She always loved driving with Rhys. She might have been the only one, though. He had no respect for speed limits and no patience for other drivers. Nonetheless, she felt safe in his massive pickup trucks, knowing he was in full control of his vehicle, his long-fingers hands relaxed on the wheel. Just as before, the inside of his truck was clean- he kept his car much tidier than his home - and smelled of his cologne. She climbed up and in, and heard a quiet chuckle behind her.

"If you ask me if I need a ladder, I'll buy crisps at a petrol station and will drop crumbs all over your truck," she grumbled.

She could see he was still laughing, walking around his truck after he closed the door behind her. She buckled the seat belt and looked outside. By lunch time, everyone in Fleckney Woulds would know she left in his car. On her birthday. With flowers. It probably would look like they were from him. Viola pressed her forehead to the cold window glass. Somehow she couldn't care less. Somehow it just didn't hurt as much as it always did on this day - and she was grateful for his presence.

He got in and started the car. She assumed he remembered where to go. He'd been at both their funerals.

When her Da had passed away, peacefully, in his sleep, in the nursing home, she'd gotten a call from Rhys. She'd been in contact with Maisie, and allowed Maisie to disclose it. He'd asked if she wanted to see him at the funeral - and she'd been surprised to say 'yes.' At the time she'd been still married to Hani. Rhys had approached them once at the cemetery and hadn't stayed for the wake.

When her Mum had died two years later, she'd already divorced Hani. He'd been in Yemen then, with MSF, and she'd once again allowed Maisie to tell Rhys. He'd come - and had held her while she'd cried into his jacket at the cemetery. He'd driven her to her flat after the wake - and that was the last time she'd seen him before he'd walked onto her in her lingerie in Nana's kitchen.

"Rhys, why are you taking me to my parents' graves?" she asked, without turning away from the window. The landscape outside was grey and joyless.

"Because you asked me to," he said in a confused tone. "What do you mean?"

"Why show up at my door? On my birthday? You surely didn't expect me to be in a welcoming mood," she said, still without facing him.

"I thought you'd want to get away," he repeated what he'd said earlier.

"It's always so simple in your mind," she grumbled.

"It never is in yours," he quipped back.

She threw him a side glance and saw a small smile on his lips.

"You aren't answering my questions," she said.

"I am," he said. "You just don't like the answers."

She remembered that! He tended to answer questions directly, and she'd thought then, ten and more years ago, that he'd been purposefully obtuse, evasive, ignoring the subtext. And now she suddenly thought that perhaps, it was just that simple in his mind.

She glanced at her watch. It was only nine o'clock, but she already felt tired. The day weighed on her, and she let it, watching villages and bare Winter groves rush by.

"Do you want to stop somewhere?" he asked in about half an hour. "For coffee? Or food?"

"Yeah, sure," she said bleakly.

"I know just the place," he answered.

They drove in silence for another twenty minutes, and then he got off the motorway, into a small village, and parked his truck in front of cosy looking tearooms. She waited for him to open the door for her and hopped out.

When they came in, it turned out they were the only customers. They took a table by the window, and Viola ordered a coffee without even looking at the menu. While they waited for his brekkie, she watched a man walk his dog in a small park across the street.

"So, how are you settling in?" he asked, when a plate with full English appeared in front of him. "In Fleckney?"

"It's going very well," she said and sipped her coffee. "I ran into Mrs. Groggin this morning. They're asking me to help out with the dance. I agreed, of course."

"You've always liked the Festival," he said, and she nodded.

"What are you in charge of?" she asked.

"We're bringing the rides from the next county, those merry-go-rounds, and teacup things for the little'uns. I have the transport for it," he said, sending a piece of bacon in his mouth. "And the supplies for Miss Rosa's public bake. She also makes me participate in it. Someone has to botch it up and look like an idiot," he added with a chuckle.

She'd forgotten the laughing lines in the corners of his eyes. Viola lifted the coffee cup to her lips.

"I still don't get it," he said. "Why are you here?"

"You were hungry," she said, and then laughed. She'd just done what she'd been accusing him of for years: she'd answered the question, purposefully disregarding possible context. "Where 'here,' Rhys?" she asked softly.

"Back in Fleckney. Nana said you were a doctor in an A&E. Isn't it like special forces for doctors?" he asked.

He chewed a slice of black pudding. It was surprising how much she noticed his movements all of the sudden. Must the beard. And you touched it, and now you can't stop thinking about his jaw moving under it. Maybe going with him wasn't such a good idea, Viola.

"It is, I suppose," she said with another laugh. "And I was good."

"Of course you were," he said and shrugged. That felt nice to hear. "So, why are you a doctor in a village surgery? It's probably less money, so no fame or fortune. Why aren't you in London?" He gave her a cheeky look. "Or Cairo?"

"Ah," she said and chuckled. "That was never in the books for me."

She finished her coffee, and a waiter showed up with the carafe. Rhys watched the drink pour in her cup, while she watched him.

"I just don't want to be in the 'special forces,'" Viola said when they were alone again. "Hani is in MSF, Doctors Without Borders. He always wanted that. And when we were in med school, so did I. But after a few years in A&E, I realised it wasn't for me. I know I don't seem like one, but I suppose I'm a countryside sort of person."

"You definitely don't look the part," he said with a chuckle. "But I know better. I assume you still have a drawer of wool socks and those shawls you used to love somewhere. That didn't change, did it?"

