Page 37 of Lime Tree Hill

“No way.” Mitch grinned at Luka and Tim. “Bride and groom only. We’ll meet you guys back at the car.”

And as he held her hand and led her away from the men so they could call her parents in private, Mitch thought the day couldn’t have been more perfect.

Except…it wasn’t real. He had to keep sight of that, always.

Little Brown Barn hummed with warmth and atmosphere as they walked through the door. If Tayla felt out of place among the Clifton Falls smart set, she didn’t let it show. Maybe to her, dining in a crowded restaurant in her wedding garb was the most natural thing in the world. The waiter ushered them to their table, and when Mitch pulled out her chair, she smoothed her satin skirt and sat, ignoring the stares of the other patrons.

Mitch loosened his tie and perused the menu, smiling at the handwritten descriptions.Earth mushrooms dancing in fields of green. Hand-crafted butter, fresh from the pat. Lovingly churned ice cream flirting with skillfully fragmented honeycomb shards.It sounded pretentious, but as he knew from experience, the food here was anything but.

He turned to Tayla. “What are you having?”

“I can’t decide.” She closed the menu. “You order for me.”

He stared at her in disbelief. Last week, Tayla could barely make eye contact. Now she wanted him to choose her wedding dinner. She faced Luka, engaging him in conversation about his work and family. When the champagne arrived and Tim proposed atoast, she responded with enthusiasm, leaning into her friend and hugging him.

Meanwhile, the enormity of what they’d done hit Mitch in his increasingly nervous gut. He ordered the twelve-hour shoulder of lamb with rosemary jus—a sharing plate for two. When the waiter placed it before them, along with an array of delicious vegetable sides, his new wife looked at him and declared, “Perfect.” And with that, she tucked straight in.

He, on the other hand, couldn’t find his appetite.

17

LIME TREE HILL

It was just beforeeleven when they arrived at Lime Tree Hill. As Tim and Luka pulled away from the packing shed that was now her home, Tayla stood in the middle of the drive and watched the taillights fade to black. She had to stop herself from picking up her skirt, sprinting through the tree rows, up the veranda steps of her family home, and locking the door against the world.Andher new role as Mrs. Harrington.

“Coming inside?” Mitch asked.

She studied the flowers in her hand: blush roses, stock, and cosmos, coiled between flamboyant branches of goodness knows what, and tied up with string. “I want to visit Norman’s grave. To lay my flowers.”

“What, now? I’m not too keen on cemeteries at night.”

“No, tomorrow. Will you come with me? I’m not too keen on cemeteries period.”

“Sure.” He unlocked the door. “Tim dropped off your things earlier. I put them in your room.”

“Thank you.” Tayla followed him up a narrow flight of stairs, the skirt of her gown rustling with every step. Ever since her return from Sydney, she’d tried to imagine how this man lived—how hespent his evenings above the packing shed. Was there endless dust and noise from the operation below, or would his home be like any other?

Once upstairs, she relaxed. The interior came alive under industrial lights—and reminiscent of a European train station, a large vintage-looking clock hung from the ceiling, ticking away unsteady minutes.

“Wow, it’s much bigger than I imagined.”

“Yeah, it takes up a third of the shed’s length.” Mitch put his keys on the kitchen island and took the bouquet from her hands. He grabbed a vase from the cabinet under the kitchen sink, placed the blooms inside, and filled it with water.

“The bedrooms are this way.” He cocked his head toward a short hallway.

Once again, she followed him with reluctance, the swish of her skirt reminding her why she was here with a man she’d once resented with a passion.

“This is my room.”

Tayla peeked through the doorway. His bed was enormous but neatly made, with a navy linen duvet and pillows in various shades of dusky blue. Above the bed, a string of light bulbs twisted around a wooden support beam, and from a basket by the balcony door, Mr. Edward watched them with one uninterested eye.

“Does Edward sleep with you?”

“Not normally. I’ll shift him to the office before we go to bed. It’s off the living area.” Mitch opened an adjacent door and motioned for her to enter. With a charcoal feature wall and a similar string of lights, this room mirrored his. A rust-colored duvet covered the bed, and on the floor, a flokati rug grounded the space.

“This is lovely, thank you.”

Mitch nodded. Frowned. “I want to say something.”

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