A Return, a Reunion, a Wedding

by Annie O'Neil

  Whether she said yes or no, she looked completely endearing. And very, very sexy.

  ‘We were going to put on a play for Maggie. Ears.’ She pointed to her topknots and then to the kitchen table, where an array of children’s costumes were spread out. ‘They dressed me up this morning, while Maggie was having a lie-in. I thought I’d go through the children’s costumes while they were at school to see if I could come up with something inspired.’

  ‘Apart from doing your own version of Cats?’

  ‘Ha! No. I think you’ll remember my singing voice is more like a feral cat than an opera singer. Maggie’s the only one with talent in that department.’

  She opened the lower half of the barn-style door and stood to the side so he could duck under the thick beam of a doorframe and come into the kitchen.

  She pointed at her face. ‘This was Cailey’s handiwork. I let her raid Maggie’s amateur dramatics make-up box before school. To help alleviate the boredom.’

  ‘Cailey’s or Maggie’s?’

  Jayne laughed. ‘Maggie’s. Definitely Maggie’s.’

  ‘She’s bored already? I thought she’d be thrilled to tackle a few boxsets.’

  He didn’t really. Maggie was always doing something. Experimenting with new cake flavours for the tearoom. Setting up the village fete. Cheering on her husband at the annual Whitticombe river football match. When her obstetrician had rung Sam and recommended Maggie be put on bedrest for the final few weeks of her pregnancy, the first words Maggie had uttered were ‘House arrest, you mean.’

  Jayne cracked a proper smile this time. The type that could put a movie star to shame. Resisting that smile was like stopping time. Impossible.

  ‘Last night she started watching online videos to teach herself how to crochet, because she’s already knitted three new baby blankets.’

  ‘What? Since last week?’

  Jayne leant against the wooden kitchen counter and drew her top teeth over her lower lip. ‘You might not know this, but Maggie doesn’t really do relaxation all that well.’

  Sam was about to say he was pretty sure he knew Maggie better than Jayne did, seeing as he saw her near enough every day, then stopped himself. He wasn’t here to nark. He was here to offer an olive branch. Not stare at her teeth, or her lips, or her adorable button nose.

  Big breath in...big breath out.

  That was something he hadn’t had to do in a while. The old trick of counting down until he’d made sure he wouldn’t say something he was going to regret. His grandad had taught him that one when he’d had one too many patients asking to see ‘the grown-up Dr Crenshaw...’

  Three...two...one.

  Coming here was meant to return him to an even keel, not throw him further off-course. Three days of trying to pretend Jayne wasn’t in town had shredded his relaxed demeanour to bits.

  He had hurt her with his unnecessary—and untrue—remark about having felt nothing when they had nearly kissed. Of course he’d felt something. He’d felt everything. And that was precisely why he’d denied it. Because for every ounce of pleasure he felt when he was with Jayne, he felt an equal serving of pain.

  As if they’d made a decision to move on from small talk about Maggie, Jayne gave a shrug and pointed at his hand. ‘What’s in your basket, Goldilocks? Are you stealing things from your grandad’s growing pile of get-well baked goods?’

  ‘Believe it or not...’ He lifted up the basketful of croissants. ‘These are expressly for you.’

  ‘Really?’ She shot him a look of disbelief as she accepted the basket and inhaled deeply. ‘Did you get these at the Vanilla Bean Bakery?’

  ‘Is there anywhere else to buy croissants in Whitticombe?’

  He wasn’t going to tell her about Carla’s raised eyebrows when he’d ordered them. Sam had near enough kept her bakery afloat back in the day, sending croissant care packages to Jayne when she was in med school. After she’d broken their engagement, sales had plummeted.

  Jayne danced her fingers over the basket, selected a croissant, then took a huge bite. ‘Ooh, almond. My favourite.’ She blinked a few times, then looked up at him as her cheeks pinked up. ‘You remembered?’

