His hand tightened on the loop of the lead, making Doggo fidget and look up as if feeling the tension vibrate all the way to his harness. ‘Lily is young and uber-attractive,’ he said, equally irritated whether Hayley was fishing for information or giving him a hint as to how to interact with staff. ‘But you know I have a perfectly good code of conduct with co-workers. I waited until I’d left the casino to ask you out. I’m not in need of coaching.’ In fact, their time at the casino hadn’t overlapped by much. He’d been in the throes of buying the lease of the Juno when the chain had brought Hayley in as general manager, a hotshot they’d poached from another group. He’d admired her: so good at her job, so groomed, it had been a no-brainer to ask her out once he could.

Hayley flushed. ‘Then I’ll butt out,’ she said stiffly. She took a step back and he wondered whether it was from his rebuff or from the word ‘young’, which he was a little ashamed of now he’d said it. At nine years older than him Hayley had always been defensive about her age. She crouched down and slid her arms around Doggo, stroking the top of his head with her cheek. ‘Be good for Isaac,’ she whispered. Doggo tried to lick her face so she straightened up, said goodnight and stepped smartly towards her car.

Isaac watched her drive away, mentally apologising to Lily for using her to show Hayley that she’d lost the right to comment on his life. Then he looked down at Doggo and murmured, ‘But Lily is uber-attractive.’

Doggo wagged his tail as if to agree. Isaac sometimes thought Doggo was an old soul. His eyes were wise even if he still acted like a puppy.

Chapter Three

On Saturday morning Lily stretched and yawned in the compact comfort of the apartment in Carola’s basement, peeking through the curtains at frost sparkling on the shrubs and turning every twig to etched glass. The apartment had once been Carola’s ex-husband’s den and movie room. By the time Lily had come to Middledip assuming she’d stay for a week or so it was an Airbnb. Now she’d lived in it for two years and it was her home.

Carola’s house was built on a slope so though the apartment was underground at the front it faced the back garden via French doors that allowed light to flood in. It was smaller than both the Peterborough semi and the Barcelona apartment she’d shared with Sergio, and Carola and her daughters lived above her, but she loved it. It was her space: a bedroom, a lounge/kitchen combo and a shower room. A bijou hallway led to steps up to Carola’s kitchen, but though that door was generally unlocked neither of them burst through it unless expected.