Chapter 83

• The rhythmic ticking of the grandfather clock in the hall was the only sound that disturbed the quiet of their morning. Sunlight streamed through the south-facing windows of their farmhouse, painting warm stripes across the polished wooden floors. It had been a year since they’d escaped the suffocating grip of Cleo’s past, a year since they’d planted the seeds of a new life in the fertile soil of Seabrook. A year since they’d dared to hope.
• Cleo woke to the scent of woodsmoke and freshly baked bread, the comforting aromas drifting from the kitchen where Rowan was already at work. She smiled, pulling the soft cotton sheets tighter around her before rising. The memory of their entwined bodies, warm and close, lingered like the scent of the woodsmoke, a pleasant reminder of the intimacy they now freely shared. There was a settled ease in their relationship, a comfortable rhythm that had developed over the months, born of shared experience and a deep, unwavering love. The fear that had once haunted her eyes was now replaced by a serene confidence, a radiant glow that reflected the inner peace she had finally found.
• She padded into the kitchen, the worn wooden floors cool beneath her bare feet. Rowan, his back to her, hummed softly as he kneaded dough, his movements precise and graceful. The rhythmic thud of his hands against the dough was a comforting counterpoint to the gentle crackling of the fire in the hearth. He turned, a warm smile gracing his lips as he saw her. His eyes, once filled with a simmering anger and a desperate need for revenge, were now soft, their depths reflecting a quiet contentment. He reached for her, his touch gentle and reassuring, drawing her close in a hug that spoke volumes of their enduring love.