  Of course he did. He remembered a lot of things. The first time they’d gone to the cinema and she’d pretended to be scared so they could hold hands. The first time they’d kissed. The first time they’d made love. Watching her pack to go to a different university. Standing beside her at her sister’s funeral.

  Just about all of the big firsts that mattered in life he’d done with Jayne.

  He stopped himself from reaching out and brushing some icing sugar off her cheek. Instead he said, ‘I was hoping we could maybe have a do-over. Pretend the other day down at the cricket ground went a bit more...platonically. It was a bit of a shock to see you when you showed up at the surgery the next day. I—’

  ‘Aftershocks?’ she said, not unkindly.

  She got it. She was feeling it, too.

  Her tongue dipped out between her lips and licked away some of the sugar at the corner of her mouth. He felt a match-strike run the length of his zip.

  Damn, this was harder than he’d thought.

  Jayne’s brows cinched closer together as she chewed on her lower lip and then, as if she’d made a decision, released it. ‘Shall I put the kettle on?’

  ‘Depends on whether or not you want to draw up a treaty.’ Why was he kicking up those flames again?

  Jayne bristled. ‘I thought you were here to apologise.’

  ‘I was. Am. I’m trying—’

  He was trying. Trying not to pull his heart out of his chest and simply hand it to her, as he had all of those years ago.

  He pulled his phone out of his pocket instead. This was obviously going to take longer than he’d thought.

  ‘Go on. Put the kettle on.’

  CHAPTER FIVE

  JAYNE TRIED NOT to earwig too much while Sam called Greta at the surgery, but it was hard not to sit down, plop her chin in her hand and grin at him as he rattled through all sorts of complex details about his patients without a single note.

  When he asked after a woman they’d both gone to school with, who’d just found out she had cancer, she went into the washroom and tried to scrub her face clean.

  She scrubbed as hard as she could. The way Sam dealt with everyone he’d known since he was a boy so professionally and compassionately was...exactly what she’d expect from him. He’d been born to do this. Not literally, of course, as he was adopted, but when Mrs Crenshaw had insisted on bringing that little abandoned baby boy home there had to have been a touch of the angels about it.

  She looked into the mirror to check if her face was clean. No good. Maggie’s daughter had used a permanent marker for the whiskers and the nose. Nice.

  She came back into the kitchen just as Sam was thanking Greta for saying she’d pop in on his grandad as he’d need the afternoon off after all.

  Nerves bunched in her belly. She’d meant for them to have a chat, not spend the rest of the day together. Especially if he had work to do.

  Stream’s Edge Surgery was his pride and joy. He’d never been shy about wanting to follow in his grandfather’s footsteps—saw it as the best way possible to show his adoptive family just how much he loved them. It wasn’t a duty. Or a penance. It was love. He would do absolutely anything for them. It was one of the most appealing things about him beyond his being him. His loyalty.

  When he saw she was not so covertly looking at him, Sam cupped his hand over his mobile’s mouthpiece and explained to her that today was his catch-up day.

  ‘Is that code for playing golf?’ she joked.

  Of the many things Sam Crenshaw was, a golfer was definitely not one of them. He’d be a bit like her in the kitchen. All thumbs and no taste buds.

  He rolled those gorgeous green eyes of his and returne
d to his call.

  The hammering in her heart slowed down a tiny bit. At least he was relaxed enough to roll his eyes at her lame joke. But if she was ever going to pull herself out of the past she was going to have to accept that things had changed—that Sam had changed.

  Sure. He had a bit of a white-haired thing going on around the temples. But it was more than that. The fact he was here at all spoke volumes. When they’d split up he had protested. Said he didn’t believe she didn’t love him any more. But when she’d insisted that her calling was to become a surgeon at London’s top children’s hospital he’d finally stepped back. Not happily, but he understood a calling more than most.

  His was to work in the surgery. To be with his family. To support the community that had nurtured him as he’d grown up. The Sam she’d known had let sleeping dogs lie for seven years. But this Sam—the one who’d weathered a divorce and the death of his mother...the one who’d proactively accepted a role as a caretaker for his community...this Sam was an adult. An adult asking her to confront their unfinished business.

