Tamsin looked in the mirror and threaded her fingers through her hair. She’d had her first really busy day at the club, teaching five hours back-to-back in the afternoon. Perhaps she should have picked another evening to have Diane over for dinner again, but the sensation she got in the pit of her stomach when she thought of Diane told her: no, tonight would do just fine.

She gave herself an encouraging smile, smoothed a stray strand of hair behind her ear, and nodded at herself. Eve’s pep talk before she’d left on Sunday evening still lingered. “Flirt with her,” her sister had said. “And see what happens. From what I’ve seen, Diane will be very receptive. The woman was practically speechless—stunned by your fine Foxley form—when we ran into her.”

Tamsin had been forced to agree. Diane had behaved a little bizarrely. It reminded her of the other day in her hallway, when, kind of out of the blue, Diane had turned around and kissed her on the cheek.

The bell rang and Tamsin straightened her spine. Bramble was at the front door before she reached it, her tail wagging enthusiastically—expressing perfectly how Tamsin was feeling inside.

Tamsin ushered Diane in and they exchanged quick kisses on the cheek.

“Did you know the village next to Tynebury has a gin distillery? Not one of those new hipster ones, but one that’s been there forever.” She presented Tamsin with a bottle. “I brought you a sampling of their finest.”

“You really shouldn’t have.” Tamsin took the bottle and, as she did, her finger slid against Diane’s for a split second.

“Well, I wasn’t going to arrive empty-handed, was I? You’re a client.” She sent Tamsin a smile. “And you know my hourly rate.”

As they walked into the living room, Tamsin secretly hoped she was a little more than a client. The way Diane had just smiled at her, she figured she most likely was.

Tamsin had suggested they enjoy their drinks on the patio. It was a lovely spring evening—one that made her glad she was now living in the countryside, even though she’d spent most of her day outside already. It seemed to her that, now that it was in ample supply, Tamsin couldn’t get enough of the fresh air and the endless buoyant greenery of Tynebury.

“Next time, you should really come to my house,” Diane said, as she held up her gin and tonic. “That’s twice you’ve invited me and I haven’t returned the favour. That simply will not do.”

“I very much look forward to seeing your house.” Tamsin was glad for the smooth, cool liquid sliding down her throat when she drank. It offered her a much-needed moment of calm.

“It’s a deal, then. Let’s set it up soon.” Diane’s gaze lingered on hers, her blue eyes locking on Tamsin’s over the rim of her cocktail glass. “Your sister seems like a lovely woman.” Diane changed the subject and, with that, looked away.

“We’re twins so I can’t argue with that.”

Diane arched up her eyebrows. “Really?”

“You couldn’t tell?”

“You look alike, but I wouldn’t have pegged you for twins.”

“I know I look at least ten years younger than Eve. It’s all that golf. Eve’s cooped up inside most of the day. It makes all the difference.”

“What does she do?”

“She illustrates books. Mainly children’s books, although she’s done a number of non-fiction ones as well.”

“Interesting.” Diane cocked her head. “Neither one of you has a traditional profession. No boring accountants in your family.”

“My mother was a risk analyst for an insurance company, and that always seemed dreadfully boring to me.”

Diane didn’t say anything. The use of the word was when Tamsin mentioned her mother had the habit of halting a conversation.

“She died of cancer eight years ago,” Tamsin filled the silence. “A tumour on her spine. One day, she had no idea it was there. The next day, she was told she only had a few months to live.”

“I’m so sorry,” Diane said, her voice warm.

Tamsin drank so she didn’t have to speak for a while. Over the years, she’d tried to steel herself to handle the inevitable moments her mother popped up in conversation, but it had never quite worked.

“My father’s a furniture maker. Bring the man a piece of wood and he’ll make you a chair out of it. At the very least.” Tamsin smiled at the thought of her dad.

“That’s a very artistic family you have.” Diane’s eyes had narrowed. “Did they, um, take it well when you… came out of the closet?”

“I can’t complain.” Tamsin shrugged. “I think they’d guessed already, but it was still an adjustment when I actually said it out loud for the first time. But it was never too big a deal.” Tamsin’s coming out was long behind her and she barely thought of it. Having a parent die had changed her family’s history and her telling them that she was a lesbian had become one of those small, almost insignificant things that had once occurred but didn’t raise any more eyebrows. “How about Isabelle? How did she react when her son came out?”

Diane chuckled. “You can never tell Rob this, of course, but I knew he was gay long before he did. Isabelle told me of her suspicions when he was only twelve or thirteen, I think. So it was hardly a shock when he did finally tell her.”

“She didn’t have any trouble accepting it?” Tamsin inquired.

“Not that I know of and I’ve known Isabelle all my life. We both grew up here. Isabelle’s husband took a bit longer to come around, if I remember correctly, but being gay is… almost ordinary these days, isn’t it?”

