Mourners stood around Oscar's Bar and Bistro clutching glasses of wine or pints of beer as waitresses circulated with trays of canapes. Gloria had been a popular and respected lady, it seemed. Patrick scanned the room, spotting Grace waving from a table at the far side. Good girl. The last place he wanted to be was near the bar where Libby was pulling pints. She had her plaits pinned over her head and he couldn't help a little smile. What the hell was it with her?

Okay, so he fancied her, a bit anyway. If he could change a few things about her, like everything about the way she looked, then maybe next June, when his twelve months' probation was over, then... well, maybe.

'Is that the wee lassie that was in the paper?' His father scowled towards the bar.

'She's called Libby and she's very nice.' Patrick loosened his tie, craving a pint. Funerals unnerved him.

'Nae but trouble, mark my words, and don't you forget, you're wearing a black tie.'

Patrick fought the urge answer back and his father wandered away. Would he ever trust him or give him the benefit of the doubt? For months, Patrick hadn't broken a single rule and he didn't intend to start over Olivia Wilde, no matter how cute she looked with her Heidi hair.

He slumped in a chair next to Grace gratefully taking the coffee she pushed towards him. 'So, on a scale of one to weird?'

'Definitely off it. I daren't not cry at the crem in case people thought I did sell her the Special K.' Grace sipped her orange juice. 'And is it me, or is it bloody inappropriate for the girl who copped off with the dead woman's husband to be here? Fabulous shoes though.'

Zoe sat on the other side of the room, chatting with a couple of girls Patrick assumed were from the estate agents. The others wore cheap suits and struggled to totter on the polished wooden floor in their high heels, but from her neat bun and pearl earrings to her five inch sling backs, Zoe screamed respectability. Patrick wasn't fooled and he hadn't missed that she never stopped tracking Jonathon Carr. Totally obsessed.

'Give her a break,' Patrick said. 'She's here with the other estate agents. It would've looked just as bad if she hadn't turned up.'

'Where's your mum?'

'Using the dogs as an excuse not to be here. She's upset.'

'Where do you think she got the ketamine? Gloria, I mean.'

'No idea. But if it's someone I know...' He looked her in the eye, checking for the hair twiddles and conversation pauses Libby had taught him to watch for. 'Jack wouldn't-'

'He couldn't turn off an alarm if you stood there giving him directions, let alone override it.' Grace sighed. 'And he wouldn't do it. Neither would Sparky or any of the other Gosthwaite lot. They're all too scared of you. Plus, Ket's nasty. Jack and I did it last year.'

'You better not have got it from my surgery.'

She shook her head. 'You ever tried it?'

'Probably the only thing I haven't.'

'I totally thought I was talking to God. Had the whole out of body, floating down the tunnel experience. Couldn't move. Just lay there like a bloody cabbage. Never again.'

Patrick picked up his coffee, looking towards the bar. A man walked away with a pint and Libby turned to her next customer, flashing a polite smile, but there was no sparkle. She looked up, catching Patrick's eye. Shit. He stared, regretting shouting at her, regretting blaming her for dragging his name into the paper. How many times over the last week had he wanted to pop round, to take a bottle wine and apologise? They were friends, they had been friends, and he wanted it back, but his dad was right, Libby was nae but trouble.

'It's your round,' Grace said and knocked back the rest of her orange juice. 'And since you're driving. I'll have a vodka and fat free Coke.'

He took out his wallet and dropped a twenty on the table. 'You go.'

'She's your bessy mate. You go. She'll probably spit in my drink.'

'Do me a favour, Gracey, and make friends with her?'

'Bugger off.'

'Come on, you'd like her.'

'Hating her will give me a competitive edge in the race.'

'Okay, then after the race.'

Grace tipped her head to the side, studying him. 'If she's so ace, why are you trying to avoid her?'

He snatched up the money and headed to the bar.

*

Gloria's funeral was a day Libby had tried to avoid but she'd swapped so many shifts to have the party weekend off, the rota started to resemble a spider diagram and irritated Rich every time he consulted it.

Firstly, she wasn't sure if she could face Jonathon Carr without giggling. Very inappropriate at his wife's funeral, but the man got off being spanked with a riding crop. He was fit though, somewhere between George Clooney and one of the guys from Mad Men. Shame she couldn't dismiss an unpleasant mental image of him with a ball gag in his mouth.

