‘Oooh, sourdough canapés. I’ll add that to the list.’

Daniel stopped eating, serious now. ‘Eleanor, this is a huge undertaking. A massive commitment. You can’t decide this overnight.’

‘How long did it take you to decide to keep Hope?’

He frowned, shaking his head. ‘That’s completely different!’

‘Well, it is and it isn’t. Sometimes someone or something needs taking care of. Needs someone else to say I’m going to make this work. And if it happens to be something you have the skills, experience and the time to do, why would you need a whole night to decide?’

‘What about the money and resources? I don’t have a lot I can invest in this. All the will in the world won’t be enough to even get started.’

‘I know we need to, like, do a million spreadsheets and look at costings and projections and expenditure and business plans, but I grew up doing this. I won’t spend a penny on the retreat until you’re happy we can see it through. But in the meantime, I have some savings. Not masses, but enough for paint, some new bedding and towels, toiletries, some other bits and bobs. I know what’s worth spending on now and what can wait. To start with, why not let me just get the place looking nice again, a lovely place for Hope – and you – to live in? Then you can decide about opening it up to other people.’

Daniel rubbed his scar. ‘Can I be honest?’

‘There’s no point us talking about this if you can’t.’

‘Okay.’ He took a sip of water. ‘I’m concerned that you’re doing this out of some sort of tribute to Charlie. Because you feel like you let her down by not responding to her invitations sooner. This is making it up to her. That’s the last thing she’d want. She’d want you to be living your dream, not hers.’

I shook my head, vigorously. But he hadn’t finished.

‘Also, you can’t start a project like this as some sort of therapy. Then, once you feel better move on, leaving me with it. I work with spreadsheets, not bed sheets.’

My instinct was to instantly brush off his concerns as preposterous, insulting. But this was his home, his life, and I owed him the respect of at least addressing his fears, so I took my time before I replied.

‘I’m not a quitter. I stayed in a job that was wrong for me for years, because I’d been raised to be so responsible that I’d stick with something even if it half-killed me.’

‘You hated your blog?’

‘No! Not that job… Anyway. Hospitality is in my blood. I know what this will take. And, while we’re being honest, where do you think Charlie got all those romantic ideas about providing a warm welcome to a weary traveller?’

‘Um… Pinterest?’ He winked, his open eye fixed right on mine. I disguised how it caused my stomach to backflip by pulling a face at him.