As she watched Tilly bite her lip and draw a hand over her plait, Kate understood the bigger picture.

Their eyes locked, held.

“I’m not ashamed, Kate.”

“Ashamed?”

“That I’ve saved myself for marriage.”

The kettle came to a boil, clicked. A lump formed in Kate’s throat. She had assumed it to be the case, but to hear Tilly admit that she had never been touched drove the breath from her lungs.

Tilly exhaled a nervous laugh and Kate set her glass down, reached out to offer a hug.

Sighing softly, Tilly relaxed in her arms. “Tomorrow is going to be fine,” Kate said, relishing in the sensation of Tilly’s heartbeat against her own. “Trust me. The girls have already forgotten it.” And if they haven’t, Kate thought, I’ll make sure of it.

Chapter Seven

“You’re getting old, Kate!”

Pressing on at Molly’s call from the top, Kate scoffed. The great hill was always a feat on foggy mornings. It was psychological, of course—Kate knew that. She had climbed it on much colder mornings without a problem. But there was something about seeing the fog paired with the way the crisp sea air broke in her lungs that always set a struggle. A daybreak run was supposed to wake her up enough to get through the last day of the school week. So why did she feel as though she was sleepwalking through a sea of moss?

A Friday morning jog was the icing on the cake of an already long week. Kate was exhausted—mind, body, and spirit. All she wanted was a Friday morning with Tilly at the kitchen table, drinking coffee and eating breakfast. Why the hell had she promised Molly she’d pull herself from bed at six? Molly—being Molly—had been stretching at the garden gate at five fifty-seven, complaining that it had been impossible to wake Emma, who had been up all night writing an essay.

Sunrise was breaking over the hill behind them, bouncing its blood-orange glow off St. Joan’s bronzed sword. Kate squinted as she jogged the incline with wavering determination, wishing she’d swapped her glasses for her prescription sunglasses.

“Come on!” Molly called out.

Kate neared the top of the hill to the base of the statue, heart pounding as she drew a sharp breath. She could walk from here. Yes. Walking. Walking was good. A good idea.

“Seriously?” Molly teased. “Walking?”

“All that pot has done wonders for your stamina!”

“What? Suddenly you’re allowed to joke about it but we’re not?”

“It’s been a month,” Kate panted, her thighs tingling as she slowed to a stop. “I’m entitled to joke about it now. You have my permission to start making cracks at the three-month mark and not a moment before.”

“I’ll be in Edinburgh then,” Molly pointed out, her hands on her hips as she stood on the spot and squinted up at Joan of Arc on horseback.

“So? That’s why God invented Skype. You’re not planning on Skyping me from Scotland? That’s just plain rude. I’m your English teacher—I edited your entry half a dozen times!”