The second issue was that Gloria had worked for the McBride Veterinary Clinic, which meant Patrick turned up. Libby hadn't seen him since he'd told her that whatever was going on in her pretty little head was never going to happen. She hadn't even had chance to say thank you for the roses. She daren't go round, but she could've sent a text at least.

He'd arrived with an older man Libby suspected was his father. He had the same, but grey, curly hair. None of the women sat with Grace looked old enough to be his mother though.

The first time she'd looked over to where he sat slouching in a chair next to Grace, Patrick had been looking her way. He didn't smile, he just sat there staring until she'd overfilled the pint glass and spilled Cumberland Ale all over her hand. Genius. The other seventy-nine times she glanced over he'd been looking anywhere but at her. He still hated her.

She faux-smiled her way through the afternoon, praying for six o'clock. She'd agreed to wear ballet pumps instead of her usual boots for work and as a result, her feet were covered in beer - most of it spilled by Simon, the campest and sloppiest barman in town.

'I hate funerals.' Megan hovered next to him on her way out with canapes. 'Half the people get pissed and cry and the other half get shit-faced and start fighting. Look at that bloke in the corner. He's been knocking whisky for an hour. Hammered.'

'Fit though.' Simon shrugged.

The guy was Ed, Jonathon's youngest son. Who could blame him for getting drunk at his mother's funeral? Crikey, he was fit. All Jonathon's good-looks, but in a dark-haired, thirty year-old package. Worryingly, for the fifth time, Libby had caught him staring at Zoe. Megan was right. Booze and fraught emotional times never went well together.

'Hi.'

Libby turned, her welcoming smile faltering. Patrick perched on a stool, determinedly staring at the oak bar.

'Hi,' she replied. 'What would you like?'

He barely looked up as he ordered a coffee and a vodka. Nothing had changed. He still hated her. She focussed on her job, making the best damned coffee Oscar's had ever served, but wasn't this her chance to build bridges?

'Thank you for the flowers. They're lovely.'

He nodded.

She put his coffee on the bar. 'Diet coke? Can or cheap crap that comes out of the pump?'

'Can.'

'Ice?'

He nodded.

Building the Panama Canal required less negotiation. 'Anything else?'

He shook his head and handed her a twenty. He was supposed to be her somebody. Her somebody would talk to her. Tears stung her eyes, but her own problems faded when she realised Zoe was speaking to Ed and from the bitter scowls on both sides, it was anything but a pleasant conversation. Arse.

Libby headed over to the till, straining to hear them.

'...keeping it in the family,' Ed said, looking down at Zoe with undisguised disdain. 'Still, you're a step up from your aunt.'

'What?' Zoe stared at him.

Ed laughed. 'Didn't you know? I thought everyone knew. Mum did. He fucked Maggie for years.'

Oh God, no. Libby dashed from behind the bar, but Zoe was already striding across the room. A couple of elderly gents hampered Libby's interception and Zoe made it to Jonathon Carr.

'You fucked Maggie?' Zoe hissed.

Jonathon stuttered through a half-hearted denial as Libby reached them.

'Zo,' she said, 'not the time.'

'She's was a hideous old witch.'

Jonathon reached out to stroke Zoe's face. 'I'm sorry. I-'

Zoe slapped him.

The room gradually fell silent as Libby led Zoe out to the garden.

'He fucked her. He really did.' Zoe paced up and down, as she opened her crocodile skin handbag, taking out a pack of cigarettes. 'Want one?'

Libby shook her head. Seven whole days she'd managed without smoking.

'What if he's the one?' Zoe stopped, frowning at Jonathon. He stood by a window, staring back at her, as his sons flanked him, questioning their father. 'I feel sick.'

'You don't believe in true love,' Libby said, ignoring Simon beckoning her inside.

'Oh fucking hell.' Zoe turned from Jonathon. 'I've got to get out of here.'

'You can escape out of the side lane. Will you be okay?'

Zoe nodded and kissed her cheek. 'Later 'gator.'

'While 'dile.'

Libby sat for a moment, watching Zoe stride away. So Gloria knew about Jonathon and Maggie. Had she been another wife hell-bent on revenge?

'It's a never-ending drama around you.' Patrick came out, perching on the table. 'What the hell was that about?'

God, he looked good in a suit. He'd loosened his tie and undone his top button. 'It seems Jonathon had a fling with Maggie. Zoe's not too pleased.'

