Page 16 of Plot Twist

‘This is for you, Becca,’ Ivy said, picking up the black and white polka-dot gift bag. ‘I drawed the card, too.’

‘Drew,’ Riley corrected her.

I flinched at the word.

‘That’s what I said.’ She rolled her eyes, as I opened the bag and peered in, first retrieving a handmade card from Ivy with three stick figures drawn on the front along with the words ‘Well come Beka’. Stick Riley and I were both writing at our desks and little stick Ivy was grinning from ear to ear playing with what looked suspiciously like a large pair of breasts.

Riley tried to hide his smirk as I admired the card.

‘Oooh, I love your drawing, Ivy,’ I gushed. ‘Can you tell me about it?’

‘That’s you and Daddy writing your books and I’m watching you through the window with my binoculars.’ She grinned proudly.

‘Ah, binoculars!’ Riley exclaimed, squinting at the picture. ‘Now I see.’

‘Well, yes, that’s what they help you with, Daddy,’ she said, as though he were the silly one.

I smirked as Riley threw me a grin over Ivy’s head.

I took out the rest of the gift bag’s contents: a brand-new black notebook with the words ‘A New Chapter’, a ‘Wine in Disguise’ coffee mug, a huge bar of chocolate and a single key. I smoothed my hand over it and was speechless, for a moment, gazing at all the goodies. I was more than a little embarrassed to suddenly feel my eyes filling with tears.

‘If you don’t like the chocolate, we can have it,’ Riley said, laughing. ‘It’s just a little welcome present, no big deal. Plus, a key to Bellinder Cottage so you can come and go as you please.’

‘I’ll eat the chocolate!’ Ivy exclaimed.

‘Thank you both,’ I said in a low voice. ‘That was so thoughtful.’

Pleased with herself, Ivy skipped to her bedroom. I turned my attention to the bookshelf behind me, running my fingers along the spines of some books I recognised.

‘A male romance writer,’ I mused, still getting my head around it all as I checked out the titles and author names. The books were all written by females. ‘Who would’ve thought?’

‘Men can write romance too, you know,’ he said, gesturing to the framed copy of the front cover of his book,The Fall Out, which took pride of place on the wall.

‘And clearly can, in your case. Your first novel was amazing. Looks like it’s your favourite genre to read, too?’

‘Yes ma’am, and proud of it,’ he said, giving me a small salute. ‘And watch, too. Love a good romcom.’

He leaned against the door frame with a wide, infectious grin. I wondered how Bellinder Cottage was strong enough to contain Riley the romance writer. He looked like he could knock a wall down just by leaning against things. How could he be a romance writer? He wouldn’t look out of place on a football pitch. Or a rugby pitch.

‘Can Becca come and play now?’ Ivy asked, appearing behind him at the door with a well-loved doll under the crook of her arm.

Riley rubbed his daughter’s hair. ‘Let Becca settle in.’

‘It’s all right, Riley the romance writer,’ I said, smiling at them both. ‘Ivy, I’d love to play.’

The truth was, I was glad to escape from all his wide, laidback grins and all thetestosteronefloating around in the air. That’s what it was, I was sure of it. And it was so distracting, I was glad of the excuse to leave. To breathe.

I sat cross-legged on the fluffy carpet in the living room and picked up one of Ivy’s dolls. Riley disappeared to do something, with all his testosterone in tow, and I realised I’d secretly been banking on some female company. Some it’s-hard-to-be-a-woman chat about sticking together, supporting each other and burning bras. I craved that.

I missed Rae so much, my whole body ached.

But Bellinder Cottage in all its glory, Ivy’s adorable chatter and Riley’s infectious grin felt like the gift I didn’t know I needed. Then there had been the actual gift, which had melted my heart. Plus, he wanted me to work in his officebesidehim.

I blinked. I was sure I’d be able to get over the whole tingling sensation every time Riley looked at me.

‘So, you pretend you’re asleep and then I come in and tell you to wake up for breakfast.’ Ivy interrupted my thoughts as she rearranged the cushions on the living room floor.

My thoughts turned to Ivy as I wondered where her mum was. She said she’d left, but what did that mean? When had she gone? Should Bellinder Cottage, with its magical charm, be credited to her? Had she chosen the vibrant colours, the soft furnishings and the mixture of old and new furniture throughout the house?