“There’s Mason,” Tilly said, “in the blue shirt.” Kate searched for Tilly’s future step-son as the group headed out the side door in single file, but there were at least four boys in shades of blue. Impossible.

“Did you see him?” Tilly asked.

Kate shook her head.

Regardless of how welcoming the vicar was in inviting everybody to take communion, like the sisters down the front, Tilly remained in her seat beside Kate. It was blasphemy, they’d always been taught, to receive the sacrament from a non-Catholic priest, and Kate had been curious to see what Tilly would do when the time came. As the queues of parishioners dwindled, Kate watched as Declan’s eyes flickered searchingly to his fiancée. Had he really thought that Tilly would take communion from him?

For the duration of mass, Kate and Tilly had an audience in Lily Armstrong. She went from sitting ramrod-straight, to turning to make sure Tilly was still watching her, then back again. When mass was over and Kate and Tilly’s row exited after the sisters of St. Joan’s, it wasn’t long before Lily came bounding from the side door, a hand raised to her forehead to block out the sudden onslaught of sunlight as she weaved her way through the small crowd in her search for Tilly.

Tilly swept the tiny girl up into her arms. “Lily, don’t you look lovely in your new dress!” she said, fixing the double lining of the floral dress around Lily’s knees. It was odd—Kate had no reaction to seeing the child across the church, but now, up close, she felt a strange sense of relief that Declan’s daughter looked nothing like Tilly. With golden curls and a fair complexion, Lily’s face was much wider than Tilly’s had ever been. Mostly, it was in the eyes, Lily’s grey-blue so very different to those of the emerald-eyed child framed on the convent mantelpiece. Other than both being petite, it was hard to mistake the two for mother and child.

“Kate,” Tilly said as she adjusted the little girl on her hip, “this is Lily.”

She smiled. “Hi, Lily.”

“Hi.” Lily’s gaze settled upon Kate. “You’re not a nun.”

Kate chuckled. “No.”

“You just drive their bus?” Lily asked.

“No,” Tilly said. “Kate is a teacher, like me.”

“Oh. On Tilly’s island?” she clarified.

“Yes…”

It was difficult to give the child her undivided attention when, across the grass, the vicar’s eyes were on them. Over Tilly’s shoulder, Kate could see him in conversation with a pair of elderly women, but his attention was divided. She pretended not to notice when he crossed the grass toward them, the sun reflecting off his clerical collar—and looking Kate up and down.

Kate feigned interest as Lily told Tilly all about her week at school, what she’d taken for show-and-tell. As he approached, his hand sliding around Tilly’s back, Kate grew uneasy. “Hello, darling,” he said, pressing his lips chastely to Tilly’s cheek.

As the term of endearment reached Kate’s ears, her heart splintered—Tilly’s relationship with Declan was deeper than she let on. Little comments had been littered here and there about the time she spent with Declan—something funny Lily had said when they’d picked her up from preschool together, a restaurant where they’d eaten lunch—but Kate hadn’t fully realised until now. Tilly fit so seamlessly into life at St. Joan’s that it was hard to comprehend that she already had a family.