The True Love Travels Series Box Set

by Poppy Pennington-Smith

  Rachel breathed out slowly and leaned her head onto his chest. “Thank you.”

  22

  Max

  Max carried Rachel all the way back to the cottage and upstairs to her room. He put her down as gently as possible on the bed, helped move some pillows behind her so that she was sitting up comfortably, then sat down beside her.

  “I’ll go get some pain killers and make you some tea.”

  Rachel winced as she tried to move. “You really don’t have to, you’ve done enough.”

  Max shook his head at her. “Paracetamol or ibuprofen?”

  “Ibuprofen I think.” Rachel winced again and then laughed at herself. “I can’t believe this. How stupid of me.”

  “You’ll be right as rain tomorrow.” Max patted her hand. He wanted to tuck her hair behind her ear and stroke the side of her face. He wanted to tell her how beautiful she looked, even when she was green with discomfort. Realising he’d kept his hand on hers for far too long, he stood up quickly and gestured to the door. “I’ll be back.”

  In the kitchen, he found a large wooden tray and stocked it with ibuprofen, water, tea, chocolate digestives, a hot water bottle, and a bag of frozen peas. When he returned to the bedroom, Rachel’s eyes were closed and she was breathing deeply.

  He set the tray down beside her, intending to leave, but she heard him and opened her eyes.

  “Sorry, I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

  “You didn’t. I was just trying to meditate the pain away.”

  “Does that work?”

  Rachel laughed. “No. It doesn’t.”

  Max handed her the painkillers and some water, then gestured to the hot water bottle. “I think you’re supposed to alternate heat and cold.”

  “This is very good service, Doctor Max.” Rachel smiled. Her cheeks dimpled, and it made him blush.

  Clearing his throat, he moved away from the bed to the window. The sun was setting. It would soon be dark. “Are you hungry?”

  Rachel shuffled against her pillows and bit into a chocolate digestive. The crumbs fell onto the bedsheets and she swiped them onto the floor. A few weeks ago, that would have irritated Max but now he barely noticed. “Not right now. But when the painkillers kick in, I probably will be.”

  “Okay.” Max rolled up his sleeves and breathed in purposefully. “I’ll cook.”

  Rachel paused mid-bite and he could tell she was trying not to laugh. “You’ll cook? Really Max, it’s fine, just make me a sandwich or something.”

  Max pulled the chair out from beneath the dressing table and angled it towards the bed. Sitting down, he said forcefully, “Rachel, you must have cooked fifty amazing meals since we got here. I can return the favour at least once.” He hesitated and drummed his fingers on his knees. “I just need some instructions…”

  Rachel’s nose wrinkled and she smiled with the corner of her mouth. “Okay. Get me a pen and paper…”

  An hour later, Max thumped the wooden countertop in the kitchen, swore under his breath, and then threw the burned remains of the fish pie he’d attempted to cook into the bin.

  On her bed, Brandi was watching him with a look on her face that said, Possibly a bit ambitious considering you’ve never cooked more than a fried egg before. No?

  Max sat down at the kitchen table and put his head in his hands. Rachel would be fine with a sandwich, or cereal, or cheese on toast. But he wasn’t fine with it. He wanted to do this, and he’d failed miserably.

  Returning to the fridge, he scanned the ingredients and muttered, “Fried eggs…” Then he had an idea.

  After half an hour of not-so-stressful cooking, Max grinned triumphantly at Brandi. “At least it’s edible,” he said as he piled the food onto two plates. “Edible and hot. What’s better than that?”

  Brandi sat up and twitched her ears at him, but Max ignored her sarcastic expression and carried his plates upstairs.

  Rachel was in almost the exact position he’d left her in; sitting up in bed, listening to a podcast.

  “That smells amazing,” she said, sitting up a little straighter and peering to see what was on the plates. “But it doesn’t look like fish pie…”

  “No,” Max said gruffly. “The fish pie was an unmitigated disaster.”

