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I sighed, rested against the chair, and rubbed my stomach. In the time El was talking, I’d finished my entire breakfast, while she’d eaten less than half of hers.
“To answer your question, I do not intentionally avoid seeing them, but I don’t visit as often as they’d like.”
She also asked about why my brother lived in Malta, and I explained that my mum was Maltese and that he ran a prison there.
“Ready for our walk?” I asked when she set her napkin down.
“We best. Breakfast was brilliant, but I am so full.”
“We’re heading out, Sophie,” I said, peeking into the kitchen.
She waved and wished us a lovely day.
I hated to ask, but I also wanted to know how much time we’d have. “Any news from Niven?”
“Yes! I meant to tell you. Harper will be able to go home this afternoon.”
“Already?”
“I was stunned. Apparently, the surgery was minor, and they only kept her given the lateness of the hour and to monitor the pregnancy.”
“Do they need you?” I hated to ask, but I had to.
“They do not. In fact, Niven thinks I’m in London. While I didn’t confirm it, I did let him assume I was. Am I terrible?”
I put my arm around her shoulders. “You’re wonderful, El.”
“I’ll admit that’s growing on me.” Her smile when she said it, lit me up inside.
We walked hand in hand on the beach, both bundled up against the wind coming off the sea, and talked about our families. It was interesting to hear more about Niven, who increasingly felt like an entirely different person than Saint. He had his demons, as El said, but as she talked, I thought about Rile’s words.
“The anger you hold inside is hurting you far more than it is him.” I knew he was right. However, turning off the hatred I’d felt for the man for years was easier said than done.
“What’s that?” El asked, pointing to a building that looked like it was once a garage or maybe a warehouse. There was a for-sale sign covering the previous signage.
I followed when she dropped my hand, and peeked in the windows like she was doing.
“Can I help you?” a man asked, approaching us.
“Is this your place?” Eliza asked.
“It was, lass. My wife said enough was enough a few months ago.”
Something about the way he said it made me think there was a lot more to the story, and it probably didn’t have a happy ending.
“Is that, by chance, a burnout kiln?”
“Aye, it is. Sculptor, are you?”
“A beginner, but I have some experience with the lost-wax process. Smaller pieces, but I’ve wanted to do more.”
“More as in bigger?” the man asked.
She smiled. “Yes. Much bigger. What else have you got? I mean, are you selling the equipment along with the building?”
“I would do, for the right price.”
“Do you mind if we go inside?” she asked me.