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Two months later, London’s winter was turning into a giddy spring, the air fizzing with cherry blossoms. My newspaper story had been a successful series, and I was expanding it into a book. I was happy with both as they conveyed the real-life nuances of blame.

Dad was doing well. He and Mum had started water aerobics, but he was finding the diet tough.

Sadly, he wasn’t quite up to the cliff walk, though he was determined.

I called them most days, and I was going home again soon for the start of the trials.

Both Sarge and Bell faced charges of tampering with and withholding evidence.

Sarge had been charged with attempted murder too.

The recording would be admissible in court.

I’d seen a lot of Jack on the crime beat, and, bizarrely, he’d gone out of his way to help me understand how the police worked. I was trying to find my next big story.

So I’d found a path between ōhope Beach and London, two places at the opposite ends of the earth. And if that path was odd and ridiculous and circuitous—because, unlike Dorothy in The Wizard of Oz , I’d had to go home and come back again—it was hard-earned.

*

I still missed Declan. So much. The pain hadn’t faded, but I knew I had to get on with my life.

I’d spent most of the day with Shay, Bato, and Fleur—yes, Rosemary’s daughter, that Fleur—who was my new flatmate, and we’d ended up having a drink at Arbor.

She was still working in health and safety but had taken risks in other parts of her life.

With Shay’s help, she’d done the opposite of Rosemary’s suggestion—cut her blonde hair even shorter.

She wore one of Bato’s big-shouldered old military-style jackets, sort of a modern “Brienne of Tarth” look.

Jack had arrived, for Fleur, as it turned out.

They’d walked me home, but strangely, at the top of the stairs, they all left in different directions, apparently with other places to be.

Stepping down the stairs, I could see someone moving around in our kitchen. What? Wait a minute. What’s he doing here?

“Hello,” I said when I got in the door. Teddy went into an ecstatic wagging and squealing, not a guard dog gene in his body.

Standing in our kitchen, devastating in a navy turtleneck sweater and dark jeans, was Declan.

My stomach flipped at the sight of him. Then twisted. We’d emailed about the story, but I hadn’t seen him in two months. I managed only to stare at him as my brain whirred with a thousand questions. Had something gone wrong with the case?

“Hi.” His gleaming green eyes held mine. “God, you look great.”

I’d completely forgotten about my new raspberry cord jumpsuit, which clashed with my mass of bright-red curls.

“Thank you. You too.” Better than great. Teddy did his little dance, hummed his presence, and Declan bent down to pet him.

I pointed to the table, laden with food, plates and wine glasses. “You guys planned all this?”

He nodded. “I asked Shay, Bato, and Fleur to take you out so I could cook dinner for you. I hope that’s okay?”

Was it okay? Yes… no. I’d missed him so much, and I wasn’t strong enough to see him yet—would I ever be? I looked more closely down at the table and at the white dessert on the bench. “Oh. You’ve cooked my favorites—smoked fish pie, and pavlova.”

He grinned. “I called your mother to check the recipes, even though I had it written down.”

I smiled sadly because… how had his cooking my favorite food changed anything?

“Look, I know you were worried that because we were fake dating, we didn’t really know each other.” He gestured toward the table. “I know your favorite foods, I know you get seasick when you surf, and I know you snore when you roll onto your left side.”

I opened my mouth to object, then closed it again because maybe it was true.

“I know that when I arrived in ōhope, you used to rub a stone in your pocket when you were stressed or thinking about the case. But one day, it seemed like you didn’t have that stone anymore.”

My heart wrenched. “God, Declan… this makes it harder. Because nothing has changed. How can I be sure I know the real you when you’re still working undercover?”

“I agree.” He stepped toward me. “That’s why I’ve left.”

I did a double-take. “You left?”

He nodded. “I’m starting in a role I sort of created for myself, liaising with the community drug programs and lobbying Parliament about drug laws. I want to work with addicts, getting to know them, trying to help them.”

“Congratulations. So… to get this straight.” I took a deep breath. “You left undercover? For me?” Wow, that felt like a lot of pressure, a heavy mantle.

He smiled. “And for me. I get to be the dad who’s around to see my daughter grow up. The uncle who sees his nieces and nephews give their mothers, my sisters, heaps. And the man who’s with the woman who’s meant for him.”

He stepped toward me with a different energy. “All that’s to say, I’m madly in love with you, and I’m a fucking idiot for letting you go. Will you give me another chance?”

I gasped. My heart floated in my chest. He was in love with me. Not calmly, as he usually did things, but madly. I held his eyes. I wanted to show every spike of emotion, laying bare my excitement, being vulnerable. I was done living in the past.

“I love you.” I took a step toward him. “I’ve missed you. So much it hurts. Can I kiss you?”

“God, yes.” He closed the rest of the distance between us, pulled me into his arms, and we kissed, for real this time, a tender, aching kiss that tried to make up for every hour that we’d been apart.

Standing on tiptoes, I sifted my hands through his hair. “I’m so happy you’re here,” I said.

I pressed my hips into his. A sexy growl sounded in his chest, and he deepened the kiss. He hoisted me up, and as I tightened my legs around his waist, locking my feet together, he backed me against the wall.

His face slanted to kiss me again. “And I’ve had two whole months to think about ways to make you even happier.”