The thought of her home in an estate agent’s brochure made her heart sink with sadness and she immediately tried to buoy it up with positive thoughts.

What’s wrong with you? This means you can travel! You can plan that holiday you’ve been promising yourself for years.

Today wasn’t a failure; it was a sign!

She started to warm to her task. The universe didn’t want her to stay in Longhampton. The universe wanted her to have a break, get out of town, find new inspiration, meet new people. Maybe fall in love. She was free to do whatever she wanted to do now – nothing was holding her back. Not Mum, not work, nothing.

A stunned smile broke across Tara’s face, and the waitress wiping the table opposite smiled back with relief. Their eyes met, and Tara nodded awkwardly towards the half-eaten cake in front of her. ‘Great carrot cake.’

The waitress nodded, unconvinced.

Tara got her notebook out of her bag and began to plan her escape.

No, not escape. Escape was a Keith Hunter thing. What she was doing was planning a structured sabbatical.

Her heart beat faster, but with relief this time, not panic. She’d have to put the house on the market, this week. The agents already had people lined up; the deal could be done in no time.

Her clients. Tara did feel responsibility there, but she was hardly the only CBT therapist in the country. And if she was honest, there were a few of them who could probably do with the break. Nothing wrong with a change of counsellor now and again.

Would David miss her if she left?

The thought pierced the muddiness in her mind, smarting like a bee sting.

She would miss David. She’d miss his relentlessly educational company on the morning walk to work, his thoughtful observations that often made her think harder about her own snap judgements. She’d miss the old-fashioned way he held the heavy Centre door open for her, and the brief scent of soap and ironed cotton and warm male skin that she caught as she ducked under his arm to go in.

Tara checked herself. She was going on holiday, not leaving for ever. And after all this time, it was time to leave. That much was suddenly very clear.

Back to her escape plans. Flood committee. There were so many people more organized than her who could take over. Troutbridge Hall was nearly done and—

‘Hello, gorgeous.’

Tara’s head jerked up, and she blinked in shock.

Sitting in the chair opposite her, large as life and twice as charming, was Phil Shawcross.