Chapter 3

“Shy,” Luke teased.

“Social slut,” Shane parried, and Luke snorted.

“It’s called being polite.”

“It’s called, you are ridiculously extroverted and will end up crazy and talking to dead people if you’re ever single for more than five minutes,” Shane said. Luke snorted again, opening the gate to Rose Cottage, Church Lane—neither a cottage, nor bestowed with roses—and showing Shane ahead of him with a flourish. “Freak.”

“Ungrateful shit,” Luke sniped.

They headed around the side of the house in the gloom. The kitchen window was steamed up and glowing yellow; Luke tried the back door, and it popped open easily.

“There you are!” Mrs. Devereux called. She was up to her wrists in dough. “I was just about to start calling you. Hello, Shane, dear.”

“Hi, Mrs. Devereux.”

“Anna! How many times?”

“Sorry, Mrs. Devereux.”