'I can't believe she slapped him. Looked bloody hard too.'

'I wouldn't worry. He probably enjoyed it.' Libby giggled, miming flicking a whip. 'He's into a bit of that.'

'The Silver Fox? Wow.'

They both laughed for a moment, but then an uneasy silence fell.

'Patrick... I'm really sorry about the paper, but I honestly have no idea what happened with Miss Haverton. Were you kicked out of a pub for doing coke on a table too?'

'Sort of.' He pushed his hands in his pockets. 'We were kicked out because I was doing coke on Miss Haverton on a table.'

'On Miss Haverton?' Libby laughed. 'Oh, is that what everyone thinks Andy was doing? For the record, it wasn't coke. It was salt. We were doing tequila body shots.'

Patrick shook his head. 'I was shocked, Miss Wilde. You're supposed to be nice, remember?'

'And look at the trouble trying not to be causes.' She stood up. 'I ought to get back inside before I get sacked.'

'How is work?' he asked.

She shrugged. 'I've been thinking about living up to my appalling reputation and introducing Coyote Ugly style dancing on the bar. If I could get any of the other girls to talk to me, I could teach them the routine and we'd make a fortune in tips.'

'An interesting career plan. Why aren't they talking to you?'

She wrapped her arms around herself, explaining, before braving facing him. 'Look, I'm really sorry about... Halloween.'

'Don't be, just don't do it again.' He looked at his feet, fighting a grin. 'At least it proves I do have an off switch.'

'Are we... friends again?'

He looked up and nodded slowly.

'Thank you.' She didn't bother to hide her smile. He'd forgiven her.

'Thank you for saving me from twenty to life.' He grabbed her hand, bringing her wrist to his face. 'What on earth is that perfume?'

She swayed, unaware of anything other than the proximity of his lips to her wrist. 'My Chloe got smashed at the party. I'm blaming Grace. This is Zoe's Guilty.'

'How apt. It stinks.'

She snatched her hand away, blushing. 'That's the sweetest thing anyone's ever said.'

He laughed, holding the door open for her, but his smile fell as his father stood before them, scowling.

'So, can I get my change now?' Patrick asked Libby, his tone frosty.

Libby still held his twenty. 'Sorry, yes. I won't be a minute.'

There were no more smiles, no more lips hovering near wrists. He took his change and headed off with his drinks, muttering a thank you. Whatever you're imagining in your pretty little head, it's never going to happen. The card had said Thank You, not I love you.

*

The waitress holding out a tray of pointlessly small, beef and horseradish sandwiches, flashed him the flirtiest smile. Megan. One of the bullying bitches making Libby's life hell. He looked Megan over, making sure she fully understood how little he thought of her, and as she scuttled off, he glanced over at Libby. He hated seeing her so down. This place was killing her.

'Gracey, does Rob still want me to look at Sambuca?'

She nodded. 'But you're chocka this week.'

'Set it up for tomorrow. Bump a few people, or I'll stay late. Whatever.'

He nursed his coffee, trying to ignore Grace's astonished face. If him working until six meant Robbie would give Libby her job back, so be it. Because if he didn't do something about it, she'd leave. Why he felt he had to prevent that was still a mystery.

At Low Wood Farm, Patrick stooped to pet Cromwell, hiding his amusement as Robbie's latest groom came out of a stable leading Cleo. Robbie didn't even begin to hide his annoyance.

'Naomi, that's not Sambuca. Sammy's the bay gelding in the end box.' Robbie shook his head. 'Two months and she hasn't a bloody clue.'

'She's no worse the others who've worked here. Excepting one. The problem is, your expectations have been raised.' Patrick smiled. 'You know the answer.'

Robbie sighed, kicking a pebble. 'How's she getting on at the bar?'

'How do you think? The male staff are hitting on her and none of the female staff trust her. All they know is she shagged the owner's sons. Plural. I was there yesterday. Libs said she's dying to live up to her reputation and introduce Coyote Ugly style dancing on the bar.'

Robbie shook his head, muttering under his breath.

'Oh come on, Rob. I bet you're already trying to work out a way for Vanessa to think it's her idea to bring Libby back to work.'

'How is she, aside from work?'

'Unhappy.'

'You'd better not be contributing to that.'