  One way or another, he looked determined to finish it.

  Jayne tried to fight the nerves jangling round her insides as she filled the kettle, put a few of the croissants on a plate and then rearranged them about nineteen times. Having what was shaping up to be a serious conversation with Sam while she was dressed as a cat was...well, awkward was one way to put it.

  Just as she was about to see if washing up liquid might take away some of the ink, he finished the call and pulled out a chair at the kitchen table.

  * * *

  ‘Shall we?’

  Sam didn’t miss the hint of nerves in Jayne’s laugh as she slid the mugs of tea onto the table, pulled out a chair and sat down.

  ‘This all seems very formal.’

  ‘Well... I think I probably owe you more than a few croissants.’

  She shook her head. ‘Sam, you don’t owe me anything.’

  ‘I do. I shouldn’t have tried to kiss you and I definitely shouldn’t have lied about the way it made me feel.’

  ‘Ah.’ She teased a flake of croissant away from the edge of the plate with her finger, then steered it round the wooden table top. ‘So, what are you saying?’

  He took in a deep breath. This moment had been seven years in the making. ‘I’m saying it’s time we each moved on.’

  ‘What?’ She looked shocked. ‘You want me to leave?’

  ‘No. Of course not. Bad choice of words. Maggie is counting on you. I just mean...there’s obviously some unresolved—’ He sought for a word that would capture the myriad of emotions he felt on seeing her. He settled on, ‘Unresolved history. We’ve got to find a way to let go of the past. Move forward.’

  His phone pinged, and as he was the only doctor on call he apologised and glanced at the screen.

  ‘Anything serious?’

  Sam gave her a knowing grin. ‘Depends upon how having lunch with my sisters sits with you.’

  Her eyebrows shot up. ‘Really? They want to talk? With me?’ She gave him a sidelong look. ‘How do they even know you’re here?’

  ‘Greta.’

  Jayne’s eyebrows lifted. Of course. The Whitticombe Grapevine herself.

  She shook her head. ‘I don’t know. I saw Kate the other day and I didn’t really get the impression she wanted to talk to me.’

  ‘Of course she does. Listen.’ He read out the text. ‘“Would Jayne fancy a girlie lunch sometime? Maggie welcome. K xx”.’ He turned the phone towards her. ‘There’s even a smiley face. No daggers.’

  Jayne’s shoulders stiffened. Fair enough. Kate had already confessed to him that she might have accidentally-on-purpose brought up the dating thing at the cricket ground. Protective older sister. He loved her for it, but he was a grown man now. Just knowing his family were behind him in good times and in bad was all the backing he needed.

  ‘Jay—it’s not for an inquisition. They haven’t seen you properly in ages and they want to hear everything that’s been going on in your life.’

  Precisely what he was trying to do. She’d said she wanted to become a certain type of woman...but he’d never really sat down with her and found out if those dreams she’d been pursuing so doggedly had actually come true. After he’d reluctantly taken the ring back he’d closed the door on her every bit as much as she had on him. He could see that now.

  ‘So...what do you want, Sam? From me?’

  Mostly he wanted the past not to have twisted up his present so much. He wanted to be happily married. To be going to the school play and watching his own children be starfish or trees or King George III. He wanted to be living his life, not ricocheting between the past and present every time Jayne came to town. Had he wanted the woman he did all that with to be Jayne? Of course he had. A long time ago.

  All of which meant... ‘We need to find a way to become friends.’

  She sucked her cheeks in sharp and fast. From her tight wince as she took a sip of tea he was guessing she’d bitten the inside of her cheek. Her go-to reaction when she was stressed.

  ‘You all right?’

  ‘Yup. Good. I’m...’

  He watched as her eyes searched his face for something more. Eventually her shoulders dropped down and back, as if she were opening up her heart to him.

  ‘I’m sorry, Sam.’

  His own heart was rammed tight and fast in his throat. This wasn’t an ordinary apology. ‘For what?’

