Her stomach sank. She hoped Daisy’s comfort zone wasn’t shrinking, as Rea’s had. Rea’s triggers were situational, like busy places and difficult road conditions. Kids learned from the example of others … She smiled wryly to herself. If Daisy stuck to her comfort zone of being in the village and Laurel stuck to her comfort zone of being anywhere but the village, they’d never meet. To help Daisy, Laurel had to get over herself.

Carola popped Laurel’s coffee and Daisy’s Coke on the counter. ‘Here are your drinks. I’ll get your cakes and put it all on a tray. Paying by card?’

‘Yes, please,’ Laurel answered mechanically, her eyes still on her niece who’d moved on to helping Charlotte with fairy lights that had become thoroughly snarled up.

A few minutes earlier, Daisy had had a definite wobble when Laurel tried to pull back from lunch. Was it only that Daisy had wanted to parade ‘a proper artist’ to the crafters of the village? Or did it go deeper?

Was she beginning to rely on Laurel?

That could be good. It hinted at the deepening bond Laurel hoped for … but if a tiny thing like a misunderstanding over lunch could cause those big, tear-filled eyes, Daisy’s emotional state must be on a knife edge.

For Rea’s sake as well as Daisy’s, Laurel needed to discover what was going on.

Chapter Six

Grady was irritated. And the person he felt irritated with was himself, because while he’d been home to get what he needed for Craft Stuff, he’d also changed his clothes at the prospect of removing his coat in the same room as Laurel Hill. He hadn’t even intended to attend today’s session. He was perfectly happy in his own workshop and only joined Craft Stuff occasionally out of community spirit.

Attending today was stupid.

Yet, still he swapped his bobbly, old woolly jumper for a new, dark red sweatshirt and climbed into clean, better fitting jeans. It was probably pride at looking good at least once to the woman he’d fallen for as a teenager … even though the fall had ended in a painful landing.

Teenagers dealt badly with such misunderstandings but now, as adults, they could put it firmly in the past that Laurel had only stopped talking to him because of Poison Amie. It made his fists tighten to think of poor, sixteen-year-old Laurel being bullied like that.

He collected what he needed in a big blue canvas bag then stuffed himself into his coat and set off down Port Road. In a few minutes he was striding into The Angel. Jodie took his order, her dark hair in bunches, a big smile on her round face. ‘Fancy a Christmas coffee, Grady?’