For some reason, the winter wonderland made her feel hopeful, like a girl in a romantic movie racing through a village turned to white frosting to meet her lover with no clear idea of how they were going to resolve things but an urgent feeling that they should. The movie soundtrack would swell along with the love in the heroine’s heart as her feet carried her faster, faster towards the happy-ever-after ending to the story of two people who belonged together, shared a history and the more recent misery of infertility. She’d wear a lovestruck smile and stars in her eyes as she rounded the hedge of the quaint, snow-bedecked cottage home of the hero and …

… Discover him hugging his ex-girlfriend on the doorstep.

She – literally – skidded to a halt, the slush slopping icily over the top of her Vans, slithering in icy rivulets beneath the arch of her foot.

She could hear Grady’s voice, though not what he was saying. The tone was firm, reasonable. Pippa was nodding and snivelling. He was patting Pippa’s shoulder. It looked brotherly and he wore a frown of mixed impatience and concern, but still Laurel felt shocked and excluded, stupid for ploughing here through the snow. Her plans, like her footwear, had been inadequate for the situation and her heart felt as miserably frozen as her feet.

Grady had other problems in his life apart from Laurel’s emotional undulations. It would do him no favours for her to barge into what looked like a difficult conversation with Pippa.

If this was a movie, Laurel and Grady, as heroine and hero, would probably adopt Pippa’s baby, like rehoming a puppy when the owner couldn’t cope. Or they’d somehow beat medical fact and make a miracle baby of their own – probably born on Christmas Day. Real life wasn’t like that though. Even in the movies, a wish that things were different wasn’t always enough.

Relationships needed hope for the future. Until she could offer him that, nothing had changed.

She turned back towards the warmth of The Nookery, her family and dry feet.

Chapter Nineteen

Laurel had always considered Monday morning blues the fate of other people. Rea, for example, rolled her eyes as she took her travel mug of tea into her home office, ready for another day of remote call-centre working. She wore a smart, office-wear blouse on top and her leggings and fluffy slippers below, suggesting video meetings were part of her Monday schedule.

Daisy, embracing the school Christmas holidays, had not yet made an appearance.