Fiona came into the kitchen and started pouring water into the kettle. He walked in slowly, and stopped a few steps away from her.

"I should google it," she said quietly and pressed her hands into the counter. "What to do now. With my divorce, and the pub, and–" She sighed. "It's like I have two contradictory desires, one is to run and hide and to have nothing to do with it. And the other one's–"

"To fight," he said darkly.

"No, not to fight," Fiona shook her head, without turning to him. "I don't want to fight. I don't want to win. I just don't want him to do the same to someone else. Can I somehow file a complaint or something about the slap? I just keep thinking when he's involved with another woman, and if she tries to stand up for herself, even as little as I did... he'll probably do it again. Or something worse."

"He's not your responsibility," he said.

"No, no, of course not. But it might help someone if it's on record." She sighed. "It'll be so humiliating."

"You need a good lawyer," he said.

Fiona laughed humorlessly.

"Do you have yet another brother who can help me out?" she joked.

"No, but Clem's agent is married to a divorce lawyer," he said. "We can ask her tomorrow. If not, I have other connections. I'm related to the Oakbies."

"Whom?" Fiona asked, setting the kettle on the hob.

"I keep forgetting you aren't from Fleckney," he said. "They're this powerful family. The youngest is the Mayor of the next town and used to be the best barrister in the county town. His father in his time had the biggest practice in the three surrounding counties."

"You're related to the local aristocracy," Fiona said and shook her head. "I should've known."

"It's a funny family legend, I'll tell it to you some time later," he said, sitting down at the table. "I can contact Thomas Oakby, and he'll help."

"Does he owe you a favour?" Fiona asked, giving him a bewildered look.

"No, but we know each other. He went to school with Oliver."

"I've never been a part of a large, close-knit family, but I still think you either overestimate what family members do for each other, or the Holyoakes are this amazing exception from the rule."

She poured tea in two mugs.

"He'll help," he repeated, and she felt suddenly amused by his unwavering confidence. "But we'll start with Clem's agent," he added.

"I probably can't even pay a lawyer," she said. "I don't even know if I have money. Even the Visa in my handbag is Nate's."

She finally turned to him and put his tea mug in front of him.

"I can lend you the money," he said. "I hardly spend my pension."

She frowned and looked into his face. He calmly drank his tea.

"I will consider it," she said gravely. "I might not have that many other options." She sighed again. "And thank you. For your offer. And for being here for me, when Nate was here."

He nodded to her. Fiona dangled the teabag in her mug mournfully. Her headache was gone, but at the same time her new reality was setting in her mind. She now had no home, no money, and no certainty of anything at all. The advance she'd been given by the Holyoake Publishing wouldn't be enough to support her for long - that was if she had access to it. She had this cottage to stay in for another three and a half weeks - and what will you do after that, Fiona?

"Does your cheek hurt?" he asked, and her eyes flew up to his face.

"Yeah, a bit, but the painkillers are working. So, it's not too bad."

"Then what?" he asked.

"What do you mean?"

"You're cringing. I reckon, something's bothering you," he pointed out and took another sip of his tea.

She gave him a disbelieving look. "A lot of things are bothering me. There's hardly anything that doesn't bother me!"

"Why?" he asked. "It's all clear now. You have a plan."

"A plan?" she exclaimed. "What plan?!"

"Tomorrow we'll find you a lawyer, and you can start the divorce process. You have a job and a place to stay. You should probably discuss it with my brother, maybe you can negotiate a more permanent employment. But it's a five book contract, so I reckon you're set for a while."

Fiona's eyes boggled. "Is that how you– see it?"

"How do you see it?" he asked and frowned.

"But– but–" She pressed her hand to her forehead. "That's not a plan! That's just the things I have to do, and I don't know if I– can!"

"Of course you can," he said, furrowing his eyebrows even more deeply. "You're clever and capable. You just need resources."

"But–" she said again - and then closed her mouth.

What if he is... right?!

"We'll discuss everything tomorrow," he said. "I'm tired."

He rose, put his mug in the sink, and walked out of the kitchen. Fiona stayed behind and pulled her knees to her chest, wrapping her arms around her shins.

If only it was that simple!

"Are you coming?" he called, stepping out of the bathroom, and headed upstairs.

Fiona looked after him morosely and sighed again. She didn't feel like going to bed, if she was honest. She wanted to stay in the cold kitchen, sit, and feel sorry for herself. Her whole life has just come crashing down, and he's 'tired' and wants to go to bed! He can go to bed, she thought stubbornly. She was staying here to wallow in self-pity.

