“Hi, y’all,” Zoe sang with her best effort, uncrossing her arms.
“Well, helo there, come on in.” Ms. Mostyn ushered her into the room with wall-to-wall custom fit-to-the-ceiling mahogany cabinets, simple yet elegant beige worktops, and the biggest farm-style sink she’d ever seen.
“I just told Mr. Mostyn that I love your home. It’s beautiful.”
“Mr. Mostyn. That’s so formal. Betty and Dylan, okay?” She dried up and ushered Zoe forward. “Love, relax, we don’t bite.”
She wasn’t so sure about that.
“I just love this room.” The same fresh paint odor from the cottage teased her nostrils. “Newly done?”
“Well lush, isn’t it? Dylan did it.”
“Impressive. I love the cute window seats. Cozy place for a book and a coffee.”
“Ia, Rhiannon is always lounged out there reading her dystopians and swooning about some character or another. I swear, that girl. God help us the day she brings a boy home.”
Dylan twisted his mouth. “Not in my lifetime.”
Zoe snickered, imagining him greeting the lad with a rifle at the door. “Looks like the cottage was renovated. Did you wave the do-it-yourself wand in there, too?”
“For Lucy’s stay, yes. Then a quick recoat of paint last week to make it nice for you.”
Betty side-eyed him and dug her elbow into his ribs. “Never mind the decorating talk. Is Miss America staying for breakfast?”
Zoe inched back and stuck her palm out. “If it’s a problem, I can go.”
“No, no bother.” She reached into a high cabinet and dragged out three mugs. “Glad to have company, I am. Please sit, make yourself at home.” She pointed at Dylan’s feet and blasted at him, “Boyo, take those muddy boots off and leave them at the door.”
“I’m not stopping.”
The busty woman put a mug back and huffed.
“Excuse me, ladies. I’ve a fence to fix.” He fled, slamming the door on his way out.
“Ah, don’t mind Dylan, love.” She crossed her arms. “He isn’t too fond of making nice with strangers, more so if he thinks they’re not sticking around. Don’t take this the wrong way, love, but he sees you more of a temporary bother than a person who enriches his life.”
“I wouldn’t have guessed.”
Betty snickered. “He’s an acquired taste, for sure. But I love him, I do. Like my own son. Same with Rhiannon.”
“It shows.”
“So, coffee? I’m a dark roast girl, but I have light, too, if you prefer.”
“Dark roast is perfect. Can I help?”
“Park your bum. Help yourself to the village newspaper. Not that there’s ever anything in the thing, but it beats The Sun with its flimsy stories and those disgusting page three spreads.”
“Page three?”
“Topless models with ‘a story’ to tell, and in a daily publication. Terrible, it is.”
“In a daily newspaper? Holy moly.”
The woman nodded. “Can you imagine such a publication on a family’s table at breakfast?”
Zoe flicked through the pages of the local paper, which featured stories of local events and similar fare. “Ah, well, the village publication is just darling.”
Betty bustled about the kitchen and prepared coffee. “Don’t you write for a newspaper back in America?”
“Uh-huh.” She caught sight of Dylan through the window. He pounded a huge hammer down on a fencepost, his stance strong and his expression showing focus and determination with that scowl of his that was fast becoming all too familiar. His dog ran circles around him, leaping and barking, enjoying the outdoors. “Sure do.”
“Dylan works too hard sometimes, but the damned fool never accepts help.” Ms. Mostyn poured the hot beverage into the mugs. “Milk and sugar?”
“Do you have creamer?”
“Ia.” She trundled to the fridge and pulled out a carton of full cream.
“Creamer? International Delight?”
Betty shrugged. “Dunno what you’re going on about.”
“Coffee Mate?”
“Lost me, you have.”
Okay, no brand names. Keep it simple. “French vanilla flavored cream?”
“Na, love. I have vanilla essence, though.”
“That might be the trick. Just a drop mind.”
Betty set about making the concoction as she hummed a bouncy tune.
“Is there a yoga class in the village anywhere?”
