She dialled Nana from her car and reported to her.

"Do you think someone can come to check on him in the evening?" Viola said. "Anyone who's had a flu shot already. He's still contagious. Neither Will nor Sam should," she added. "Considering Fiona's expecting, and Sam has the little'uns."

"That leaves me, dear, and I assume you don't want me near him," Nana said.

"Well, a girlfriend perhaps?" Viola asked.

"If there's one, I haven't been introduced to the poor soul," Nana answered, chuckling.

Viola had said to him she'd come back - but now that she was out of that house she just couldn't understand what had pushed her to talk to him like that. That had been banter, and Viola didn't do banter - with her patients, nor with men, and most definitely, absolutely never with her exes! As amicable as her relationship with Hani was these days, she'd never behave like that around him! Calling herself cold-blooded. Touching his face. His warm cheek, the rough beard under her palm.

"Alright, I'll stop by his place in the evening, and I'll let you know how he's feeling," Viola said in a defeated tone.

***

After work, she walked into the Oak and Shield and headed straight to the counter. Mrs. Owens saw her, gave her a wave, and disappeared in the kitchen. She was back a few seconds later with Viola's order.

"My dear, just so you know, Dr. Fenton is allergic to onions," Mrs. Owens said with a flirty laugh and passed the bag into Viola's hands.

"The cullen skink is for me," Viola lied.

"Oh, I see," the landlady drew out. "But I assume the crumble is for him, right? It's Miss Rosa's, it's basically floating in custard."

Viola could've lied the pudding was hers as well, but that would be pushing it. She was sure by now the whole village knew of her low-carb diet. She thanked the landlady and fled.

You are an idiot, Viola. Why not just tell it as it is? It's not like you're doing anything at all inappropriate, or illegal, or even remotely worthy of all the trouble you're going through to conceal it.

She parked her Panda in front of the Periwinkle Grove, picked up the food, and climbed out of her car. She ended up standing for a while in front of his door, searching through her Mulberry, until she figured out that she'd left his keys in her glove box.

When she opened the door, she heard loud voices coming from upstairs. Her first thought - that Mable had been wrong, and there was a girlfriend - was alarming, but not because running into said girlfriend would be unpleasant. Viola had no trouble navigating such social situations. It's the fact that her thoughts jumped to a girlfriend, instead of, say, a mate or a relative that made her pause in his hall. And then she realised she was hearing his telly.

She took off her jacket and boots, washed her hands in his kitchen, and walked upstairs. He was asleep, sprawled on his stomach, pretty much diagonally across his bed. Viola threw Bruce Willis on the screen a sardonic look, picked up the remote near Rhys' hand, and turned the telly off. Rhys stirred and made a disgruntled noise.

"Rhys," Viola called softly.

He opened his eyes and rose on one arm.

"Hey," he said raspily, cleared his throat, and shifted, slowly rolling on his backside and sitting up.

"Hiya," she said. "How are you feeling?"

"Hungry," he said.

She almost said 'You always do when ill,' but bit her tongue. It's been ten years, and maybe he didn't anymore - and even if he did, saying 'always' would be flaunting her past knowledge of him.

"Pass me my phone," he grumbled. "I'll order something."

Seeing him with his usual frown, his lips pressed in a displeased line, was almost a relief.

"I brought you food," she said, and he gave her a surprised look. "I picked up some soup and some pudding for you in the Oak and Shield," she said. "Can you go down, or would you like me to bring it up?"

"Could you bring it here, please?"

She nodded and was going to leave, but turned around and asked, "Did you take a shower? Your hair looks wet."

He was also dressed in a different tee, white and soft. She couldn't see his bottoms, under the duvet. Not that she's trying to.

"Yeah," he said, pushed his hand into his mane, and ruffled it. "And before you say anything, I know it was stupid. I almost conked out there." He chuckled. "Climbing the stairs was craic too."

"Well, at least I didn't end up finding you passed out midway on the stairs," she said sardonically. "I'd have left you there. You're too heavy."

That - is banter again.

"I'll get you a tray," she said hurriedly and left for the kitchen.

***

While he ate, she went downstairs, and put the kettle on. She allowed her curiosity to get the best of her, and peeked into the drawing room. Initially, the cottage had probably been a typical two-up, two-down, but he'd combined the second room on the ground floor with the galley kitchen, turning it into a wonderful open-plan space. At the bottom of the staircase, she saw wide folding doors leading to a large yard. It was buried under the snow, but she assumed there wouldn't be a particularly cultivated garden out there. He had never been into gardening. It's been ten years, Viola. Maybe these days Rhys Holyoake grows fresh herbs and prize tomatoes. Or aubergines. She heard the kettle whistle and came back to the kitchen. She poured two mugs of tea and climbed on a chair to search his cabinets for honey.

"What're you looking for?" he asked behind her, and she wobbled and grabbed a shelf for support.

She looked at him and saw him raise his hands in a fake surrender gesture.

"No grabbing your arse, I remember," he joked, and she quickly turned away from him.

See? You bantered, and now he's– doing whatever it is he's doing. What is it that he's doing, actually?!

"I'm looking for honey," she said. "Why are you up?"

"I brought the dishes down," he said.

She looked and saw the tray on the counter.

