she’d smashed a fancy vintage car to pieces with a cricket bat, been arrested, lost her career…. yeah. That one had come at a pretty high price.
But she didn’t regret it. Which meant, Hannah realised, that she probably wouldn’t regret this, either. And as long as she was riding high on a wave of euphoric adrenaline… might as well enjoy the ride.
Both Ant and the blonde’s mouths were hanging open so wide, she could see their fillings. Trying not to smile, Hannah reached beneath her apron and undid the button on her culottes.
Oh, that felt great.
Then she grabbed a little takeaway bag and unscrewed the jar of marshmallows sitting on the counter. They were good fucking marshmallows. She shoved as many into the bag as she could—which turned out to be a decent amount—and popped a few in her mouth, too.
“Hannah?” Ant’s smooth, round face was caught comically between astonishment and fury. His pale skin had turned a rather fascinating sort of raspberry colour. “What on earth are you doing?”
He sounded like a school teacher preparing to scold a naughty pupil. But Hannah had never been a naughty pupil, and she’d never been scolded at school. Maybe that was why she didn’t have the constitution to take it.
“Catch,” she said.
“I beg your pardon?!”
She tossed a marshmallow directly into his mouth. Impressive, if she did say so herself.
The blonde gave a little shriek and stepped back, as if she expected a sugary projectile to come her way, too. Smart girl. The elderly couple in the corner, meanwhile, let out an adorable cheer. Hannah loved old people. They were almost as sensible as children, but far more fun. And that was saying something.
“Mumpf aft orffff?!” Ant fumed around the marshmallow wedged in his gob.
“It was a good shot, wasn’t it?” Hannah was quite proud. Which made a nice change, actually. She hadn’t been proud of herself in a long bloody time.
The feeling grew when she walked around the counter clutching her bag of stolen marshmallows and headed for the door. The old man who’d ordered the teacake winked at her as she passed, and—rather scandalously—she winked back. Good gracious. Perhaps she’d been possessed by a demon with a sense of humour and a spine of hell-forged iron.
“I quit,” she called over her shoulder. “You probably gathered that, but men can be rather dense.”
“AFFA! TOPF FA—”
“Ant, darling, I can’t understand a word you’re saying. Don’t speak with your mouth full.”
The poor man spat out the marshmallow and shouted, “Have you lost your mind?!”
“Not exactly,” she said pleasantly. “It’s a free-range sort of arrangement.”
“Joshua Davis,” Nate said, “you spit that out right now.”
Josh did not spit it out.
Probably because his older sister, Beth, was giggling helplessly at the sight of the tulip in his mouth. It was Beth who’d told him to eat the damned thing in the first place, and five-year-old Josh thought his seven-year-old sister was the queen of the world, so of course he’d done it.
Perhaps that was the key. Maybe if Nate appealed to the mastermind rather than the loyal solider…
He turned his best parental glare on his daughter and said, “Bethany. Don’t feed your brother random plant life.”
Beth stuck out her tongue.
Sigh.
The problem was, Nate decided grimly, that his kids weren’t scared of him. Not even a little bit. Probably because he sucked at discipline. Like right now, for example—it was 6:30, so they should be in bed reading. Instead, they scurried off deeper into the meadow with squeaky little laughs and shouts of “Bye bye, Daddy!”
Ah, well. At least they were happy.
They’d been through a lot, recently—finding out Grandma was sick, moving across the country, starting a new school. Nate was so happy to see them laughing again, he didn’t even notice the stranger walking through the meadow.
Until Josh, and then Beth, barrelled into the distant little figure like a pair cannonballs. Nate watched for a second, frozen, as they all collapsed into the tall grass.
And then he ran.
He’d been loping after the kids like some cartoon monster before, but now he actually sprinted, carving through the distance between them in seconds. It still didn’t feel fast enough. He reminded himself that this was Ravenswood, not London, and the person his kids had just bumped into probably wasn’t dangerous…
But that didn’t really help. For one thing, no matter who it was, they’d all fallen over. The stranger and the kids. What if someone was injured? What if Beth had broken her arm again? Or what if the person