“You do yoga? Of course you do. Look at you, a slender picture of perfection with toned muscles covered by skin-tight material hugging your bum. And you wear your hair in a ponytail. Could you be any cuter?”
Heat rose to Zoe’s cheeks.
“Well, we do have yoga. At the church hall every Thursday morning, which is in two hours so it happens. You wanna go?”
“Sounds good. Who instructs?”
“Reverend Thomas’s son.” Betty giggled. “You’ll like him. Everyone does.”
“Everyone?”
“Well, anyone female with eyes. Takes after his dad, he does.” She grabbed the drinks and sat beside Zoe. “Don’t tell Dylan, but I’m kinda dating Reverend Thomas. Third date is this Saturday, and he’s taking me into Bangor for a play at the theater. I believe it has Hayley Mills in it.” She lifted a pamphlet from her purse hanging from the back of her chair. “And some chap I’ve never heard of. It’s a romance.”
“How fun. And my lips are sealed.”
“Actually, aren’t you like some astrology love guru or something?”
“Sort of. I guess I used to be.”
“We’re both Capricorns.” She leaned into Zoe and whispered, “Is that a good thing?”
Zoe shook her head. “I’m the last person you should seek love advice from.”
“That’s right, sacked because you told a Cancer she’d do better jumping off a cliff than marrying a Leo.”
“Leos are the worst.”
“Ia, I recall the article Lucy showed me. You reported that Leos were the worst lovers because it’s all about them. Your sister was highly amused because you seem to have an addiction for the August-born.”
“More like the August-born have a thing for me. They find me, and, once on my radar, I can’t get them out of my head until, well, until I’ve had enough of their selfish overbearing ways.”
The stupid astrology-matchmaker in her did her more harm than good, but her stupid loins kept pushing her into the wrong bed.
Betty patted her shoulder. “Never mind, love. I’m sure there’s lots of special things you can do well. Like singing. I hear you have quite the set of lungs on you and a talent for jazz club singing.”
“She told you about my singing, too?”
The woman sipped on her drink then snickered. “Oh, don’t act all surprised. Lucy’s mouth is bigger than our village gossip’s. Which is me, in case you’re wondering.”
“So I’m guessing she told you I was average at best.”
Betty rolled her eyes. “Pfft, she’s very proud of you.”
Compliments weren’t something Zoe accepted gracefully; she could thank all her boyfriends and almost-fiancés for that. She was used to the “you can do better” mentality.
Silence fell between them.
Betty probed, “Capricorns, they’re good together, right?”
Zoe sipped on the concoction to avoid answering. The whole conversation made her uncomfortable.
Thankfully, the woman took the hint, and she stood and carried her empty mug to the sink and rinsed it out. She glanced out at Dylan and warmth lit her face. “He’ll die when I tell him we put vanilla essence in coffee.”
“A no-frills kinda guy, huh?”
“He wouldn’t know frills if they tickled him on the bum.”
“Ah, so all this decorating…someone else helped?”
“Don’t be coy around me, love. I know exactly what you wanna know.
Is there a woman on the scene? Is he married?”
She half shrugged. “That wasn’t on my mind, but now you’ve mentioned it, I’m curious. Is he married?”
“Oh, love, save yourself some time and look elsewhere. Reverend Thomas’s son, David, is up for grabs. You’ll like him. Everyone does. And you both like yoga. Could be a perfect match for a holiday romance.”
“What about Dylan? Is he dating anyone?”
Betty shook her head. “I’m not gonna encourage this at all. My lips are sealed.” She mimicked pulling a zipper closed on her mouth and threw away an imaginary key. “But I’ll tell you this. He’s a Leo.”
Of course he is. It was in her charts that she’d meet her perfect match this year. And Leo would be just that according to her calculations. But what did she know? Her astrology love advice had sucked of late. “You misunderstood. I’m not interested in dating anyone.”
“I don’t think I did, love. It’s all too clear the way you swoon around him.” She grabbed Zoe’s cup from her and carried it across for a rinse. “But I know the cure. David. I swear the boys in that family are heaven-made.” The woman sighed, her gaze floating into the distance.
