Jemima’s texts were becoming more frequent and more terse; every time Olivia read one, she wanted to crush her phone.

Apparently, people were starting to wonder where she’d disappeared to. Olivia wished she had her horse with her — a ride would do wonders for her stress levels.

She knew Jemima would find it hard to believe that Olivia would announce her engagement to the world and then run out on it, but Olivia wasn’t the woman she’d been when they’d gone out in their early 20s. Then, she’d been christened the Party Princess by the tabloids, and when she was 22, marrying Jemima Bradbury wouldn’t have been such a terrible proposition. After all, she had the looks, which was all Olivia had cared about. However, over a decade later, things had changed, but even Olivia knew wriggling out of a royal romance the press were already speculating over wouldn’t be so easy. The likely guests and possible locations were already being debated daily.

She’d been on the Cornish coast for two weeks — her allotted time — but her father had approved seven more days, much to her mother’s chagrin. According to a text from her sister, Grandma had waded in on Olivia’s behalf, for which she was thankful. Her grandmother, just like her father, always had her back.

Now she had an extra seven days, she was determined to make the most of them. Namely, she was going to eat in Rosie’s cafe every day, and if she was lucky, time her visits to coincide with Rosie’s breaks so they could sit and chat. Because in her time here, seeing Rosie and eating her delicious food had quickly become the highlight of Olivia’s day.

Somehow, in Rosie’s presence, she relaxed and could be herself — or at least, Charlie. She chatted freely, glossing over the finer details of her life, happy to listen to Rosie’s news. She’d met Rosie’s Aunt Hilary, her sister Paige and she was warmed by their connection, the easy bond they all shared. Rosie’s parents were no longer here, and she hadn’t probed for details, sensing it was a sensitive subject. But she knew now that the cafe was named after them, and she knew their daughter was a woman she wanted to be around. Rosie was everything Jemima was not: funny, plucky, real. And also, as luck would have it, gay. With every passing day Olivia was dreading leaving this reality and heading back to her royal bubble.

This was brought home to her this morning as she strolled along the Cornish clifftops again, the sea a shimmering carpet of blue to her left. The salty air tickled her nose, the sun drenched her back and as she cast a glance up the incline, she saw a mass of gravestones lined up to her right; neat rows of local history, all with a prime sea view. She bit her lip and took a deep breath; cemeteries always had a pull for her, reading the story of other people’s lives. But since Afghanistan and the many friends she’d lost there, they held extra meaning. She’d avoided going in so far, but today, her feet took her there.

The first stone she came across was for a woman named Eleanor, who’d only made it to 23, hardly any age. The next belonged to Arthur Brown, who’d lived till 54, dying in 1926. It was only when she cast her gaze along the row that she noticed a familiar figure sat on the side of a raised white marble stone, arranging flowers on the well-kept plot.

Rosie.

It was clearly a private moment, so Olivia approached with caution, stuffing her hands in the pockets of her skinny jeans. When she was in earshot, she went to say something; however, clearly sensing someone nearby, Rosie turned before she got any words out.

Seeing her, she dropped the yellow rose she was holding and stood, brushing down the front of her red trousers, straightening her sky-blue T-shirt that showcased her full breasts perfectly.

Olivia blinked, pushed that thought aside and gave Rosie a smile. “Sorry, I was just having a look around the place — I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

Rosie sniffed and wiped her eyes. “You didn’t.” She shook her head slowly, letting her eyelids flicker shut. “It’s just… this is my parents’ grave. And today is the eighth anniversary of their death.” She sighed. “This time of year is always hard I guess.” She blew out a long breath and rubbed her hands together. “But I was just saying goodbye, so.” She indicated back towards the sea. “Walk with me?”

Olivia nodded. “Love to.” She waited for Rosie to fall into step beside her, and they walked without talking for a few moments.

“I’m really sorry about your parents.” She’d seen first-hand what grief could do to people; eight years was no time at all. “How did it happen, if it’s not too intrusive of me to ask?”

