Walking along the main street, Elle was almost surprised to see traffic once more. As she left the postcard-perfect harbour, which felt as though it had been left standing in the seventeenth century, it was strange to step back into the present day once more. She found the shop, Made With Love, and smiled as she walked inside. Everything about it made her happy, from the deep-teal-painted front and the double glass window with a beautiful display of artwork and draped throw rugs, to the delicate scent of candles wafting through the air as she opened the front door.

Aila broke out into a wide smile as she looked up from the counter and spotted Elle. ‘What are you doing out and about so early?’ she said.

Elle smiled. ‘I thought I’d come down and say hello. What a beautiful shop,’ she said, her gaze wandering about the room. On one wall was a framed sketch of a lighthouse, and Elle moved closer to look. ‘Is this a local artist?’ she asked, inspecting the artwork. ‘Look at the detail,’ she almost whispered.

‘Well, yes, actually—Grace drew it.’

‘Grace?’ Elle snapped her head around to look at Aila. ‘Our Grace?’

Aila smiled. ‘Yes, our Grace. Before she got married she had a lot of her work in art galleries in London and a couple over in Paris.’

Another piece of the puzzle fell into place. Elle had obviously been kidnapped from the Scottish side of the family and taken away to live in Australia! ‘What happened?’

‘I came home for Christmas one year and fell in love with my high-school sweetheart,’ Grace said, coming out from the back of the store to stop in front of the framed drawing on the wall. ‘I left London and moved back home to get married.’ She shrugged.

Elle stared at her older cousin for a few shocked moments before turning back to the lighthouse. ‘It’s beautiful.’

‘Thank you,’ Grace said, her smile widening. Elle saw her gaze drop to the handbag on Elle’s shoulder. ‘Do you sketch too?’

Elle blinked. ‘Oh. No, not really. I mean, I don’t do it professionally or anything … just for fun.’

‘Can I see?’ Grace held one long, elegant hand out and Elle felt a blush begin to creep up her neck. That was the other thing she’d always hated about her complexion—the slightest hint of embarrassment managed to light her face up like Rudolph’s nose.

At Grace’s expectant look, Elle reluctantly withdrew her sketchpad and handed it over. ‘They’re nowhere as good as yours,’ she stammered. Oh dear God, a woman who’d had her art hung in famous galleries around the world was about to look at Elle’s untrained attempt at drawing. This was beyond mortifying.

As Grace silently flipped through the pages, Aila stuck her head over her older sister’s shoulder to inspect them as well.