“Oh,” Tilly said, taking in the empty kitchen, the breakfast nook, the antique double-lights fixed to the walls. “It’s lovely, Kate…”

The layout was narrow, the rooms small, but it was enough for Kate. A sun-drenched terrace was hard to find—but she had. “Can you see that second door to the left of the hall?” Kate asked. “That’s an office, or study. The room in front of that is the living room.”

“Where are the stairs to the second level?” Tilly asked.

“In the study.”

“And what’s upstairs?”

“The bedroom and the bathroom.”

Tilly pulled away from the window and leaned back against the wall. “Have you put in an offer?”

Kate stuffed her hands into her pockets. “It’s going to auction. It was supposed to go up next weekend, but there’s a hold up with the owner going to Europe on business so they’ve had to reschedule. It could be a month or more. In the meantime, I’ll get an inspection.”

Her hands clasped behind her back, Tilly shifted against the wall. The breeze toyed with the hem of her skirt. “Do you mind if I ask how much it’s worth?”

Kate bit her lip. “One point three million.”

Tilly whistled. “You can afford that?”

“I can afford a mortgage.”

Tilly laughed.

Together, they sat in the shade on the top step of the back veranda. The wind picked flowers from the jacaranda tree in the corner of the backyard next door and carpeted the small lawn mauve. Leaning against the veranda post, Kate balanced the low heel of her boot on the bottom step. The witchy melody of a neighbour’s windchime was soothing.

“The breeze is nice,” Tilly said, wrapping her skirt around her knees, cradling them as she gazed up at the clouds.

Kate watched as Tilly leaned back against the opposite post and let her eyes slip shut. The gentle waves of her chestnut-coloured hair danced on the wind as the sunlight caught on her dainty crucifix. Kate licked her lips, recalling the memory of her niece playing with it at lunch. Kate’s heart had surged at the sight of Tilly, enamoured with Karlie.

Taking Tilly to lunch had filled her with a kind of peace she hadn’t felt in a long time. Her family had always loved Tilly. As usual, Tilly had been incredibly polite, and despite her Catholic values, so understanding of the fact that Beccy was unmarried, a twenty-three-year-old single mother heavily pregnant with her second child. Twice, Kate had heard Tilly telling Beccy how intelligent she thought Karlie was, joking that she herself—an English teacher—was jealous of the five-year-old’s vocabulary. You must be so proud, Beccy, Tilly had said as she’d helped pack the dishwasher. So proud.

Tilly at family lunch had been easy. Life with Tilly was easy—it always had been. Living with her was easy, working with her was easy, sitting in silence with her was easy. Loving her as just a friend was the hard part.

“I always wondered where you were,” Tilly said, interrupting the silence as her eyes opened. “I wondered if you were close by to wherever I was at the time.” Their gazes locked. “Tell me where you lived before taking the position at St. Joan’s.”