Viola finished packing her overnight bag and walked out of the room that would become her home for the foreseeable future. Dr. Fenton was in the kitchen, judging by clanking, a few thuds, and quietly mumbled swearings. Viola stuck her head in and smiled at him.

"I'm leaving," she said. "I think I'll take a cab to the Chickadee Flight. I don't want to drive. It seems to have started to snow."

"I'll drive you," he said, wiping his hands on his jeans.

"You really don't have to, Dr. Fenton," she said.

"Alan," he deadpanned.

"Pardon?" she asked.

"Call me Alan," he said. "We live together. And in seven days we'll be working side by side, sometimes seven days a week, considering how demanding the residents of the County of Fleckney are," he grumbled and ruffled his dark blond hair. "You should expect plenty of late nights and unfinished meals."

"I'm looking forward to them," Viola said in fake earnest, and he threw her a sardonic look. She pressed her lips, hiding a smile. "And yes, please, I'd love a lift to Fleckney Fields."

He nodded curtly and went to the hall to find his keys. Viola shook her head, chuckling. She found the man's grumpy disposition rather charming.

***

"How was Mable when you saw her?" he asked, carefully steering his Land Rover.

"Medically speaking," Viola said in a pointed tone. He looked at her askance, and she smirked. "She's receiving the best possible treatment."

"Do you always flatter your colleagues?" he asked.

She thought she saw the corners of his lips twitch, but something told her it would take much more than one silly joke to make the man smile.

"Hardly. Neither do I interfere even when it comes to the familiar patients," Viola said. "To be honest, I would say she's just– in low spirits. It's Winter, the holiday season is over. All her grand and great grandchildren left, and she's bored and lonely."

"Is that why you're going to stay with her?" he asked, throwing a look at her. "I don't mind you moving in my flat a week early, so you know. And all your belongings are already here."

"And I'm grateful," Viola said warmly. "I wasn't planning to stay with her, of course, but now that I think of it, it sounds lovely. I've always loved that cottage."

"And the company, I assume," he said.

Viola nodded. "She's always made sure I felt welcome in the Holyoake family."

"Your divorce from Rhys Holyoake happened before my time in Fleckney," he said, his eyes on the road, "but I've learnt the man well enough by now."

"Is there a question that's supposed to follow this statement of yours, Dr. Fenton?" Viola asked.

"No," he deadpanned.

"Good," she said firmly. "Because something tells me neither of us enjoys idle gossip," she drew out.

He glanced at her. Viola gave him a polite smile and looked outside. It was snowing heavily now. She'd always loved Fleckney in Winter. After her wedding to Rhys, they'd lived in Abernathy, renting a small flat, while he'd been finishing his degree, and afterwards when he'd started building his company. They'd visited Fleckney Fields, Lower Woulds, and Fleckney Woulds for Christmas and birthdays, though. Most Holyoakes had their birthdays in late Spring, it was a running joke in the family that the Holyoakes were especially libidinous around the Harvest Festival. She suddenly remembered how Rhys used to joke that pumpkins made them randy.

Fenton slowly drove into the village, and just a few minutes later he parked his car in the driveway of the Chickadee Flight Cottage.

"Thank you for the lift, Alan," Viola said.

"Give my regards to Mable," he said. "Give me a ring if you think she needs a visit - or a prescription." He gave her a pointed look. "If you feel I missed something."

"You need to start trusting me, Alan," Viola said softly. "I'm not staying with Mable Holyoake to check on how you treat her. I simply want to spend time with the woman."

He gave her another of his long looks. She shook her head and gave him a small wave of her hand.

"Good night, Alan."

She climbed out of the car, picked up her bag from the boot, and walked to the cottage.

Maisie was already waiting for her, pretty much in her coat. After thanking Viola another million times, she grabbed her bag and rushed out to her car. The woman had four daughters, Viola couldn't imagine how much she was needed at home.

Viola walked upstairs and put her bag in the same guest room where she'd always stayed with Rhys - and where she'd stayed a few months ago when the whole project of her moving to Fleckney Fields and becoming Dr. Fenton's partner in the surgery had been set in motion. She washed her hands in the en suite, and went in search of the mistress of the house.

Mable was in her bed, just as before, reading a book. She allowed Viola in and put the thick volume aside.

"And here you are," Mable said. "Looking as charming as ever. Not a hair out of place, as always, Viola."

"Thank you," Viola said and sat down on the edge of the bed. "How are you feeling today? Tut-tut," she said before the woman could answer. "No gruesome medical details. I'm not your doctor. Just give me a polite 'I'm good, thank you,' and we can forget all this nuisance."