“I was wondering where his parents were. Does he take care of Rhiannon?”
She set her focus back to Zoe. “Oh, love, hop off the Dylan train before you crash and burn like all the others.”
“It’s the would-be journalist in me. I can’t help it.” She cocked a brow. “The others?”
“No, no. You’ll get no more out of me. I’ve said too much already. Dylan isn’t the sort who likes to be the center of gossip. No, he doesn’t.”
“Oh? Okay, so, let’s change the subject. How did his parents die?”
Betty spluttered. “Die?”
“Yes, how did they die? Was it terribly tragic?”
“I’m guessing Dylan told you a wee white lie, as his parents are very much so alive.” Betty continued at a mile a minute. “We don’t really like to talk about them around here.”
“I’m sorry. Me and my incessant need for information, for truth. It does get me into trouble more often than not.”
“Fine. Fine. I’ll tell you. Yes, my need to gossip drops me in shit, too.” Betty leaned forward and lowered her voice. “Long story short, they went to Australia for their tenth wedding anniversary and never came back.”
“Oh, how awful.” She sank into her seat, regretting having brought the subject up. “And they left their kids here? Alone?”
It seemed wrong to know such things about a man who struggled to share a smile, never mind anything this personal. But that damned loose mouth and inquisitive nature of hers made her keep on probing.
“I had moved in to babysit while they were on holiday and ended up staying to take care of Rhiannon.” She scanned the room before whispering, “Dylan was gutted he was, thought there was something wrong with him when they told him they weren’t coming back.”
“How awful. How old was he?”
She leaned back. “Too young. I’ve been their caretaker of sorts for ten or so years now. My husband left me. Didn’t want kids, and definitely didn’t want someone else’s kids.”
Zoe scurried over to her, reached around the woman’s shoulders, and squeezed for a quick hug. “I’m sorry.”
“I was set to move into the cottage, truth be told, but then Dylan had the bright idea of renting it out for summer holidaymakers looking for a quiet getaway.”
Zoe inched back and clasped her hands behind her back.
“Lucy responded to the ad the day after we posted it and booked the place for a whole year. A whole year.”
“Ah, and you were disappointed again when you discovered I was staying there for three months.”
She nodded and stooped over the sink and let out a heavy sigh.
“Well, three months isn’t long. You’ll be settling into your own place soon enough.”
“Doubtful. The farm has never really made any money, to be honest. Just enough to tide us over.”
“Maybe you could move into a place in the village?” Zoe said. “Or you could shack up with Reverend Thomas?”
Betty soaped up a sponge and wiped down the counter surrounding the sink. “I still have my old bungalow, but move in with Thomas? I wish. The villagers would have a fit. Two divorcees living in sin? I couldn’t imagine.”
“Does it matter what others think?”
She pulled her mouth tight and scrunched up her nose. “Heck, yes. But he is fine. So very fine.” Betty’s eyes glazed over, and she gazed over Zoe’s shoulder as if she were faraway in a daydream. Zoe could relate. “So, Capricorns? Is it doable?”
“I’m sure it is.” Zoe patted her back and swallowed hard before faking a smile and telling her what she’d tell her readers: the positive side. “Y’all have to do what makes you happy. If loving him completes you, then go for it. Screw everyone else.”
“Yes, you’re right. You know, I’m knitting him a sweater.” She grabbed Zoe’s hand and pulled her into a cozy living room painted a soft blue. A coal fire place blazed within the simple hearth. Two plush, oversized sofas sat adjacent to each other. Upon one sat a tote bag decorated with a picture of a kitty.
Betty reached for the bag and pulled out a tight-stitched, half knitted front side to a brown sweater.
“See. Think he’ll like it?”
“It’s beautiful.” Zoe ran her hand over the soft, plush yarn and wished she had the same talent for knitting so she could make herself a huge blanket to keep herself warm at night. “You do very nice work. I tried to knit once. I managed a scarf, but I dropped stitches left and right.”
The woman giggled. “I’m going to knit you a yellow sweater to match your gorgeous blonde hair.”
