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know.
    I couldn’t deny it. I owned some gorgeous clothes. I held up one of my favourites, a white shift dress. As much as I adored it, I knew it wasn’t worth taking out of the box. I was hardly going to get much wear out of it here. I managed to find a handful of casual dresses that were much more Pipers Cove and far less awesome. Perhaps I was a little more Charlotte Décarie than I cared to admit. I bundled up the clothes and shoes I wanted to take and headed home.
    Thankfully, Alex was there when I arrived. Spending time alone with Gabrielle was borderline awkward.
    “Hey,” he beamed. “Did you unpack your boxes?”
    I looked at the bundle in my arms. “Some. I’ll get to the rest of them another time.”
    “How did the garden look?” he asked, sitting on the couch next to Gabrielle. “I should really go and mow the lawn on the weekend.”
    I dumped my clothes down on the other couch and sat down.
    “Why didn’t you move into the cottage?” I asked, perplexed. “It’s such a pretty house.”
    The Parisienne’s eyes lit up. “My sentiments exactly.”
    Alex groaned and sunk into the cushion, taking her with him. “Let’s not go there again.”
    “It came down to the shed, Charli,” purred Gabrielle, wriggling free of his hold on her. “He has a grander shed to play in here.”
    “There’s nothing wrong with the shed at the cottage,” I muttered, a little too defensively. “A run-down old boat was brought back to life in that shed.”
    “ Très vrai ,” she agreed, smugly.
    “English,” Alex prompted.
    “Very true. She said very true.” I didn’t doubt my translation for a second because I knew I was right. What I didn’t know was what part of my brain it had come from.
    “Impressive, Charli.” Alex raised an eyebrow.
    Gabrielle followed up with a huge burst of French. I shook my head at her, befuddled. “I have no idea what you just said.” My bilingual moment was well and truly over. Both of them dissolved into laughter. I disappeared into the kitchen to escape.
    One change in the house that I did welcome was the well-stocked fridge. I stood staring into it for a long time, marvelling at the fact that there were three different juices to choose from. Settling for run-of-the-mill orange, I grabbed the carton and opened the cupboard to get a glass.
    Each of the eighteen perfectly matching glasses was upside down again.
    “Let the games begin,” I whispered, stretching up to right them.
    * * *
    I managed to lie low for two whole days. Going to the café held no interest for me. Nicole was a full time employee. Alex’s pleas to make nice were starting to annoy me so much that I’d come close to telling him the whole truth about her more than once. Staying away was beneficial for all of us.
    With limited options, I had only one outing planned for the day. Valerie Daintree, the postmistress from hell, had left a message on the house phone letting me know that she was holding some mail at the post office for me. No amount of begging and pleading could convince my father to collect it on my behalf. “Charli, I wouldn’t face Val if the mail was addressed to me,” he mocked. I considered leaving it there but curiosity eventually won out.
    I stopped along the way to fill up the rental car with petrol. I was mindlessly watching the numbers tick over as I pumped fuel when the once gorgeous black Audi A6 pulled up at the bowser next to mine. It wasn’t gorgeous any more. It was hardly even an Audi any more. Judging by the multiple scratches and dented bumper, the poor car had had a hard life in the two years since Adam had sold it.
    “Charli? Is that you?” asked Lily Tate, stumbling as she got out of the car. In fairness, high-heeled espadrilles would make walking a difficult task for anyone.
    “It’s me, Lily,” I listlessly confirmed.
    She squealed, rushing at me. “Oh my God!” She drew me into a tight hug, squeezing me half to death. “Are you home for Christmas?”
    Home for