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‘Anyone would have done the same.’

‘Anyone with medical training, a full kit, and the knowledge to use it, who just happened to be there to save a life,’ Callum argued. ‘You’d not even officially started and already there’s a young boy alive because of you, and a grateful family wanting to thank you. But that’s not what I wanted to talk to you about.’ He took a deep breath, and Liv couldn’t help but notice his broad shoulders move interestingly as he folded his arms and captured her with his bright blue eyes.

‘What was it you wanted to say?’ Liv’s voice caught in her throat, and came out far more breathy than she had intended, or expected.

‘Sorry. For being rude, and unfriendly. And, as my daughter would put it, “a total dumb dumb head”. I know my behaviour was unforgivable, and I’ve totally blown my chances at a first impression with you, but is there any way you might give me a second chance? Well, a third chance.’ He flashed her a mischievous grin that made her heart race. ‘If it helps, I have Brockle cakes in here. They’re a local delicacy. Chocolate, vanilla and cherry.’ He tapped the top of the box. ‘And I genuinely am sorry. What do you say? Have a cake and give me another chance to make a good impression?’

‘Well . . .’ Liv drew out the word deliberately. ‘They do say “third time’s the charm”, and I have been known to be partial to cake.’ She settled in her new desk chair, and took a few moments to adjust it to her comfort before giving Callum a shy smile. ‘So, Mr Surgery Manager, do you want to get me up and running?’

Callum leaned over her shoulder to log the computer on to the surgery systems, and Liv was instantly warmed by his nearness, and felt her heart step up a few beats as she inhaled his warm, musky scent.

The reaction surprised and annoyed her. The last thing she’d expected ‒ or needed — was the complication of a workplace attraction.

* * *

Callum shut Liv’s door and leaned back against it. Tension zinged through his body and he felt the start of a headache building behind his eyes. He was grateful to have Liv arrive — the surgery was in desperate need of her medical services, and she’d picked everything up really quickly over the last few hours. He couldn’t decide if he was more grateful or disappointed for that.

The cakes and coffee were probably a mistake. They’d shunted him across the line of professionalism, and into friendliness. And he could so easily picture that leading further.

She’d accepted the gesture and apology with an easy, almost teasing, smile, and they’d slipped into easy banter that sparked the attraction for her he’d felt on Saturday when helping her off the pavement. And when he’d leaned across to show her something on the computer or how the supply and requisition system worked, the scent of her perfume had made his resolve crumble as his stomach tightened.

At one point he’d had to stop himself from leaning into her just to take another sniff of her honey-sweet hair. A woman he’d just met. What was the matter with him? He was acting like a kid with an infatuation when nothing could be further from the truth — he was a single father running a busy practice, not a teenager panting after a crush. Sarah and the village surgery were his priorities. And even if the surgery wasn’t keeping him busy enough, there was no way he could risk bringing another woman into Sarah’s life who would let her down again. Her own so-called mother had done more than a lifetime’s worth of damage on that front.

He balled his hands into fists and took a slow, resolute breath, before striding back to his office. All he needed to do, he reminded himself, was make it through a few months until his parents returned from their adventures. Then Liv would be on her way, his mother could resume her role running the surgery, and he could go back to his normal, predictable life, where his biggest stresses usually involved trying to convince Sarah that fairy princess dresses weren’t appropriate alternatives to school uniform.

All he had to do was remain completely professional, get through the next few months, and avoid any entanglements with unsuitable women. That was all. Piece of cake.

* * *

Liv kicked off her shoes and closed the front door — her front door — and sighed with relief. She’d made it through the first day without any major issues, embarrassing moments or anxiety flare-ups. She’d handled all her appointments with what she hoped was the right mix of friendliness, sympathy and professionalism, and Millie had already arranged the lunch she’d promised.

She dropped her bag and jacket on the sofa — feeling childishly gleeful that there was no one to complain at her for doing so — and sauntered into the kitchen. It all felt a little surreal: if she’d been on a day shift in her old life, at this sort of time she might just — emergencies allowing — have been heading out the hospital about now to fight her way through the crowds to the tube station. There she would have jostled with thousands of other commuters on the underground for an extra inch or two of space to get enough room to take a swig of her cardboard-encased take-out coffee and try to find enough energy to get herself home and cook whatever gourmet-esque meal Mike had wanted for dinner. Or get dressed up and go out when all she really wanted to do was collapse on the sofa.

If she closed her eyes, she could almost hear the rumble of the train and smell the heat of the crowds. But instead, she opened her eyes and the fridge. The chilled white wine glistened welcomingly. She hesitated for a moment, before opening it and pouring herself a generous glass. And why shouldn’t she? She was an adult and finished for the day. She had every right to treat herself to a glass of wine, and she was going to take advantage of being home early and relax for a while. And she was going to do it in the garden — a far cry from the stainless steel and glass balcony of her last home.

She slid on her flip-flops, unlatched the heavy kitchen door, and wandered down the stone path. It was that magical time of day when the sun had just started its journey towards setting, turning the light to liquid gold. The whole garden had taken on the golden hue and seemed almost magical.

She took a seat on the curved stone bench that was set into the edge of the garden. It peeked out from beneath a riot of green leaves that had crept and twisted around and over it, leaving a space just big enough for her to comfortably sit down and rest her cup there. There were carvings over the stones, barely visible beneath the evergreen plants which had claimed the bench as their own. It looked and felt ancient, and Liv smiled as she let her fingers trace the barely visible carving. It had been worn almost smooth by the years and the many hands that had touched it before. The little seat was real and grounded in history, and it grounded her too.

She took another sip of her wine and let down her hair, leaving the tie on the edge of the seat. She looked around the beautiful cottage garden, feeling incredibly lucky — in London, the flat’s tiny balcony was barely big enough for a couple of chairs and sad pot of geraniums. Here, she had a garden filled with beautiful spring plants — even if she didn’t know what most of them were. She couldn’t wait to see what it looked like in summer.

The air was clean, the sun warm, and everyone she’d met so far — apart from Callum on the first day — friendly and welcoming. And she’d actually enjoyed herself at work, which was something she’d never even dared hope for.

She put the glass down and let her hands rest against the stone, which was far warmer than she’d expected ‒ no doubt heated by the sun that day. She let her eyes drift closed for a few moments and just enjoyed the peace, wishing that feeling of contentment could last. When she stood and brushed off her skirt, she didn’t notice the hair band fall backwards off the seat and disappear.

* * *

‘Come on, Sarah!’ Callum tried to keep the frustration out of his voice, but he could practically feel the minutes ticking by. ‘You’re going to be late for school. Can I come in and help?’

‘No!’ Sarah shouted back at him. ‘I don’t need a boy’s help to get dressed!’

‘I’m not a boy. I’m your dad.’ Callum pressed his head against the bathroom door.

‘Still a boy. Go away!’

‘Sarah, we are going to be late! Please hurry up. What are you even doing in there?’

‘Making myself pretty. You don’t make my hair pretty enough, so I’m doing it.’