  “Oh dear.” Rachel chuckled and turned off the podcast. “So, we’ve got…”

  “Breakfast for dinner. My favourite.” Max put the plates down on the dresser, cleared Rachel’s tray, then handed over her portion.”

  He was trying to sound confident, but realised he was holding his breath as he waited for her to say something. Finally, she grinned at him, breathed in the smell of the bacon, eggs, mushrooms, and fried bread, and said, “Perfect. Just what the doctor ordered.”

  Max felt his muscles relax and was about to sit down beside the dressing table when Rachel patted the bed beside her. Slowly, he perched on the end of it and balanced his plate on his knee.

  Rachel was already tucking in. “Gosh,” she said, mouth half-full, “I didn’t realise how hungry I was.”

  “I’m not surprised, all that creative energy you’ve been burning.” Max was eating quickly, partly because he always did but partly because he felt self-conscious.

  When they’d both finished, plates totally clean and every morsel of food devoured, Max took the dirty dishes to the kitchen and returned with coffee.

  “Decaf, this time,” he said. “Think we both need a better night’s sleep tonight.”

  Rachel nodded in agreement.

  “You feeling better?”

  “Yes. The ice and heat helped I think.”

  “I had a bad back once, after a four-day stake-out in my car, not nice.”

  “No other work-related injuries?” Rachel was looking at the scar on his head.

  Max reached up to touch it with his index finger. “You’re probably expecting me to tell you it was some nasty criminal. That I was in hot pursuit and they whacked me with a baseball bat or something…”

  Rachel raised her eyebrows. “Was it?”

  “No.” Max laughed and shook his head. “It was snowy out, I fell down the steps at the front of my house. Hit my head on the railings and cut my hand on a broken old bottle.” He waved his hand at her. “The most unexciting injuries ever.”

  Rachel looked at him for a second, then tipped her head back and laughed loudly. “Oh, my goodness. Max, you need to come up with a better story than that. It’s awful.”

  “Maybe you can think of one for me.”

  Rachel smiled and, before he realised what she was doing, she reached forwards and took his hand in hers. Gently, she traced the scar over his knuckles then she looked up at his eyebrow. He thought she might touch that one too. His heart was racing. He was about to place his other hand on top of hers when she pulled gently away.

  “I’ll try to think of something,” she said softly. “But I think maybe I should get some rest now…”

  “Of course.” Max stood awkwardly and headed for the door. “See you in the morning.”

  He closed it behind him and leaned against it. For a moment, he thought about going back. Throwing open the door and asking if he could kiss her. Telling her she was the most beautiful, incredible woman he’d ever met. Telling her that the thought of going back to London and never seeing her again was… unimaginable.

  But he didn’t.

  23

  Rachel

  TWO DAYS LATER

  Rachel’s back took two days to loosen and return to something close to normal, and in that time she did something she had never, ever done before; she let Max read the first draft of her book.

  Usually, she’d have felt queasy at the thought of someone reading one of her first drafts. But when Max asked her how much time it would take to revise it, she heard herself say, “Oh, a couple of weeks. I usually need a bit of space from it before I do a read-through and start hacking it apart. But maybe you could… have a look at it for me. Give me your thoughts?”

  When she s
aid it, Max looked at her as if she’d just proposed marriage to him and his mouth hung open.

  “You don’t have to,” she’d said quickly.

  “No, no. I’d love to. I just didn’t think…”

  And then Rachel handed it over. She gave him her laptop and waited impatiently for him to finish. He’d had it for just over twenty-four hours when he returned it to her and said, “It’s amazing. I’m… amazed.”

  “Notes?” Rachel had asked, bracing herself for him to point out inaccuracies or implausible events. But he’d simply shaken his head and said, “Nope. I’ve got nothing. Some typos and a few missing paragraphs where you’d written things like FILL IN MORE DETAIL HERE, but apart from that… the story is brilliant.”

  Now, her back looser and her mind clearer, Rachel was preparing sandwiches for their first attempt at a proper walk in nearly a week. First, her writing had put a stop to their routine, and then her back injury had. But she was feeling better and was desperate to see the countryside again.