  ‘Everything.’ She put her hands up before he could say anything. ‘I mean it. You’re one of the kindest, bravest, most generous men I’ve ever known. The last thing I ever wanted to do was hurt you, but...’

  Sam gave a rueful laugh. She had hurt him. Hurt him more than anyone else had. As much as he’d like to say his failed marriage had cut him to pieces, Jayne’s departure had hurt him far more.

  ‘That’s a rather large apology.’

  She blew some air up at a few stray hairs to get them out of her eyes. ‘I’ve made a rather large hash of things. I...’ Her mouth stayed open, the words she was trying to say never finding purchase.

  Sam took a croissant, teased apart a flaky layer from the rolled pastry, then put it back on his plate. ‘Is everything all right back in London?’

  Jags of pain darkened her eyes. ‘I had a surgery go wrong at the hospital.’

  His eyebrows lowered together. Now they were getting somewhere. He’d known this wasn’t just a holiday lark.

  ‘What kind of surgery was it?’

  ‘Heart transplant.’

  * * *

  Jayne wasn’t surprised to see Sam’s eyebrows shoot up towards his hairline. He wasn’t to know she’d finally reached her goal.

  Reached her goal and failed, more like.

  It isn’t a failure. Sometimes things just go wrong.

  Sam pushed his plate away and said, ‘Impressive. You took the lead?’

  She nodded. ‘First time.’ She went on before he could leap to any conclusions. ‘As you know I’ve been training in paediatric cardiology.’ She looked away from Sam as she continued. ‘I wanted to add transplants to my skill base, so I did the general surgical rotations, paediatric training, acute medicine, neonatal paediatrics—’

  When she paused to take a breath, Sam continued for her. ‘Six months in transplant, hepatobiliary, cardiovascular collapse, cyanosis...’

  There was more. A lot more. And he rattled through it all. Not the usual syllabus for a GP. Not that she’d thought he’d spent his time in med school learning only basic diagnostic skills then called it quits, or anything, but...

  ‘Samuel Crenshaw! Have you been following my career?’

  He feigned a casual shrug. ‘I read the medical journals. I just might occasionally read up on what’s happening at your children’s hospital. To keep myself up to date medically...for my patients’ wel
fare. Obviously.’

  There was a glint in his eye now. A humorous one. That fuzzy warm feeling that came from knowing someone special cared lit up her chest. Oh, Sam.

  ‘So, what happened with this surgery?’

  She stared at him long and hard. Sam had used to be the one person in the world she could tell anything to. The embarrassing stuff. The fun stuff. The things she wished she had or hadn’t done. He never judged. Only listened. And on the occasions he gave advice it was always thoughtful. Considerate.

  This was her chance to take a leap of faith that he was still that man. That he really did want them to be friends.

  And just like that she opened her heart to him.

  Once she started talking she couldn’t stop. She told him all the details. About Stella’s heart failure. About keeping her alive with an artificial heart for months. The opportunity to finally do a transplant. The offer for her to take the lead.

  ‘So...did something actually go wrong? Or do the parents want someone to blame?’

  Typical Sam. Able to cut through to the quick of the matter like a hot knife through butter.

  ‘No. The parents aren’t why I took the break.’

  They’d been amazing, actually. Had actually thanked her for giving Stella those precious few five months, as harrowing as they’d been.

  She took another leap. ‘Mind if I just unload everything on you?’

  ‘Absolutely,’ he said. ‘That’s what friends are for, right?’

  If hearts could crumple and expand in the space of a millisecond her heart did just that. Above and beyond any romance they had shared, they had always been friends. And that was what she’d missed the most in those dark months after Jules’ death.

  His lips, his body, his lovemaking... Oh, they all ranked up there in Things She Missed Most in the World, but it was this...being able to just sit and talk and make sense of something with someone she could trust...that she missed more than anything.

  So why can’t you trust him with what you know about Jules?

  She kicked the thought back into her Cupboard of Dark Things and focused in on the surgery.