Page 10

The air is crisp when I step outside, the moon still high, but now distorted by cloud cover. Though it’s summer, the nights and mornings up here are cool, so I throw on a thin jacket to keep away the chill.

I unlock the barn and am greeted by Applesauce’s loud bleating as she runs up her wooden platform, eager for breakfast.

I feed her and her sister, then fill the sheep troughs and freshen up their water. Then I open the inner doors and usher them all into their paddocks. The little cat has followed me out and it weaves around the sheep and goats, not afraid of the larger animals.

Back inside the house, I rummage in the pantry, finding a tin of tuna which I pour into a bowl for the cat, then reluctantly head upstairs and take another frigid shower. My skin tingles from the cold, and I dry myself roughly with a towel then pull on a t-shirt. It’s one I really like – soft against my skin and without any annoying tags or seams. I pair it with some well-worn joggers and my favourite trainers. I make a note on my phone to call the gas engineer later today and finally get the boiler repaired.

It’s still dark out when I get to my car, peering into the backseat before I get in and drive to work. The sense of unease I was feeling last night hasn’t lessened. In fact, it’s worse than before and seems to amplify as I reach the back door of Iona’s.

The automatic light above the entrance doesn’t turn on like it should, not even when I wave my hand in front of it, which leaves me fighting with the lock in the dark.

“Just great,” I grumble, because this is yet another repair to add to my never ending list. The tiny hairs on the back of my neck stand on end as a creeping sense of awareness that I’m not alone slithers over my spine. I turn and look further into the alley, my eyes straining to see by the slice of moonlight peeking through the clouds.

“Hello?”

My voice wobbles, but I’m met only with silence. There’s no one there. I repeat this to myself as I turn my attention back to opening the door.

Goosebumps litter my skin, and I curse my silly fear. I’ve never encountered any trouble opening the bakery before. Not in this safe, sleepy little village. But then I’ve also never had this feeling before. Like eyes on the back of my neck, a breath ghosting a little too close to my skin. Like someone is watching me. The thought makes my hands shake a little harder and I drop the key.

“Fuck,” I mutter, bending down to retrieve it. A shadow crosses in my periphery and my body freezes, my blood turning to ice as it brings back a memory of the shadows I sensed last night. The air is thick with the scent of damp earth – thicker than I’ve ever noticed it before, as though it belongs to something and is not a mere scent in the air. Fumbling in my pocket, I retrieve my phone and turn on my flashlight.

I move it around me. There’s no one here. I’m alone.

“Calm down, Caspian,” I mumble under my breath. “There’s nothing to be afraid of.” I’m scaring myself for no reason – there is no one hiding in the dark. Not last night and not now. Picking up the key, I use my phone light to help guide my actions before finally stepping inside Iona’s darkened kitchen.

Flipping the light switch, I breathe a sigh of relief when the small space is illuminated by a bright glow. Though I don’t usually lock the door behind me, I do this time, trying the handle to make sure it’s secure before I start my morning routine.

Scones. Croissants. Pineapple Tarts. Shortbread. Fern Cakes.

A full array of treats that come opening will fly off the shelves. Today’s scone special is chives – picked from my herb garden – and feta.

Once the first batch of scones are in the oven, I lean against the counter and open my emails on my phone, groaning when I see the bold number on the side saying I have over one hundred unopened messages.

There’s a handful of bills that total more than what’s currently in my bank account. It’s nothing new – the farm hasn’t been profitable in years, and while I do okay at the bakery, we were supplementing my earning with Pops’ retirement fund and his savings. Those two sources of income are not ones I currently have access to. There’s an email from Pops’ lawyer updating me on the progress of the estate, a few from names I don’t recognise and then a message from my mother.

I scan her email, but don’t bother replying. The short of it is that she’s worried about me. She doesn’t like the thought of me out on the cove all alone. Sometimes I think she forgets that I’m twenty-seven and left home nine years ago. She may have a point that I’ve never lived alone before, but I’m still an adult and perfectly capable of it.

I throw my phone down on the counter and then retrieve my grandmother’s tatty, old recipe book from the shelf at the back of the kitchen. I know these recipes by heart, but I still love holding it and reading her finely written notes in the columns. Flicking through the pages, I look for something I haven’t made in a while, settling on Scottish Snowballs.

I lose myself in baking. Mixing the ingredients by hand, then pouring it out onto the counter and kneading until it’s smooth. I love working with dough. Love the way it evolves the longer I roll and stretch it until it’s pliant and ready for the oven. I’m averse to a lot of textures. Velvet. Chicken. Wool. Polyester. Mushrooms. Any kind of sand or dirt. But not dough. Which I’m grateful for, because I can’t imagine working with something on a daily basis that makes my skin itch like some of those other textures do.

The mixture gets divided into twenty equal sized balls, which I arrange on a baking tray. Just as I’m carrying them to the oven, there’s a loud banging on the back door, which causes me to startle, and I grip the metal dish tighter.

Bang.

Bang.

My breath hitches when the handle on the door moves and my eyes dart around the room as I consider fleeing out the front of the store. But then…

“Cass?”

I know that voice.

“Why is the door locked?” The handle on the back door moves again and my erratically beating heart returns to a normal rhythm when I realise who it is.

I put down the tray and open the back door. Kiernan is standing outside, his shaggy black hair hidden beneath his cap. He has his rucksack hanging over one shoulder, and his usual coffee mug in his hand.

“Jesus, Kee. You scared me.”