“Why don’t you just spend the night at Declan’s?” Kate had asked one Sunday night on the ferry. “Seems like a lot of effort, going back and forth.”

Tilly had looked at her, aghast. “I couldn’t stay.”

“Why not? You’re engaged.”

“Engaged,” Tilly had said. “Not married.”

Kate parked the van and started up the path to the cottage. The desire to ask Tilly to venture across Lords to the seafood restaurant burned on the tip of her tongue. Unless Kate was taking the causeway across to Portarlington, she very rarely went into the tiny town of Lords, but the idea of escaping St. Joan’s with Tilly for a few hours was enticing. Perhaps, if Tilly was feeling adventurous, they could even take the causeway into Portarlington…

Halfway to the house, she spotted Tilly at the clothesline at the side of the cottage, Kate’s pale blue bed sheets curling around her form in the wind as she reached up to peg.

Moving quietly around the outdoor bench, Kate grasped Tilly’s waist through the sheet. She shrieked in surprise, her hand clasping Kate’s as Kate lifted her off the ground, twirling her inside damp cotton. Tilly’s ribcage expanded with laughter as Kate’s hands smoothed over the dampness of the sheet. “Kate, let me go!” Tilly laughed.

Between the sheets, Kate locked eyes with Sister Mary Monica in the convent garden. Quickly, she lowered Tilly to her feet.

Tilly peeled back the sheet and grinned up at Kate, fixing her hair. “That was a quick trip,” she said, breathless.

Smiling widely, Kate reached for the dangling point of the sheet and reached for a peg. “I don’t muck around.”

She could feel Sister Mary Monica’s eyes on them across the way, her thick eyebrows furrowed in disapproval. Kate looked up, but Sister Mary Monica was too quick, returning her attention to winding up the garden hose.

Together, they picked up a fitted sheet and waved it between them. “What are you thinking about for dinner?” Tilly asked as they pegged the corners.

Kate licked her lips. Suddenly, with the image of Sister Mary Monica’s expression burned into her mind, the idea of asking Tilly to dinner—let alone asking her to cross the causeway—felt like crossing a line. She reached into the basket for Tilly’s pillowcase. “I was thinking those steaks you asked the sisters to grab us.”

“Oh.” On tiptoes, Tilly reached up to the line to peg Kate’s pillowcase. “I was actually planning on using those for lunch tomorrow.”

Tilly wanted her to hang back long enough into Saturday to have lunch with her? Satisfaction swirled in the pit of her stomach, dizzying like liquor. “Sure. We can do that. But there are enough for tonight and for lunch tomorrow, don’t you think?”

Suddenly, Tilly’s arms dropped from the line. “I mean…Declan is visiting tomorrow. For lunch. He’s bringing the children to the island…”

The old peg snapped in Kate’s hand as she clipped it over the sheet. God damn it. She reached into the basket for another. The vicar had robbed Kate of the love of her life and now he was taking her prime rib, too? “Right…”