Tamsin drew up her eyebrows. “Almost ordinary?”

“As in that it doesn’t make that much difference.” Diane’s cheeks grew pink. She grabbed her glass off the table and seemed to hide her face behind it.

“Speaking from personal experience, I can tell you that to many people it still makes a big difference. And I’ve been”—she made air quotes with her fingers—“‘lucky’, I guess. There’s no such thing as true equality yet. That will take a few more generations of increasingly open-minded people, but we’ll get there in the end.” Tamsin didn’t much feel like getting too political. She did her best not to be offended by Diane’s words, who was obviously regretting them, what with the way she was knocking back the rest of her cocktail, her glance skittering from here to there.

“I didn’t mean to imply anything,” Diane said after she’d taken a breath. “I do hope you haven’t experienced any discrimination in Tynebury.”

“Not that I’m aware of, although I’m sure my sexual orientation has been discussed behind my back.”

Diane put her glass down again. “Truthfully,” she tilted her head slightly, “yes, it has been talked about. When a stranger moves into the village, tongues will invariably wag.”

“It’s to be expected.” Tamsin emptied her drink. “Shall we get the dull part over with and have a look at my accounts before we eat?”

“Gladly.” Diane seemed relieved.

Tamsin grinned at her, wanting Diane to feel comfortable. After all, Tamsin had been having conversations like this all of her life and would probably keep on having them for as long as she lived. For Diane, things were probably a little different.

A warm glow spread through Tamsin’s core as she escorted Diane inside.

After a long day on the golf course, Tamsin had kept the meal simple and had grilled chicken and asparagus. Yet, Diane had savoured every bite of the dish as though it was a Michelin-starred offering.

“That was one of the things that threw me the most after the divorce,” Diane said. “Having to cook for one.” She shook her head. “I always got my portions wrong, as though simply cutting the amount of ingredients in half was impossible.” She smiled at Tamsin. “It’ll be a delight to cook for you. Shall we say next weekend?”

“Sure. I have to go to London on Friday for a big family dinner, but I can do Saturday or Sunday.” Tamsin had to remind herself that, in her head, this was a date. And as far as dates went, to have the next one lined up already before the end of the first, was a definite success. The only problem, of course, was that Diane might not see it as a date at all, but simply as an opportunity to thank Tamsin for her hospitality—and the pleasure of cooking for two instead of one.

“It’s a date,” Diane said then.

Tamsin gave herself an imaginary high-five. “Can I ask you a personal question?”

“I think we’ve reached that stage.” Diane sipped from her water. She’d barely touched the white wine Tamsin had served with dinner, claiming the gin had gone straight to her head. Tamsin had followed her example and drank mainly water. It was a good opportunity to gauge her feelings for Diane without the effects of alcohol.

“Since Lawrence, have you never got involved with anyone else?”

Diane pursed her lips, then shook her head. “You may have noticed that single men of a certain age are in short supply. To put it really bluntly, members of the opposite sex seem to kick the bucket much earlier than us. Add to that the cliché males of the species who, once in the throes of middle age, leave their spouse for a younger model, and it’s the classic example of a scarcity situation.” She chuckled. “Every single time a man becomes a widower, I’ve seen him snapped up quick as lightning.” She sighed theatrically. “It’s truly a sight to behold, the way some of my friends behave. After a certain age, when it comes to things like that, all sense of decorum just seems to disappear.”

Tamsin couldn’t help but chuckle. “Now that you mention it. I do remember an instance when one of the male members of my previous club lost his wife… The poor guy was all but swarmed every time he showed up.”

“I bet he didn’t remain single for very long,” Diane said wistfully. “Just another example of the great inequality between men and women.”

“That’s at least one advantage of being a lesbian then,” Tamsin said. “The war between the sexes has always completely passed me by.”

“There’s definitely something to be said for that.” Diane shot her a smile that Tamsin couldn’t quite decipher. It was different to her ordinary, full-wattage smile and was unaccompanied by her usual hooting laugh.

Eve’s words rang in her ears. Flirt a little.

“Have you heard of the term latebian?” Tamsin asked. “Some claim that the shortage of men of a certain age may very well have something to do with it, although, I for one, refuse to believe that.”

Diane’s cheeks grew pink again. “I—er, as a matter of fact, I am familiar with that word.”

“Then you know what I’m getting at.” Tamsin looked Diane straight in the eye.

Despite her reddening cheeks, Diane’s returning stare didn’t waver. “I’m not sure that I do.”

Now or never, Tamsin thought. The moment had been brewing for a while, and if she didn’t seize it now, she feared she might never. She rose from her chair and said, “Stay right where you are.” She walked over to Diane, looked her in the eye again, relished the sparkling, delicious heat that swarmed through her body, and leaned in.