chicken, and my third favorite is toad in the hole. Then when we go out, I love fish and chips, which you get all over the place here, and I love pizza, and I hate hamburgers, which happen to be Dylan’s favorite, but I think restaurant burgers are yuck.”
“What’s toad in the hole?” Cassie asked curiously, guessing it must be a traditional English dish.
“Have you never eaten it? It’s sausages baked in a sort of pie, made with eggs and flour and milk. You have to have it with lots of gravy. I mean, lots. And peas and carrots.”
The conversation had taken them all the way into the kitchen. The wooden table was laid for four, and Dylan was already sitting in his place, pouring a glass of orange juice.
“Burgers are not yuck. They’re the food of the gods,” he countered.
“My teacher at school said they’re mostly cereal and bits of the animals you wouldn’t eat otherwise, ground up finely.”
“Your teacher is wrong.”
“How can she be wrong? You’re stupid to say that.”
Cassie was about to intervene, thinking Madison’s insult too personal, but Dylan got his comeback in first.
“Hey, Maddie.” Dylan pointed a warning finger at her. “You’re either with me or you’re against me.”
Cassie couldn’t work out what he meant by that, but Madison rolled her eyes and stuck out her tongue at him before sitting down.
“Can I help you, Ryan?”
Cassie walked over to the stove, where Ryan was lifting a boiling pot of pasta off the heat.
He glanced at her and smiled.
“Everything’s under control, I hope. Dinner time is T minus thirty seconds. Come on, kids. Grab your plates and let’s dish up.”
“I like your top, Cassie,” Madison said.
“Thank you. I bought it in New York City.”
“New York City. Wow. I’d love to go there,” Madison said, wide-eyed.
“The sixth form economics students went in June on a school trip,” Dylan said. “Study economics, and you might go, too.”
“Does that involve math?” Madison asked.
Dylan nodded.
“I hate math. It’s boring and difficult.”
“Well then, you won’t go.”
Dylan turned his attention to his plate, piling it high with food, while Ryan rinsed the cooking utensils at the sink.
Seeing Madison was looking mutinous, Cassie changed the subject.
“Your dad told me you love sports. What’s your favorite?”
“Running and gymnastics. I quite like tennis, we started it this summer.”
“And you’re a cyclist?” Cassie asked Dylan.
He nodded, piling grated cheese onto his food.
“Dylan wants to be a professional and win the Tour de France one day,” Madison said.
Ryan sat down at the table.
“You’re more than likely going to discover some obscure mathematical formula and get a full scholarship to Cambridge University,” he said, gazing affectionately at his son.
Dylan shook his head.
“Tour de France all the way, Dad,” he insisted.
“University first,” Ryan retorted, his voice firm, and Dylan scowled in response. Madison interjected, asking for more juice, and Cassie poured it for her while the brief moment of discord passed.
Letting their conversation wash over her, Cassie ate her food, which was delicious. She’d never known anyone quite like Ryan, she decided. He was so capable and so caring. She wondered if the children knew how lucky they were, having a father who cooked for his family.
After dinner, she volunteered to do the cleaning up, which mainly involved loading the large, state-of-the-art dishwasher. Ryan explained that the children were allowed an hour of TV after dinner if their homework was finished, and that he turned off the Wi-Fi at bedtime.
“It’s harmful for these screenagers to text on their phones all night,” he said. “And they will, if the opportunity is there. Bedtime is sleep time.”
When eight-thirty arrived, the two children went to bed obediently.
Dylan gave her a brief “Good night” and told her he’d be up very early in the morning to cycle around the village with his friends.
“Do you want me to wake you?” Cassie asked.
He shook his head.
“I’m good, thanks,” he said, before closing his bedroom door.
Madison was chattier, and Cassie spent some time sitting on her bed, listening to her ideas of what they might do tomorrow and what the weather would be like.
“There’s a sweet shop in the village and they sell the most beautiful striped candy bars that are like small walking sticks and taste of peppermint. Dad doesn’t often let us go there, but maybe he’ll let us go tomorrow.”
“I’ll ask,” Cassie promised, before making sure the young girl was settled for the night, bringing her a glass of water, and turning out her light.
As she closed Madison’s door gently, she remembered her first night at the previous job. How she’d fallen into an exhausted sleep, and had been late to respond when the youngest child had experienced a nightmare. She could still feel the pain and shock of the stinging slap she’d earned as a result. She should have walked out right then, but she hadn’t.
Cassie was confident that Ryan would never do such a thing to her. She couldn’t imagine him even giving a verbal admonishment.
Thinking of Ryan, she remembered about the glass of wine on the outside verandah, and she hesitated. She was tempted to spend more time with him but not sure if she should.
Had he meant it when he said she would be welcome to join him? Or had he offered out of politeness?
With indecision still churning in her mind, she found herself pulling on her thickest jacket. She could test the waters, see how he responded. If he didn’t seem to want company, she could stay for a quick drink and then go to bed.
She headed down the hallway, still agonizing over her decision. As an employee, it wasn’t right to have a glass of wine with her employer after working hours—or was it? If she wanted to be totally professional, she should go to bed. However, with Ryan being so accommodating about her lack of a visa, and promising to pay her cash, the lines of professionalism were already blurred.
She was a family friend, that’s what Ryan had said. And sharing a glass of wine after dinner was exactly what a friend would do.
Ryan seemed delighted to see her. Relief and excitement uncoiled inside her as she saw his warm, genuine smile.
He stood up and took her arm and walked her across the verandah, making sure she was safely settled in a chair.
She saw with a skip of her heart that he’d set an extra wineglass out on the tray.
“Do you like Chardonnay?”
Cassie nodded. “I love it.”
“Truth be told, I don’t have a good palate for wine and my favorite is an ordinary rough red, but this excellent case was gifted to me by a grateful client after a successful fishing trip. I’ve been enjoying working my way through it. Cheers.”
He leaned over and touched his glass to hers.
“Tell me more about your business,” Cassie said.
“I started South Winds Sailing twelve years ago, just after Dylan was born. Having him come into the world made me rethink my purpose, and what I could offer my children. I spent three years in the Royal Navy after school, eventually