Rosie’s mouth twitched, but she shook her head. “No, it’s okay.” She paused. “They died in a plane crash. They were coming back from Venice, celebrating their silver wedding. It was a special place for them — they went on honeymoon there, too.”

She gave a tiny shrug, and Olivia had an urge to take her in her arms, to tell her everything would be all right. She’d only known her two weeks, but somehow, making sure Rosie was all right had worked its way into her list of top priorities. The world had been unfair to Rosie, that much was clear, and Olivia wanted to make sure that from here on in, Rosie had a smooth ride.

“Most of the time I think I’m pretty sorted about it, but sometimes, it overwhelms me.” She put her hands in her pockets, mimicking Olivia’s stance. “Normally not on the anniversary, but sometimes in the cafe when someone orders a Cornish pasty, which our chef makes to my mum’s exact recipe.” She smiled, turning back to the grave. “Actually, Gina’s are probably better,” she whispered, “but I can’t let Mum know. I already go to their grave with all my other worries, she doesn’t need to know that.”

Olivia furrowed her brow. “I’ll have to try one.” She’d avoided pastry items so far, but that was a recommendation she couldn’t refuse.

Rosie brushed her arm as she replied. “You must.”

At her touch, something fluttered against Olivia’s ribcage. She hunched her shoulders, sinking her hands deeper into her pockets, warmth tip-toeing down her spine.

They were back on the coastal path now. Daisies lined the route and the waves crashed on the rocks below. Olivia knew from walking this path every day this week that in five minutes they’d be looking down on a golden sandy cove, known only to locals. The tourist crowds preferred the bigger stretches of sand with working loos and ice creams within easy reach.

“Your other worries?” Olivia said. “I thought living here meant you had no worries, a simpler life.” She swept her hand through the air. “Look at it: it’s one of the most idyllic places in the world.”

Rosie scoffed as she kicked a stone and they watched it scuttle off the clifftop, falling to certain death.

“Don’t believe everything you see.” She ran a hand through her smudged blonde hair, her forearm flexing as she did. “Where do you want me to start? My chef might be deported, and I might have to sell the cafe soon because it’s just not a viable business anymore. And if that happens, that’s the last bit of their legacy gone. Mark & Maude’s has been in Otter Bay since before I was born.”

They came to a gnarled wooden bench just before the path that led down to the cove, and Olivia pointed at it. “Wanna sit?”

“Sure.” Once there, Rosie threw up her hands and gave her a determined grin. “You know what, don’t listen to me — life’s not all bad, I’m just having a rotten day.”

“Understandably.” Olivia might not like her family much right now, but at least they were still around to annoy her.

“Yeah, but I’m getting melancholy on my day off, and you’re on holiday, you don’t need me being a moaning Minnie. I’ve got my health, I’ve got Paige and Hilary, and I’ve got a bucketful of happy memories of Mum and Dad — and not everyone can say that, can they?”

Olivia swallowed down hard: no, they certainly couldn’t. “For what it’s worth, I think you’re doing wonderfully.”

“You’re only saying that’s because otherwise you would have starved for the past two weeks.”

She had her there. “I admit, your food is fabulous, but the company’s not bad, either.”

Rosie eyed her, a blush invading her cheeks. She looked adorable. “I’ve enjoyed you coming in, too,” she said, her gaze flicking to the ground, then back up to meet Olivia’s gaze.

Olivia swallowed hard as something shifted inside.

“And I love how enthusiastic you are about my hometown. Makes me appreciate it that little bit more.”

Olivia dragged her eyes from Rosie, and across the sea in front of them. “You’re lucky to live here. I travel all over with my work, but sometimes I forget that the best places are on our doorstep.”

“What is it you do? You never said.”

Olivia cleared her throat, avoiding eye contact. “PR, marketing — very dull, big family business. I used to be in the army, so I’ve been to places a little off the tourist map, too.”