'Don't worry. I have no intention of messing around with Libby. For once I'm being more honourable than you've been.'

'So why do you care?'

'Because she's a nice girl who you shouldn't have dragged into your fucked up marriage and she shouldn't have lost her job over it.'

'I know, I know, but what can I do?'

'Give her a job.'

'It's a lot to ask of Van.'

'It is, but this is partly her fault. And let's be honest, you've never been able to resist playing the hero, have you?' Patrick laughed. 'Do you think you can be Libby's hero without getting divorced?'

'Naomi, you need to get on him. Today preferably.'

Patrick slapped Robbie's back. 'You'll do the right thing. But there's something else.'

Robbie groaned.

'Did you see this?' Patrick took a folded up page from his pocket. 'It's from the Guardian the other week. It's the Broken Ballerina story.'

'Yeah, I saw... Jesus, that's not Libby is it?'

Patrick nodded.

'I knew she used to be a ballet dancer, but... has she told you about it?'

'Yes.' Patrick turned his attention to the bay horse the clueless Naomi was leading out.

'When?'

'When it was in the paper. Look, what I know is irrelevant. What you need to do is persuade Clara to lure Libby to her mum's dance studio.'

'Why me? You ring Clara.'

'Because Clara will assume something that isn't happening. Besides, she does anything you ask.' Patrick studied Sambuca. 'I think Libby might be right. It could be his back. We should scan it.'

*

Libby pushed open the doors to the community hall, fighting the urge to go home and hide under her duvet. No. Failing to attend Pilates was unacceptable. It only ran at term-times on a Thursday. She couldn't miss it just because a few people might point and whisper. Besides, Pilates was as good for the soul as it was the body. Okay, it wasn't yoga or grounding, but it worked for her. The gentle stretches much more calming than running, or even dancing. And being realistic, it was the only good thing in her life. That and Hyssop.

She smiled at the yummy mummies and waved to Gladys, the trendy granny, happy that none of them seemed to be snickering behind her back, but her smile vanished when she saw the glossy black bob of Vanessa Golding. Oh god, no.

Sheena, the instructor opened the doors, inviting them in, but Libby couldn't move. Robbie had told her the Haverton Community Centre had a Pilates class. How would he have known, except for his wife being a regular? Libby had lost her job and her friendship with Robbie, surely Vanessa couldn't take this from her too.

She needed to leave, to go to Paolo who rang every other day, apologising for shagging Grace, or to see her parents, who hadn't rung for months. Libby staggered away, tears already falling. Paolo, parents... it didn't matter. She just had to pick a destination.

'Oh crikey, don't. You'll have me set off.' Vanessa led her away to the little cafe. 'The hot drinks are bloody awful, but they do a fantastic can of Diet Coke.'

Libby stared at her.

'You don't like Diet Coke?'

'Actually, I quite like the tea they do here.' Libby wiped her eyes. 'Your accent. You're Welsh.'

'Yes...'

'He told me so much about you, but he never said you were Welsh.'

'Oh.' Vanessa's foot jiggled under the table. 'So he said you came here, but now I've been coming for years-'

'It's a big hall and I don't have anything else. Can't we share, just this?' Tears rolled down Libby's face and she craved a cigarette, but she lacked the energy to run away.

'I'm not here to... I wanted to say sorry.'

Libby looked up. 'What?'

'And thank you.' Vanessa paused, sipping her drink. 'He told me everything, how you always said I would come back. Thanks for doing that. I think if you hadn't... maybe he'd never have had the guts to ask me to come home.'

'You're welcome.' Libby wiped her eyes. 'Don't do it again.'

'I won't.' Vanessa sat on her hands, jiggling her feet. 'Do you love him?'

Libby shook her head. 'But I do miss him. He was a good friend.'

'I think he misses you too.' Vanessa took a deep breath. 'This might seem bonkers considering the situation, but I can see... some of this is my fault and I'm sorry you lost your job. The thing is, how tidy was the place? It's not any more mind. Anyway, I wondered, we wondered, well he asked me and I said I'd think about it and to be honest, I hadn't even decided until I saw you tonight, but would you like your job back?'

Libby stared at her. 'Really?'

'I mean, it'd have to be different. You'd have to stay away from Rob. No more glasses of wine after work, but the girls miss you and I know Rob wants to make sure you're okay. He worries.'

