he was unwilling to let it go. Freya had told him many times that she wanted to take his hurt and throw it into the ocean.

If only that was possible.

“Come on, let’s go grave hopping,” Freya said.

She lifted her head back, kissed his sternum over his top and shimmied out of his arms. She took his hand and tugged him out of the room.

Luke waited for Freya to lock up, and then he carted her bag to the buggy, making fun that the cart would tip over from the weight of the books. He made a play to put the books on both sides for equal distribution of weight like they were on a boat and could possibly capsize. They made it safely to his cottage, and he was fiddling with the back door key to let them in.

“I can’t believe I’m actually going inside your place. You call it a cottage, right?”

“My family call it a cottage, more like a large house. Too big for just me. But Daisy decided we’d all take a cottageinstead of taking a room at Edward Hall, and we were to live in age order. So I have Sabrina Lodge.”

“It’s all weird. You call it a cottage. It’s named a lodge but really is a very big house.”

Luke finally got the door open, refusing to put the bag down and swung the door open.

“I think the lodge reference comes from when great-grandfather would have all his cronies come to stay, and they would go out hunting. Calling them hunting lodges. They’re named after the women in the family. Sabrina is my great-great-great-grandmother, I think. I don’t know, really. I should if we’re to do the family tree right.”

“There must be a scroll somewhere in the library or the study with all your ancestors handwritten in old English.”

Luke laughed at her description.

“I’m sure there is, but getting Aunt Cynthia to let us in anywhere in Turner Hall is a feat. We’ve only entered the study when we were given Edward Hall and these cottages.”

“Do you hate it all?”

“I have mixed feelings. All of this grandiose allows us to live and work together. We’ve only ever known living together, sticking together, warding off the evil aunt and travelling. I don’t think we’ve ever felt settled. I hope when Daisy comes back, we’ll start to feel happier. When Daisy returns, it will be around the time Archer and Erica’s baby will be born, so we’ll be aunts and uncles. That kid is going to be so spoiled.”

“I hope Heidi gets the bond back with Keith. I missed him before all this heartache happened with Jason. He’s slowly getting there. Sunday dinners are much happier than they were before.”

“When do I get an invitation to the dinner table?”

“My mum would have you there every week if you’dcome. You don’t need to be invited. Jason and Heidi come every other Sunday, so you can choose to come when they’re there or when they’re not. I’ll be there every Sunday.”

“All right, I’ll be there.”

Freya didn’t get further than the open-plan kitchen. But she was there long enough to see the pottery. It sat in the middle of the island. At some stage, it had been coloured a light orange with a peach painted on the side.

“Luke,” she said.

Luke didn’t put the lights on. He dumped her bag of books and tugged her out of the cottage, locking up far more quickly, and they were on their way to the graveyard. Luke pulled out several pieces of paper from his back pocket and handed them to her. He then took a pen from his other pocket and handed it to her.

“You have pretty writing. Best you fill in the blanks,” Luke said with a wide grin.

“Thanks,” she said. “I can’t remember how many graves there are in the family plot.”

“Not that many, less than fifty. My family lost a lot of children in infancy, and I don’t know where they were buried. It’s only adults, as far as I know.”

“That’s sad. I hope they were buried somewhere safe.”

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