  When Max entered the kitchen, he stopped and folded his arms. “I thought sandwiches were my job.”

  “They were.” Rachel licked butter from her fingers then wiped her hands on her jeans. “But you’ve been waiting on me hand and foot for nearly three days. I figured it was my turn.”

  “All right.” Max nodded approvingly. “Where are we off to?”

  Rachel gestured in the direction of the castle and raised her eyebrows. She was yet to see the sea on a clear sunny day and had been longing to stand in the midst of the tumbledown walls and feel the sun on her face.

  At the same time, they both reached for their coats, which were hanging by the back door, and Rachel laughed nervously. Since she’d stroked his hand, Max had been purposefully keeping a good amount of physical distance between them. He hadn’t mentioned it or asked her about it, but she knew that whatever spark she felt between them, he did too. And he was trying his best to ignore it.

  She’d considered pressing a little more… making it more obvious that she liked him. But Max was smart and observant; he’d have already figured that out. So, Rachel had decided to give him some time. She knew he’d be feeling horribly guilty about developing feelings for someone he was supposed to be watching over in a professional capacity, and she also knew that he clearly didn’t find it easy to let his guard down.

  Over the weeks they’d spent together, Rachel had sensed that he was slowly letting her get close. And she didn’t want to do anything to spook him. So, on their walk, instead of giving in to the fizzling feeling in her stomach that longed to be close to him, she kept to her side of the path and made sure there was at least a foot between them at all times.

  When they reached the castle, Rachel spread out a picnic blanket she’d managed to fit into the backpack and dished out sandwiches while Max poured the coffee.

  “Wait… you made one for Brandi?” Max laughed as Rachel presented Brandi with her very own peanut butter sandwich.

  “Poor girl, we always leave her out.” Rachel leaned forwards and snuggled her face into Brandi’s forehead. Brandi licked her cheek and Rachel ruffled the fur around her neck. She hated thinking of not seeing Max anymore once she returned to London, but it had recently occurred to her that no Max would mean no Brandi either. And, although she was looking forward to being reunited with her cat, she couldn’t imagine now what her life would look like without Max and Brandi in it.

  As they ate, Max closed his eyes and tilted his face up at the sun. When he opened his eyes, he pointed upwards and said, “Look. Are they seagulls?”

  “I think so.” Rachel squinted. She wasn’t very good with birds.

  “You know…” Max poured himself some more coffee and balanced his elbows on his folded legs. “I’ve been meaning to ask you… the seagull story?”

  Rachel frowned at him then remembered. “The day it stole my mother’s purse?”

  Max nodded and waited for her to elaborate.

  Smiling at the memory, Rachel brushed some crumbs out of her lap. “Well, it was my father’s birthday. We went to Southwold. Just him, Mum, and me – Emma was already at university then but I was…” she counted back on her fingers, “fifteen I think.”

  Max was listening intently, the way he always did when she talked about her family.

  “It was a tradition – chocolate picnics for special occasions. We were mid way through when this horrible big seagull descended on us and tried to steal the chocolate cake. We shooed it off and, in revenge I think, it came back and made off with mum’s purse. Just carried it off and dropped it into the ocean.” A pang of nostalgia tugged at Rachel’s chest. “Mum was furious, but Dad and I couldn’t stop laughing.”

  Max was smiling – his soft, interested smile. The one he gave her when he was enthralled by something she was saying. “And what exactly goes into a chocolate picnic?”

  “Oh, it’s very extravagant.” Rachel wrapped her arms around her folded knees and could almost taste the chocolate in her mouth as she spoke. “Chocolate cake – Mum’s recipe, homemade – chocolate macaroons, chocolate milkshakes, chocolate cookies, and chocolate scones.”

  “That sounds amazing… and sickly.”

  “Very.” Rachel laughed. “Which is why it was always washed down with champagne, raspberries, and tea afterwards.” She closed her eyes as she pictured her family on the beach that day – how happy they’d been. “I haven’t had a chocolate picnic in years.”

