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again.
    She was such a pathetic idiot.
    He let her off at Holly Cottage, and Claire dumped her food in the fridge before she climbed back into the Land Rover and headed for Ayesgill Farm.
    “I’ll get your car tomorrow,” Noah said as they drove back down the lane. “It should be all right overnight. Not many people will be on the road.”
    She nodded, still bemused and more than a little alarmed at how quickly their lives had become entwined. He was getting her car. She was cleaning his kitchen. Why didn’t they just move in together?
    This is just payback. A favor for a favor. It doesn’t have to be a big deal . She’d help him clean and then she’d go back to Holly Cottage, open a bottle of wine, pop a meal in the microwave, grade a few exams. Fun, fun, fun.
    Night had fallen by the time Noah pulled into the farmyard. Used to the orange electric glow of the urban night, Claire was unprepared for the utter darkness that engulfed her as she stepped out of the Land Rover. Blackness stretched in every direction, broken only by the glow of a single lamp inside the farmhouse, and the diamond pinpricks of stars above.
    She tilted her head and gazed at all those stars; she didn’t think she’d ever seen so many before in her life. She took a deep breath of cold, crisp air that came out in a surprised rush as she felt Noah’s hands close around her shoulders.
    She lost her balance and swayed into him, her back hitting his chest, her butt curving into his thighs. Noah’s hands tightened on her shoulders and for a moment it felt as if her heart were suspended in her chest before going into free fall.
    Noah steadied her, moving her away from him, before he dropped his hands from her shoulders. “Sorry,” he muttered. “I didn’t see you there.”
    “Sorry,” Claire mumbled back.
    Her heart started beating wildly. Stupid heart. Stupid in so many ways. She felt clumsy and thick-fingered as she went around helping with the bags and bringing them into the house. She could feel how flushed she was, and hoped Noah didn’t notice.
    Neither spoke as they transferred all the shopping to his kitchen, and by the time they were both inside with their coats and hats and scarves off, Claire had thankfully regained most of her composure.
    “I’ll make a start on the kitchen,” she offered. “If you want to do the upstairs.” He nodded, pointed out the ancient-looking cleaning spray underneath the sink, and then disappeared through the low doorway to the sitting room.
    Claire took a deep breath, let it out slowly. Okay. She was here, and she was going to clean. She took all the dirty dishes to the sink, and then emptied the half-full dishwasher. She suspected Noah had just been taking the clean dishes out only as he needed them. She reloaded the dishwasher and then started making piles. She was a compulsive organizer, and she couldn’t not put the papers scattered across the scarred pine table into some kind of order. Newspapers went in the recycling bin; bills went on top of the Welsh dresser that held a lot of dusty Wedgewood china.
    As she cleaned, Claire couldn’t help but notice that messy as it was, this was not the typical bachelor pad. The dresser full of china, the drawers of tarnished sterling silver, another stuffed full of papers that looked like they went back twenty years. This was, she believed, Noah’s childhood home, and that made her all the more curious about him. Had he taken on the family farm? Where were his parents? Did he have brothers or sisters?
    They were all questions she had no intention of asking.
    She sprayed down the counters and mopped the floor, wondering if she should be so bold as to start getting a meal together for Noah and his daughter. No, that would be presumptuous. Pathetic, too, and cringingly embarrassing, if he thought she wanted to be invited, included.
    Which of course she didn’t. Besides, she couldn’t cook all that well, even though she liked the idea of it, of providing a