How To Mend A Broken Heart. Amy Andrews

nodded. ‘Yes.’

      They were standing a couple of metres apart and Fletch took a step towards her as a well of gratitude rising inside him propelled him forward. In the old days he would have swept her into his arms. ‘I know this is a big ask, Tess …’

      Tess shook her head. If he truly knew, he wouldn’t have asked. ‘You have no idea, Fletch.’

      Just looking at his face caused her chest to ache. It took her back to times she’d spent ten years trying to forget. Ryan had looked so like his father it had been ridiculous. He took another step towards her but she held up her hand to ward him off.

      Fletch stopped. ‘You think this is any easier for me?’ he asked.

      Tess dropped her gaze at the honesty in his. It was a horrible situation for them both. ‘What time do you want me here in the mornings?’

      Tess had no idea where she was going to stay for the next couple of months but she’d figure it out. In the interim she could extend her stay at the hotel. But there was no way her budget could stretch to such luxury for more than a week.

      Fletch frowned. ‘I don’t just want you here in the mornings, Tess, I want you here twenty-four seven.’

      Tess’s gaze flew back to his face. ‘What?’ Her heartbeat kicked up a notch as his meaning sank in.

      ‘Mum’s wandering more during the night and can become quite agitated when you try and get her back to bed. She’s particularly disorientated when she wakes up in the morning since moving from Trish’s. She sees me and the first person she asks for in the morning or if she wakes at night is you. It’ll be good for her to have you right there when she’s so distressed.’

      Tess held his gaze. ‘And when I go?’

      Fletch had always believed in not borrowing trouble. He had it covered for the next two months and that was all he was worried about for now. ‘We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it,’ he said, his expression grim.

      ‘Your mother’s condition needs a little more forward planning than that,’ she said waspishly.

      Dealing with families of dementia sufferers, Tess knew that those who had planned for every contingency coped better with the curve balls the condition threw them.

      Fletch nodded. He couldn’t agree more. ‘Another reason why I need you here. Forward planning.’ He looked into her shuttered gaze. ‘It makes sense for you to stay here, Tess. And where are you going to find short-term accommodation at such late notice?’

      Anywhere but here. ‘I have friends in Brisbane …’

      ‘Do you? Do you really, Tess? Kept in contact with the old crowd, have you?’

      Tess broke eye contact. He knew she’d severed all links when she’d moved overseas. Before that even, when concerned friends had been too much for her to handle. She’d withdrawn from all her support groups, from her life really, as grief had consumed her utterly.

      ‘I can’t pretend happy families with you, Fletch,’ she said, the marble surface of the kitchen bench cold beneath her hand. ‘Too much has happened. Living with you again … it’ll bring too much back.’

      Fletch nodded. He knew that. And after only a couple of hours in her company he knew it would be harder than he’d originally thought. But sometimes the greatest gain came at the greatest cost. Ten years ago she’d shut down, shut him out—shut the world out—and he’d let her. With her here and committed to the task she wasn’t running away any more and maybe, just maybe, they could face head-on what they hadn’t been able to a decade ago.

      ‘You think it’s going to matter where you lay your hat each night,’ he asked her downcast head, ‘when we’ll be seeing each other day in and day out?’

      Tess knew he was right. It was going to be difficult whether she stayed here or not.