Viola laughed and dropped her eyes. "No, that didn't change. I like to be cosy at home."

"Hey, I'm not judging," he murmured.

She looked up at him, and saw a tender smile on his lips.

"Rhys, what are you doing?" she asked. She suddenly felt endlessly vulnerable - and she let him see how affected she was. "I think I just forgot how to talk to you, and how to ask you so you understand my question, but–"

"I understand your question," he interrupted.

"So, why are you taking me for a drive on my birthday?" she asked.

He chuckled and gave her a small shake of his head.

"Oh Vi," he murmured. He then met her eyes directly and smiled at her. "Because I like you, and I wanted to spend a day with you. And because you hate your birthdays."

"You– like me," she repeated slowly. "As in, you fancy me," she said with a disbelieving laugh.

"Yeah, is it that hard to imagine?"

They both laughed.

"No, it's not," she said. "Except it's– a bit odd, isn't it?"

"Why would it be?" he asked and picked up his coffee.

He drank, and then their eyes met again over the rim of his cup.

"It's a bit late for that," she said.

"Or early," he added, and they once again started laughing. "It's not that complicated, Vi. I wanted to spend some time with you. Get to know each other, you know?"

"You know me," she exclaimed. "Better than– most, I'd say. There are maybe three people in this world who know me at all, to think of it."

"How's Yolanda doing these days?" he asked.

"She's good. She'll come to visit for a few days during the festival," Viola answered and gave him a look over. "So, going back to the previous point–"

He gave her an innocent questioning look.

"Rhys!"

"What?" He emitted a rumbly laugh. "It's just it, Vi. I fancy you. You can say 'no,' and I'll back off. Or you can let me–" He trailed away and made a vague gesture in the air.

"Let you– what?!" she asked in shock. By now, she'd given up on hiding how flabbergasted she felt.

"I don't know– try again?" he said with a shrug.

"Why would I?" she said, taken somewhat aback by his offhand tone.

"I don't know. I hoped you might want to. You didn't tell me to sod off after I tried to kiss you," he continued in the same calm manner. "You stayed and watched Die Hard with me."

Viola frowned. She still didn't know why she'd stayed then. There was just something so comforting about being around him. She might have forgotten a lot about being with him - but she was certain she hadn't felt like that then. These days, an uncharacteristic peace filled her ever so busy mind around him.

"Am I being weighed and evaluated in that giant brain of yours right now?" he asked with a chortle and sipped his coffee.

"Stop flirting with me. It makes it hard to think," she blurted out, and he guffawed.

"Good," he said and put down his cup. "C'mon, Vi, it's not that hard. Do you want me or not?"

"Well, that I can't answer!" she cried out. "Not yet anyway! How do I know? All things considered, I just– met you in a way! And– I just–"

She realised she was mumbling! And she never mumbled! She closed her mouth sharply and glared at him. He gave her a warm amused look. She exhaled noisily.

"I'm not making the same mistake again," she said firmly. He didn't interrupt, just listened to her attentively. "Last time, I just– You just swept me off my feet. I was young, and insecure, and you were–" She saw him smirk, and she continued, "You were a lot. And it didn't even come to my mind to question it then. You picked me, and I just went with it. I just– I fell in love with you, right away," she said and looked in the distance, suddenly overwhelmed by the memories. "I didn't even know you, but I just had no choice. It just felt– right. But–" She faced him again. He was frowning too now, but it wasn't a dark expression. "I loved you, but I loved you first and then I learnt what you were as a person. And don't get me wrong," she said with a shaky laugh, "I didn't dislike what I discovered. I always thought you were the best of men. It's learning to live with you that was the problem. And I don't want to go through it again."

The next emotion that came was sharp fear and embarrassment. She'd just opened up to him, in the middle of some random tearooms, just blabbed everything! How did that happen? How did it go from light flirting to her talking about love?

"You don't want to live with me again," he said in a low voice.

"No! No! That's not what I meant," she rushed to explain. "I just don't want to go in blind. You asked me if I wanted you. And... I don't know! I literally don't know you," she said and gave him a soft smile. "I'm sure some of you is the same as ten years ago, but we both have changed so much. You don't know me either! What if you don't like how I changed? I'm much less... pleasant these days."

He chuckled and gave her a sardonic look from under a raised eyebrow.

"That much I gathered," he said.

"See? It's been so long, Rhys," she said. The anxious feeling was stepping back, and her throat didn't feel constricted anymore. "What if we go on a first date, and you don't feel like we should– What did you say then? Something so romantic," she drew out faking pensiveness. He snorted. "Ah right," she said, widening her eyes at him. "You said, 'How'bout we make it permanent, babe?'"

"I never called you 'babe,'" he said, the corners of his lips pressed in a hidden grin.

"No, no, I distinctly remember a 'babe,'" she said.

She was lying - but flirting with him felt so easy! And Viola didn't flirt!

"Alright, then," he said after he was done laughing. "That's what we're going to do. We're going to go on that first date, and then I'll let you know if I still feel like–"

"Calling me 'babe?'" Viola couldn't help but cut in, and he barked a laugh.

"Yes. So, how about that? Let's have dinner," he said and beckoned their waiter. "And in the spirit of this new mature approach of yours, how about you take till the end of today to see if you want to have dinner with me?"

"Oh dear," she said, pulling out her wallet. "Who are you, and what have you done to Rhys Holyoake?"

A low velvet chuckle in his throat was exactly the reaction she was aiming for.