Abby and the Bachelor Cop / Misty and the Single Dad: Abby and the Bachelor Copy / Misty and the Single Dad

‘Philip,’ he agreed. Neutral.

‘He won’t mind,’ she said.

‘I’d mind if I was Philip.’

‘Just lucky you’re not Philip,’ she said and she’d meant to sound snarky but she didn’t quite manage it. ‘Why don’t you go do what you need to do and come back in a couple of hours?’

‘But Raff likes making pasta, too,’ Sarah said and Abby looked at his face and saw … and saw that he did.

There was a lot of this man to back away from. There was a lot about this man to distrust. But watching him now. It was as if he was hungry, she thought. He was disguising it, with his smart tongue and his teasing and his blatant provocation, but still.

He’d just given away his grandmother’s pasta maker. He’d given it to her.

She’d love it. She’d use it for ever. The memories. She and Sarah, Raff and Ben, messing round in Gran’s kitchen.

If it wasn’t for this man, Ben would still be here.

How long did hate last?

For the last ten years, every time she’d looked at Raff Finn she’d felt ill. Now. She looked at Sarah and at the pasta maker. She thought of Mrs Fryer’s vitriol. She thought that Ben had been Raff’s best friend. Ben had loved him.

She’d loved him.

She couldn’t keep hating. She just … couldn’t.

She felt sick and weary and desperately sad. She felt. wasted.

‘Hey, Abby really isn’t well,’ Raff said and maybe he’d read the emotions—maybe it was easy because she was having no luck disguising them from herself, much less from him. ‘Maybe we should go, Sares, and let her recover.’

‘Do you really have a headache?’ Sarah put her hand on her arm, all concern. ‘Does it bang behind your eyes? It’s really bad when it does that.’

Did Sarah still have headaches? Did Raff cope with them, take care of her, ache for his little sister and all she’d lost?

Maybe she should have invited Raff to her wedding.

Now there was a stupid thing to think. She might be coming out the other side of a decade of bitterness but her parents. they never would. They knew that Raff had killed their son, pure and simple.

Philip would never countenance him at their wedding. Her parents would always hate him.

Any bridges must be her own personal bridges, built of an understanding that she couldn’t keep stoking this flame of bitterness for the rest of her life.

They were watching her. Sarah’s hand was still on her arm. Concerned for her headache. Sarah, whose headaches had taken away so much …

‘Not a headache,’ she whispered and then more strongly, ‘it’s not a headache. It’s just … I’m overwhelmed. I loved making pasta with you guys when I was a kid. I can’t believe you’re giving this to me. It’s the most wonderful gift—a truly generous gift of the heart. It’s made me feel all choked up.’

And then, as Sarah was still looking unsure, she took her hands and tugged her close and kissed her. ‘Thank you,’ she whispered.