As for those tiny, fleeting glimmers of hope that hinted at the chance Kate’s feelings could possibly be reciprocated…well, maybe it was all in her head.

The persistent rapping on the front door of the cottage pulled Kate from a deep sleep. She groaned in frustration as she checked the time on her phone. 7:47.

Kate threw back the covers angrily and kicked her heels against the mattress. For fuck’s sake, it was Sunday. All she wanted was just a few hours of peace. Just a few fucking hours alone. Was that so much to ask?

“Kate?” Sister Ruth called loudly. “Kate, are you awake?”

The pounding increased. She slipped her glasses on. God, I’m coming, I’m coming. Christ Almighty…

As she opened the door, she squinted against the sunlight. She dropped her gaze, tried to focus on the baby-blue blur of the Reverend Mother’s habit fluttering in the early morning breeze. “Sorry, Reverend Mother, I had a really bad night and—”

“Sweetheart, the vicar called. Tilly’s in hospital.”

Kate grasped the doorframe. “What?”

“Appendicitis last night. She was taken into surgery early this morning.”

Kate’s stomach dropped.

“She’s out now and she’s fine. Kate?”

Her eyes snapped to the clock across the living room. Ten minutes to eight. Adrenaline coursing through her veins, she pushed off the doorframe and stepped backward, grasping at the back of a kitchen chair. “Can you call through to Mornington Pier and let them know I want on the eight o’clock from East Island?”

Sister Ruth followed her into the cottage. “I can come with you.”

“No,” Kate said, rushing into her bedroom and stripping off her sleeping shorts. She yanked a pair of jeans from the end of her bed. There was no way she was taking Sister Ruth along with her. “You have Father Rodney coming at nine to say mass,” she called out to the kitchen. “Honestly, there’s no sense in both of us going. I’ll go alone. Please, Sister, can you just call through to the pier?”

Ward C, Unit 2, Bed 16. That was the information Declan had relayed to the Reverend Mother. Kate repeated it like a chant as she jogged the stairs to Tilly’s ward—she didn’t have the time for hospital elevators.

Like a sleuth, she slipped past the empty nurses’ station. Visiting hours weren’t for another hour and Kate wasn’t sure how strict the hospital was when it came to making exceptions.

It was unexpected—the surge of emotion that took hold of her the moment she laid eyes on Tilly.

Sitting up in bed, eyes closed, Tilly looked as pale as her hospital gown. Her messy plait lay limp across her shadowed shoulder, dark against her gown. God, she looks like death warmed up…

Kate cast her gaze around the room. Two beds were empty, but directly across from Tilly, a younger woman was asleep, her curtain half drawn to bar the brightness of the morning sun.

Treading lightly, Kate moved to Tilly. An IV was in her left arm, the skin around the cannula bruised. She winced. Tentatively, she touched Tilly’s knee through the cotton blanket, and in an instant, as though she had only been resting, Tilly’s eyes opened. As she focused on Kate, her eyes began to swim.