'You really are the nicest person in the world. Everyone said so. I didn't think anyone was this nice.'

'I hear you are.' Vanessa tucked her hair behind her ears. 'I'm not a saint, Libby. I just want what's right, but if I ever think that-'

'You won't. I promise.' More tears flew down Libby's cheeks. 'Really, I can come back?'

Vanessa nodded.

'When?'

Vanessa tried not to grin. 'Ah well, that's why I came tonight. I sacked the other girl this afternoon while Rob was at the Mill. She was bloody useless. Can you start tomorrow?'

Libby nodded, unsure if she should laugh or cry. Okay, it would be weird, but she'd rather have weird at Low Wood Farm than miserable at the bar. 'Thank you.'

'Rob's going to Haverton first thing and I'll be at rehearsal for most of the day so make yourself at home.'

'Rehearsal?'

'I'm beyond excited. I've got a place in the Haverton Orchestra.' Vanessa took a deep breath. 'There's one more thing.'

Libby looked up. 'What?'

'I hear you're at a bit of a loss, after the ballet business went wrong. I need you to do something about that.'

'Why?' Libby frowned, dubious.

'Because if you can't fix it, Rob won't be able to stop himself from rescuing you and that'll kill my marriage.'

'Oh.'

'Rob was concocting some charade with Clara, but I think honesty is better.' Vanessa handed her a business card. 'You're supposed to be there at four on Monday.'

Libby stared at the card. The Keeley Dance Studio. Oh god. 'I'm sorry, I-'

'If you're about to tell me that you can't, you look me in the eye and do it.'

Libby couldn't, instead she stroked the ballerina on the business card. Was returning to Low Wood Farm worth this pain?. 'I just don't know if-'

'He asked me if I'd let you come back to work. I said no. He begged me, Libby. It's the hardest thing I've ever done, letting you come back, when I know you've shagged him in the bloody hay barn, so you'll damn well look me in the eye and tell me you can't do it.'

Libby raised her head, her jaw clenched. 'I'll be there.'

*

'She hasn't turned up,' Robbie said, sighing down the phone.

Patrick sipped his coffee, taking his time. He knew Libby hadn't turned up. She was sitting on the churchyard wall, staring at the dance studio opposite. He knew she'd balk. He just hadn't been sure what he'd do about it. 'And?'

'And aren't you at the Haverton surgery today? Can you see if she's outside, dead in the street?'

'Oh for Christ's sake, I'll see if I can find her.' Patrick hung up and gestured to the waitress. 'Two more espressos. I'll be back in a minute.'

On the ground floor of the Keeley Dance Studio housed a dancewear shop and a small cafe where a group of young girls in pale pink leotards were drinking Coke. Libby stared at them, oblivious to his presence.

'If you sit there for much longer you'll get arrested for perving at underage girls.' He sat next to her, elbowing her ribs. Despite the black streaks, make-up and chunky work boots, she looked cute huddled in her turquoise coat, her nose pink from the cold. 'What are you doing?'

After she'd explained, he took her arm and led her to the coffee shop. He sat her outside, and ducked inside to get the two espressos, as if he'd not had them premade, as if he'd not sat watching her for the last fifteen minutes.

'You are going in there,' he said.

'What if...'

'What if, what? What's the worst that can happen? You'll get upset that you can't dance professionally and cry? So cry, do some dancing and get over it.'

'Wow, you're so kind and compassionate. Why is it you don't have a girlfriend?' She sank half her coffee.

'What are your options?' he asked, trying to sound a little more understanding.

'Aren't you supposed to be castrating cows or something?'

'Monday afternoons I have to work at our practice here.' He pointed to the vets down the road. 'I hate it. It's all small animal crap. I'd just dealt with another mangy mongrel when I saw you about to get arrested for weird behaviour. I'm glad of the chance to escape. So what are your options? How can you get ballet back into your life?'

'Mangy mongrel? Do you actually like being a vet?'

'You're still avoiding my question.' He downed his espresso in one.

'Do you think Gloria found out about Jonathon and Maggie, bumped her off then crippled with guilt, did herself in? Shame we'll never know. Unless she told Jonathon. Zoe still won't speak to him, but I bet she could torture him to find out if Gloria confessed.'

'And how would Gloria kill Maggie? Push her down the stairs? Gloria could barely walk most days. If it wasn't her back, it was Xanax.' He shook his head. 'You are the queen of question avoidance. Stop changing the subject. Ballet. What can you do?'