  “Well, we’ll have to fix that, won’t we? When’s your birthday?” Max narrowed his eyes as if he should know this information.

  “Not until November, I’m afraid. When’s yours?”

  Max looked away from her and Rachel was certain that he’d started to blush.

  “Max?” She dipped her head to meet his eyes. “When’s your birthday?”

  “Actually, it’s the day after tomorrow.”

  Rachel blinked at him slowly, then grinned and clapped her hands. She loved birthdays. “Really?! How old will you be?”

  “It’s not polite to ask an ex-detective his age,” Max replied darkly.

  “Oh, pish-posh. How old?”

  “Forty. It’s my fortieth.” Max looked horribly embarrassed, but Rachel was already bubbling with ideas; if there was one thing she loved, it was planning birthday surprises. And if anyone needed a joyful, happy surprise, it was Max Bernstein.

  24

  Max

  Not for the first time, Max fell asleep in the armchair in the study. It was Brandi who woke him – nuzzling his hand and then jumping up to put both paws on his thighs.

  “Morning, girl.” Max yawned and stroked the spot in between her shoulder blades that always made her lean into him and lick him. He looked at his watch – seven a.m. He never usually slept that late, but he hadn’t fallen asleep until well past four, so it was probably his body trying to catch up.

  On numerous occasions, Rachel had told him that she had no idea how he survived on such little sleep. Max replied that he’d become accustomed to it, after years of late-night stake-outs and midnight calls to crime scenes. He didn’t tell her that, actually, he used to sleep like a baby. It was only since he quit the force that he became this night time phantom – floating between rooms, unable to glide beneath the surface of sleep until the early hours when his body gave into exhaustion.

  He yawned again and rose stiffly from his chair. It was his birthday. Forty years old. He sighed as he caught sight of himself in the mirror above the chest of drawers in the corner of the room. He looked tired. He always looked tired. But his complexion was a little fresher than it was when he arrived in Scotland, and the lines around his eyes slightly less deep.

  Examining the flecks of grey at his temples, he wondered whether twenty-something-year-old Max would even recognise himself now. Would he have believed someone if they told him that by the age of forty, he’d no longer be a detective? No. He wouldn’t.

  From the study, he walked softly to the downstairs bathroom and splas
hed water on his face. The door creaked as he closed it behind him and he rolled his eyes at it. The cottage was so noisy, he was surprised that he didn’t wake Rachel up the second he started moving about.

  Looking again at his watch, something tugged in his chest. Not nervousness, but close to it. Usually, by this time, he’d hear Rachel’s footsteps as she got out of bed, showered, and got ready for the day. This morning, it was eerily quiet.

  Standing at the bottom of the stairs, he strained his ears for any signs of movement and, when he heard nothing, he tapped his fingers impatiently on the bannister. He wanted to go and check that she was okay, but she needed the sleep and he’d feel awful if he woke her just because he was being overly nervous. So, he did what he always did – went to the kitchen, grabbed his coat, and beckoned for Brandi to follow him outside.

  As he opened the front door, he paused. Something wasn’t right. He surveyed the scene. Trees, path up to the road… Max’s breath caught in his chest. The truck. The truck was gone.

  At full-pelt, he ran back inside, hurtled up the stairs and burst into Rachel’s bedroom. She wasn’t there. Back downstairs, he searched for the truck keys and found they were gone too. He was leaning against the wall in the hallway, trying to slow his breathing and think clearly, when he heard an engine on the road beyond the cottage.

  Leaving the door open, he set off down the track that led to the main road. Half way down, the truck appeared in front of him. It slowed to a stop and Rachel stuck her blonde curly head out of the window.

  “Hi,” she said, smiling. “Were you looking for me?”

  Storming up to her, Max pulled open the truck door and yelled, “Where were you?! What were you thinking? Where have you been?”

  Rachel’s smile wavered. “I texted you, didn’t you get it? I was going to leave a note, but I thought you might not see it.”