"Oh I see." She couldn't hide the surprise that seeped into her tone. "So, where's the honey?"

Just as during the first morning in Nana's house, he was suddenly standing close to her. He knocked his knuckles on the cabinet next to her, and she opened it.

"You should go back to bed," she said, pulling out the jar. Her shoulders were so tense they almost hurt. It's like there's heat coming off his body. "You had high fever just a few hours ago."

He didn't answer, and she looked at him sideways.

"Vi."

"Yes?" she asked nonchalantly. She stretched her hand with the honey jar to him. "Here."

He didn't take it.

"Vi, listen–"

She climbed off the chair, holding onto the counter with one hand, and put the jar down.

"Go back to bed. I'll bring you a tray," she said, without raising her eyes.

You're imaging it. Nothing's happening. He's not coming closer. There is nothing going on between you two. You're visiting him because he's ill. She felt his presence behind her, very close, and then she felt his fingers brush against her shoulder.

"Vi," he said quietly.

She twirled on one spot and stared at his face.

"What are you doing?" Her voice was sharper than she intended, but everything suddenly shook inside.

She hadn't felt like this in years. Ten years, perhaps. More, really.

He tilted his head - just as all those years ago - and a small tender smile brushed at his lips.

"Vi," he repeated again - and slowly cupped her jaw with his hand.

His palm was scorching hot.

"You're ill," she blurted out. "Please, don't kiss me."

His eyes widened.

"Way to ruin a moment, Vi," he said with an awkward chuckle.

"There's no 'moment,'" she said coldly - and he took a step back from her.

He narrowed his eyes at her. "Then I apologise," he said. "I... misunderstood."

"Apology accepted," she said and jerked her chin up.

He watched her face for a few seconds, then nodded, and left for the staircase with a quiet, "I'll go up."

Once she was alone, she heavily leaned against the counter. Her heart was beating painfully in her throat, and she pressed her palm around it. That - she hadn't had that in years either. Men had stopped affecting her that much years ago. He's not 'men.' He's Rhys.

It took about a dozen of slow controlled breaths to calm herself - and she made him a tray and walked up to his bedroom.

Bruce Willis was once again running around on the screen, waving his gun around, pouting and squinting. Rhys sat, his lower half covered with the duvet, pillows tucked behind his back.

"I'm sorry," Viola said, settling the tray on the bedside table. "I could have phrased it better."

"Sure," he said, his eyes on his telly. How big is this thing? It takes the whole wall!

"Can you pause it for a second, please?" she said, and he picked up his phone, swiped, and pressed something on the screen.

Bruce Willis froze with his usual constipated expression on his face. Rhys turned to her.

"I was rude," she said. "I– You took me by surprise. I don't– react well to surprises. Or uncomfortable situations. Anything out of the boring, orderly ordinary makes me– defensive. I apologise."

"Apology accepted," he said with the same dark expression on his face.

"We're two adults," she said and gave him a forced smile. "Surely, we can get over this momentary lapse of judgement."

His left eyebrow jumped up.

"Lapse of judgement," he repeated slowly.

"Yes," she said. She needed to put what had just happened into the right terms. That was a good term. "You are unwell, and–"

"And what? It's just a kiss, Vi," he said with a shrug. "Not even, since you don't want to catch my lurgy."

"There's not such a thing as 'just a kiss' between exes," she said, and he barked a laugh.

"Sure," he said again and picked up his phone. "I say, you're overcomplicating it as usual."

Stop arguing with him. You're one step away from having a row with him. Just back off. If you don't engage, this won't escalate into anything more than a ridiculous... lapse of judgement from him.

"I overcomplicate things?" she repeated. And what does he mean by 'as usual?!' "You tried to kiss me," she pointed out.

"And you stopped me," he said. With another of his infuriating shrugs. "No harm done," he said sarcastically and resumed the film on his massive screen.

"Please, turn it off," she hissed.

Her voice was almost drowned by the noise of gun fire, but he heard and paused the video again.

"Yes?" he asked.

She suddenly couldn't remember what she was going to say, and she closed her mouth sharply.

"See? Nothing to worry about," he said. "I misjudged what you wanted, you set me straight. End of the conversation."

Just remind him to take his medication, say your polite goodbyes, turn around, and leave. It's Rhys Holyoake. He will never bring this up. Not even ten years can change that.

C'mon, Viola. Open your mouth and say, 'You should drink your tea before it gets cold,' and then say goodbye and go. It'll be all done and over with.

You'll just have to avoid him for a bit, but then the awkwardness will be gone.

"Rhys," she said.

He hummed, showing he was listening, and swiped his thumb across the screen. Bruce Willis disappeared, replaced by some sort of a home screen.

"I– I just–" You don't know what to say, Viola. How long has it been since you didn't know what to say? About ten years, probably.

He gave her an attentive look - and suddenly smiled widely.

"Do you want to watch a film?"

If it weren't for years of practising, her jaw would've slacked.

"Pardon?"

"Well, you aren't storming off, so I thought you might fancy staying and watching a film with me," he said and patted the bed near him.

Leave now. You'll make it times more complicated.

She slowly approached the bed, sat down on the edge, and then gingerly shifted closer to the middle.

"Die Hard?" he asked.

"The second one, please," she answered.

He chuckled and slid his finger on the screen of his mobile.