Page 85 of One Last Gift

“Don’t worry,” Hazel said soothingly. “He’s not trying to make this difficult.” She turned the key over for Cassie, showed a small sticker on it, where a postcode was written down. “If you can get yourself there, you can let yourself in with the key.”

“Let myself…Oh.” A house. He must be in a house somewhere, waiting for her. She bit her lip. The nerves in her body were prickling, urging her to move, but she stayed sitting for one more moment. Hazel and Josh were both watching her, waiting. And Sam’s voice came to her, one more time.

At least I’m brave enough to admit what’s going on here.

She realized, then, that there was no choice at all. She’d never had any choice in what to feel for him.

“OK,” she said with a whooshing breath, getting to her feet at the same time. “I’m doing it, I’m going.”

“Yay!” Hazel said. “Good luck.”

“What, no dessert?” Josh asked, with a playful smile, earning another “Stop it!” from Hazel. Leaving them behind, the key clutched in her hand, Cassie ran from the restaurant and toward the person she knew, in that moment, that she could not live without. And even if that scared her, even if she thought she couldn’t stand it to lose someone else she loved so much, she knew, right then, that it didn’t matter. He’d already carved out a place in her soul, so now all that was left to do was to try to hold on to that, for as long as she could.

Chapter Forty

The taxi drove her down the dirt track that the postcode had led her to, bouncing a little on the uneven ground, the long grass in the middle of the road—and “road” was a generous term—scraping the underside of the car, though the driver didn’t seem all that concerned about it. The headlights, combined with the sliver of moonlight filtering through the clouds, illuminated their way in the dark. Cassie leaned forward to see out of the front windshield, her heart jolting with each bump of the car. Ahead of them was an old stone cottage that looked on the verge of crumbling down, a small stone wall around it, separating it from the vast hills in the background, hills that seemed to stretch on eternally. Chalky rocks nestled in the grass seemed to shine in the moonlight, and frost, already settling in for the night, sparkled as they drove.

The taxi pulled to a stop, and without the noise of the engine, Cassie could hear the wind swooping over the countryside. Other than that, everything was so quiet, like they were miles away from anyone else. Whether or not that was true, she couldn’t say, having completely lost her bearings in the five-hour journey it had taken to get here. “You sure this is the one, are you?” the driver said, in his brilliant lilting Welsh accent.

Wales. After spending three months here, it turned out that Sam had asked her to make the trip back to Wales from London. Farther into the rural countryside than she was now based, but Wales, nonetheless.

Cassie stared at the cottage. There was one light on in the downstairs window, but otherwise it looked empty. She wet her dry lips. “I think so,” she said, a little uncertainly.

“You want me to wait, do you?”

“Yes, please,” she said in a small voice. Because what if she was wrong, and Sam wasn’t here at all? What if she’d misread the postcode, despite having checked it a thousand times? What if he’d gotten it wrong? She took a deep breath, her heart speeding up, adrenaline coursing back through her. She felt both tired after the journey and impossibly wide awake and was now regretting the coffee she’d had on the train, sure that it was making her jittery. And God, why hadn’t she thought to change before she got on the bloody train? Why hadn’t she thought to bring makeup, so she could turn up in a more presentable state?

She checked her phone, though the battery was nearly dead. Almost 10 p.m. What if he wasn’t awake? What time did he usually go to bed? She had no idea. She sometimes went to bed at 10 p.m., didn’t she, so it wasn’t out of the realms of possibility?

“You going, love, then are you? Only I’ve got supper waiting for me at home.”

“Right. Yes. Sorry.” She got out, immediately sucking in a breath against the cold. Jesus, it was bloody freezing, the air crisp and harsh in her mouth, practically burning the back of her throat. It was enough to get her moving fast toward the white gate that led through the stone wall to the path up to the front door.

She was too cold to hesitate, and maybe that was better, not to think about this. Still, her fingers shook slightly as she put the key into the lock, turned. It clicked open. Oh God, it actually opened. It had worked: she was here; she was doing this.

Somehow, she managed to turn back to the taxi driver, give him a little thumbs up. She heard the engine start up again as she stepped inside, shutting the door behind her. There was music playing somewhere, but it was dark in the hallway. Light was coming from down the corridor and she blinked as her eyes adjusted. She bit her lip, hovering. Why hadn’t Sam come to see who it was? Hadn’t he heard the door? Was this some kind of test? A trick?

Stop it, Cassie, she told herself firmly. She was here now. She’d traveled five bloody hours at the drop of a hat—there was a reason for that.

Slowly, feeling the need to tiptoe for some reason, she followed the light into a sitting room, the music, lively violins, getting louder as she walked. Maybe that explained why he hadn’t heard the door. She stopped in the doorway. There was a fire crackling away in the fireplace, the flames eating away at the wood, the smell of smoke in the air. The relief of being warm shuddered through her. Or maybe that was the relief of seeing him, of knowing it was real. Because there he was. Just the back of his head, but still. Sitting there, on a red sofa, facing the fire, with a glass of what looked like whisky in his hand.

Whoever owned the cottage had put up some Christmas decorations—unless Sam had set them up himself, which she doubted. There were white fairy lights above the fireplace, tinsel over the top of the windows, candles burning in the corner. Those, at least, must have been him.

“Sam.” She said his name quietly, could barely get it from her lips. He turned, lightning fast, and she held her breath. He stood in one fluid movement, staring at her, and she stayed completely still, unable to move.

“You came.” His voice was a little hoarse.

“Yeah.” She let out the breath. “Yeah, I came.”

And then his face split into a grin and he crossed to her in two big strides. He reached out, running his hands down her arms, which were still encased in her coat. Even through her coat, her skin sparked to life with his touch. He quite literally picked her up off her feet, spinning her in a small circle and kissing her and it felt so right, so unbelievably right to be there, in his arms. She laughed, putting her arms around his neck, pulling him closer, and he kissed her again, and God, this, the taste of him, how could she ever have thought she’d be able to put it aside?

He broke away suddenly and she frowned up at him. “Wait,” he said and darted away, his movements a little frantic. He grabbed something off the little coffee table, then came back to stand in front of her. His expression was a little careful as he looked at her, as he held something out for her to see.

A necklace. Her necklace, the one he’d given to her all those years ago. The chain dangled from his fingers, the stone swaying slightly.

She stared at it, dumbfounded. “You kept it.”

Sam ran a hand across the back of his neck, the way he did when he was nervous, or anxious about something. “Yeah. I guess I was always hoping there would come a time when I could give it back to you.”