Her brow furrowed in a tight knot as she sat on her hands, glancing longingly at the lad at the next table who'd lit a cigarette.

'You're not smoking.'

'I've given up.'

'Well done. Ballet?'

'I...'

'Come on, Libs.'

'I could dance for fun, just take the odd class, or I could teach, but I don't know...'

'Well, start simple. Go in there and say hello to Jane. Her and my mum are friends.' He wanted to push the fringe out of the way and wipe off half the black make-up. 'The kids call her Mrs Knightmare, but she's very nice, not too fond of me though.'

'Why?'

'Bit of a fling with her daughter, Juliet, last year.'

'Clara and Juliet? You really are appalling.' She sank the last of her coffee.

He smiled. 'You ready?'

He took her hand and dragged her across the road, into the studio. When she pulled back, trying to flee, he tightened his grip. The girl behind the counter directed them upstairs where Jane Knight was in the office, doing paperwork.

'Hi, Jane, this is Libby.' He gently pushed Libby in front of him, his hands resting on her shaking shoulders.

'Sorry, I'm late,' she whispered.

'It's okay. Clara explained.' Jane stood up, eyeing him with suspicion. 'Hello, Patrick.'

And this was why he hadn't intervened until Robbie rang. Jane, like Clara, would put two and two together and make up the rest.

'What would you like to do, Libby?' Jane asked, but Libby was already staring into the studio, mesmerised.

'Can I go in?'

She didn't wait for an answer, but walked into the studio, gazing around as if she'd found Kansas again. Patrick watched through the round window in the door, smiling as she started peeling off layers to reveal she was already dressed in the Flashdance black leotard.

'Is she what's keeping you on the straight and narrow?' Jane asked.

'She's nothing to do with me, just a friend.' His phone rang. Grateful for the excuse, he walked away.

By the time he was off the phone, thankfully rescued from an afternoon with small animals by a lame bull, Libby was dancing. Jesus Christ, she really was a ballet dancer. Even though he'd seen the photos he'd not really believed it, not to this extent. She was twirling and tottering on the tips of her toes, as graceful as a fairy.

'She's very good, out of practice and her feet will hurt tomorrow, but very good. I have friends at the English National Ballet and I made some enquiries. She had great potential, would have made principal. She's a turner.' Jane smiled at his confused expression. 'Her speciality is turning, doing pirouettes, maneges, fouettues, just like that.'

Libby span through ten or so turns then stopped dead and burst into tears. No, no, no. Don't cry. This was supposed to fix you.

'You don't look as though she's nothing to do with you,' Jane said. 'And about time too. Your mother worries about you.'

'I have to go,' Patrick said, still loitering. 'Don't tell her I watched.'

Jane smiled, clearly amused, but went into the studio.

'Miss it?' she asked Libby.

Libby nodded. 'I need to start dancing again. I know I'm crying but I'm actually happy. I can't believe I've avoided it for this long.'

'You needed some time. I stopped for five years after Juliet was born.'

'Please, can I come to class?'

'Of course.' Jane studied her. 'What else? Do you want to teach?'

'I don't know.'

'We're putting on the Nutcracker next month. I could do with some help marshalling the girls around. Would you like to help?' When Libby nodded, Jane smiled. 'Good. Now, I'll let you off for today, but if you want to dance here, you will look like a ballerina. The eye make-up has to go and a fringe that long will need to be pinned back. You were a professional dancer so I expect you to set a good example to the girls. Barre?'

Libby nodded, wiping her eyes, and Patrick left her to it, his good deed done.

*

Libby knocked on Patrick's door, her smile still in place from the forty minutes of punishment Jane had subjected her to. Between Jane and Xander, she'd end up fitter than ever.

Patrick answered, his expression blank, as if he had no idea why she might be stood on his doorstep. Libby's smile fell. He'd gone out of his way to help her, but now he shoved his hands in his pockets, clearly not inviting her in.

'I just wanted to say thank you, for today.'

He didn't react.

'I'm... I'm going to start class again and help out with the ballet they're putting on at Christmas.' She blushed, she shouldn't have come. 'Anyway, sorry to... just, thanks.'

Her cheeks burned as she walked away, but she held her head high. What was wrong with him? Clearly he didn't like her, so why did he keep being nice?