Rosie gave her a wistful smile. “I had plans to travel, too, after uni — but then life threw me a curveball. But one day, I’ll make it happen.” She paused. “For now, let me live vicariously through you. Where have you been?”

Olivia’s mind flicked through her internal photo album of the places she’d travelled. “All over — Africa, Asia, Australia, America. I loved Venice, too, but Rome is my all-time favourite city.”

Rosie turned her body to her. “Wow, you really have been all over the world. I’ve only ever been to France and Spain. I’m officially jealous.”

“You’re not scared of flying since what happened to your parents?”

Rosie’s shake of the head was definite. “If anything, it’s made me want to travel more, seize life. My parents loved to travel, and they’d want me to do the same. Paige is off to university this year, so I won’t have as many ties anymore. The only trouble is, I don’t have the money to do it.” She paused. “But, like I said, one day I’ll have enough money and time to do it properly. Or maybe I’ll meet a rich woman who’ll sweep me off my feet and make it happen. I’d be okay with either one.”

Olivia squashed down an impulse to volunteer her services on the spot, but it wasn’t easy. Rosie’s smile was something she’d give in to any time, any day.

Rosie gave a sigh, then jumped to her feet, clapping her hands. “Enough sitting around here. Do you have plans today?”

Olivia stood up, splaying her hands. “Absolutely none.”

“You wanna spend it on the beach with me?”

“I’d love to.” She resisted telling Rosie there’s nothing she’d love more. She didn’t want to over-egg the pudding.

“Correct answer.” Rosie took her hand, nodding at the slope leading down to the sandy cove to their right. “Race you. Last one down there buys dinner later.” She dropped Olivia’s hand, gave her a piercing smile that lit up her whole face, and took off, her white Converse kicking up sand as they went.

Olivia hesitated, then broke into a sprint, running after Rosie, the wind whistling past her ears, a grin splitting her face.

Ahead, Rosie had already disappeared over the top of the slope and began to scream as she ran down the hill, arms above her head, her laughter puncturing the air. As gravity took over and Olivia found herself being swept towards the beach, she began to do the same, pure exhilaration coursing through her veins. Sunshine kissed her face as the grassy slopes either side of her rolled by, and at the bottom, Rosie had her arms outstretched on either side of her, as if she were flying.

Olivia mimicked the action as she came in to land. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d run down a hill with carefree abandon like this. It was wild, freeing, and everything her mother would hate, which made it taste even sweeter.

Her breath caught in her chest. She neared the bottom where the path became sandier and her foot caught on something hard. She stumbled, sailing through the air and crashing into Rosie. They both let out a shriek as momentum sent them tumbling to the sand, Olivia landing with a dull thud on top of her.

Time stood still as Olivia soaked in the delicious pressure of their bodies moulded together, her pulse ticking upwards at Olympic pace. For a brief moment, the sea receded and the sun dialled down, and it was just the two of them, together as one.

But then reality swept back in as Rosie let out a groan underneath her.

Olivia pushed herself off, staring down, panic oozing through her. “Are you okay?” She reached out but didn’t know where to put her hand, leaving it hovering over Rosie’s shoulder. “Are you hurt?”

Rosie unscrewed her face and cracked open an eye. She clutched her ribs, a smile creeping onto her face. “I’ll live, no thanks to you.”

Olivia smiled and sat up, before helping Rosie to do the same. When she put a hand on the base of Rosie’s spine it connected with bare skin where her T-shirt had ridden up. They both stilled, gazes locking together.

Olivia didn’t move her hand and Rosie didn’t break her stare.

Olivia held her breath; in that moment, she knew it wasn’t just her who’d been thinking about this. It wasn’t just her whose life had, over the past two weeks, tentatively peeked around the corner for another option.

Rosie’s heated stare, focussed only on her, told her she had, too.

That thought sent Olivia into equal measures of rapture and panic.

Eventually, after several long moments, Rosie cleared her throat. “I know I said I wanted to be swept off my feet, but this is taking it a little far, don’t you think?”