"Fiona?" His voice came from the landing upstairs.

She pouted stroppily. There were a few seconds of silence, and she heard him come down, his cane tick-tocking on the steps.

"Are you going to sleep on the chair again?" he asked, standing in the doorframe.

"Maybe," she grumbled. "Why not? I don't have a bed anymore. Maybe I'm training for when I'm homeless and need to sleep in bus stations."

He tilted his head and studied her. What? It's like he's trying to understand who she is, and where the gentle and docile Fiona has gone. Tough luck.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

"Literally nothing," she answered. "I'm lamenting my old life."

"Do you want to go back to your old life?" he asked sharply, and she gawked at him, momentarily forgetting her moping.

"What?! Of course not!"

"Then why aren't you going to bed with me?" he asked.

He is being serious. It just doesn't register in his mind. Is it because he's male? Or it's just some sort of a Will Holyoake thing. Let's not generalise here.

"I'm worried for my future!" she exclaimed. Does she really need to explain? "I'm upset, and I'm coming down after being hit to the face! I just found out that I've been married to a horrible person for twelve years. I might have no money and don't know where I'm going to live in a month! Do I need any more reasons?"

He kept watching her and frowning.

"None of these are reasons to stay away from me," he said.

Fiona's jaw slacked. Are they even having the same conversation?!

"You can't do anything about any of it right now," he said in the same peeved tone. "You are coming down from shock. You need to rest." He paused for a second, pondering something. "I can sleep on the sofa if you want."

"Why would I want that?!" she exclaimed. "I don't mind sharing the bed with you!"

"Do you not?" he said in an even voice.

"No!"

"Then why are you in the kitchen?" he asked.

"But– but– Oh god!" Fiona failed her hands in the air. "What's happening?"

"That's what I'm asking," he said.

"I'm sulking!" she exclaimed. "I feel sorry for myself. I'm scared, and I am embarrassed, and insecure, and– and–"

"Wouldn't it be easier to sulk in bed with me?" he asked.

Fiona opened her mouth - and stayed like that. He sighed in some very male exasperated manner.

"Fiona, please, can we go to bed?" he said. "My leg hurts, and I'm coming down from adrenaline too. There you can sulk and gripe. But I reckon it's more rewarding to do in bed with a lover."

Fiona finally shut her mouth, jumped to her feet, and headed upstairs. He followed her. She thought she heard a relieved sigh behind her.

***

She settled in his arms and pressed her nose into his neck. They lay in silence, and she kept drawing squiggles on his left arm, folded on his chest.

"I liked Clementine," Fiona said.

"I'm in love with you too," he said at the same time - and she jerked and sharply rose to look at his face.

"It's been three days," she pronounced slowly. "Are you?" she said before he answered. "Are you really, Will?" she asked hopefully and smiled widely.

He cupped the back of her head and pulled her in a tender slow kiss. It's like any tension or pain in her body has just melted away. She suddenly burst into happy laughter.

"It's been three days!" she exclaimed and grinned at him. "We're two idiots."

"I think we're smarter than the rest," he said, the corners of his lips twitching in a warm smile. "People dance around it and arse it up for themselves. We just took a shortcut."

She giggled and quickly kissed him. "We did, didn't we?" she said. "It just makes so much sense, right?"

He smiled at her - openly and widely - and pulled her head down on his chest. She lay down and squeezed her eyes.

"I'm so happy I'm almost scared," she said. "And I'm feeling a bit better about my future anymore. Maybe I'll be alright."

"We will be alright," he said.

She jumped up again.

"But it doesn't place any obligations on you, of course!" she said hurriedly. "I mean, I'm so happy that– that you feel this way, but also it's still my life and I have to suss it out on my own. Well, with your support, of course. But you don't have to help me in any way!" His left eyebrow jumped up, and she rushed to clarify, "But I'm not saying I won't accept any help - that would be daft! And I suspect you'd feel offended. And I don't want you to think I'm ungrateful because I really am not! I think being standoffish and uppity about these things is just stupid, you know. You want to help, and I'll just say thank you and appreciate it, alright?"

"Alright," he said, his voice amused.

"Good," she said and lay down again. "God, I'm so happy we took the shortcut."

He chuckled under her, and she closed her eyes.

Is there a protocol for what to do after the confession?

Her eyes flew open.

"Are we supposed to– um– now that we said it?"

"Did you want anything?" he asked, his voice shaking with laughter.

"To be honest, I just want to sleep," she admitted - and yawned.

"Good. Because I'm knackered," he said and kissed the top of her head. "Good night, Fiona."

"Night, Will."