“Oh, you don’t need to do—”
“It will be my pleasure. I think I’m going to enjoy having a grown-up to talk to around here.”
“Well, that’s a very kind offer. Thank you.”
Lucy had been so very wrong about the residents of Rose Farm.
Cagey, not in the slightest.
Chapter Six
Isolated in the cottage, Zoe had been productive over the last few weeks; she’d gotten down four solid chapters of a cute cozy mystery and had sent Rachel several articles. All of which were “okay, but not screaming with Zoe zing” apparently.
Alone time wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. She had come to enjoy her morning ritual of trekking up to Rose Farm for a morning cup of joe with Betty, and listening to her tales of what’d been happening in the village and her doings with Reverend Thomas. Doings. She loved the term. It meant what had been going on, she gathered.
On Thursdays, they’d do yoga then lunch at a darling tearoom in the village with china teapots, crumpets and jam, and the swinging sixties or the fantastic eighties whistling from an old radio sitting on the counter.
Yoga had been particularly strenuous for her legs, which were already overworked from all the trekking she’d been doing. On all fours and ass in the air, Zoe plastered her hands on her mat and spread her fingers and toes. She shifted her focus to Betty, whose cheeky grin was so distracting. Zoe knew something had happened. Something good. Something naughty. She whispered, “So, what’s the gossip on Reverend Thomas? Dish it up.”
“I’ll tell you the doings after yoga, I will.”
Yoga in a church. How kooky.
As it happened, the hall suited the activity well with its parquet flooring and candles lit from every raised surface. Lemongrass and lavender, she’d guessed, from the tart, lemony scent with flowery undertones that soothed her as she practiced yogic breathing.
David, the instructor whom Zoe was certain had gotten his certification from an online course due to his total inability to move fluently into poses, stepped between the pair. “Focus, ladies.” He placed a hand on her back and slid it down to her tailbone. His unnecessary touch broke her sense of calm and made it impossible to fo
cus internally on the pose. “Hold the form, Zoe. Nice.” Once satisfied he’d smothered her in enough flattery, he floated to the back of the class and hovered. She felt his watchfulness bore into her.
“He’s admiring your bum again, love. You should ask him out.” Betty snickered.
“No thanks.”
As soon as class ended, David rubbed his hands together then clasped them and stretched toward the ceiling.
An echo of gasps floated across the studio, and many of the students were whispering and giggling and pointing at his nice form.
“Okay, he’s got a great body. But, Betty, please stop playing matchmaker. I’m not here to date.”
“Why not?”
An almost-senior citizen in a skimpy leotard fit for the eighties giggled. “I’ll take him.”
“You can have him.” Zoe rolled up her mat.
“Stand down, Flo.” Betty hissed through her teeth.
“Whoa, I’m only teasing.” The woman rolled her eyes and whispered to her friend, “Welsh Dragon’s out again.” They both snickered.
“Welsh Dragon?”
“Didn’t you hear? Betty has quite the temper, and when she’s off on one, she breathes fire.”
“Oh.” Zoe believed it. Their first meeting hadn’t exactly been the friendliest she’d encountered. She’d watch her step.
“Nonsense.” Betty rolled her eyes. “I do not breathe fire. Really, I don’t.”
“Who are you trying to convince?” jabbed Flo.
He sauntered over to her and stood between her and the ladies as if to shun them from the discussion. “You’re progressing really nicely, Zoe. Your form is almost perfect. How do you feel about private sessions?”
“With you?”
“Ia. With me.” He tugged on his too-tight T-shirt as if to enhance his abs. “I think we’d be good together…at yoga.”
“I’m sorry, David. I’d love to, but I’m busy.” She grabbed her purse and rolled mat and hurried Betty out of the door and toward the tearoom, which was one block away.
For once, the sun was shining, the sky a brilliant blue. Floral scents spiraled into her senses as she sucked in the fresh air. The pathways were narrow, and the concrete slabs uneven. She and Betty hooked elbows, as they often did to aid each other in the difficult walk. It wasn’t uncommon for one of them to trip over a protruding corner of a concrete slab.
Before the Rain Page 4