Mable laughed. "Well, that's a refreshing attitude. Everyone seems to stick their noses in my test results and my liquid intake these days," she said.

Viola shrugged. "I'd rather learn about what you're reading these days, Mable. And perhaps you can tell me a few anecdotes about your many husbands," she said. "With supper preferably. I'm starving."

"Maisie had brought me up a tray already," Mable pointed at her half-eaten supper on the bedside table. "And it's Ulysses. It's the fourth time I'm rereading, and it's just as dull as the first time."

Viola laughed. "Will you come down?" she asked. "Perhaps, we can watch one of those clever black and white films of yours I never understood."

"Perhaps, tomorrow," Mable said and took off her reading glasses. "I'm quite exhausted. I've arranged a carer to come every morning for me," she said nonchalantly, and Viola gave her a bewildered look. Mable Holyoake could never stand strangers in her house! "Don't look so surprised, dear. I've invited you to stay as my guest, not my nurse. And I don't think I'll need this assistance for long, I'm feeling stronger every day."

"But you will ask for help if you need me, won't you?" Viola asked. "When the nurse isn't here. Please, don't hesitate."

"I am well enough to walk to my bathroom and to the kitchen, Viola," the woman said, her voice growing a bit annoyed. "It's just I would feel safer if there was a professional here when I'm taking a bath."

"So would I," Viola said. "Well, then, I'll leave you to your 'dear James.' And I will see you in the morning, then? What time do you normally get up?"

"Not earlier than nine," Mable said with a mildly terrified expression. "I bet you still wake up before the rooster crows, just as before, and proceed to torture your body."

"I do still go for runs," Viola said and chuckled. "Well, alright then, I won't bother you."

"And I expect that amazing coffee you used to make," Mable said, and Viola tsk-tsked.

"Only if it doesn't go against your doctor's orders."

Mable scoffed, "Dr. Fenton is a bore. And besides, I bet you still haven't treated him to that coffee. He'd be at your feet if you had."

"Who says he isn't?" Viola whispered, and saw the woman's eyes light up. Much better, Viola thought. Perhaps, that was the path to Mable Holyoake's recovery. "We are on a first name basis already," Viola said nonchalantly.

"Are you?" Mable asked greedily. "He's not known to allow that."

"He asked me to call him Alan," Viola answered. "And I have to say, 'Viola' sounds lovely in his accent."

"Oh my," Mable exclaimed. "You've changed, Viola Holyoake! Look at the vixen you've grown up to be! Where's the shy quiet girl I was introduced to fifteen years ago?"

Viola gave the woman a grin and rose.

"I'll see you tomorrow morning, Nana." She leaned and kissed the woman's cheek. "Sleep well."

***

The next morning, she woke up just as she always did: she simply opened her eyes and stared at the canopy above her bed. It was just after five, and she quickly got dressed in her running clothes and slipped out of her room. She had a quick peek into Mable's bedroom and saw the woman fast asleep, her chest rising in even, deep breaths. Viola locked the entrance door behind her - and ran.

She knew she wouldn't be able to get into the flow if she ran in the streets - familiar, full of memories, but obviously somewhat changed and exciting - so she quickly turned away from the road and ran down to the river. Soon, she'd forgotten where she was, focused on her breathing and steps. She decided she'd do an extra kilometre today, to compensate for the few days she'd missed while moving.

By the time she was back, the streets were full of life. A milkman's van passed her when she was running up to the Chickadee Flight Cottage. She didn't have time to wonder if it was still Mr. Pye who delivered milk in Fleckney these days, when the window of the van went down, and the very Irishman stuck his head out.

"Well, isn't this Viola Holyoake, as I live and breathe," he shouted and gave her an enthusiastic wave.

"Morning, Mr. Pye," she greeted him, slowing down.

"Visiting the lady?" he asked.

Viola smiled at him widely. "Yes, but I'm also moving to Fleckney Woulds. I'm taking over Dr. Singh's practice in Dr. Fenton's surgery."

"Really? Well, isn't this the most lovely news?" The milkman seemed sincerely happy. "The missus would be so happy to hear we get a lady doctor. As much as we loved Dr. Singh, it's just not the same, innit?"

Viola smiled even wider. "It's very good to see you, Mr. Pye."

"Oh what new, what news!" the Irishman exclaimed.

Viola smiled at her own thoughts as she walked into the cottage. In a few hours everyone in the county would know she was the new doctor in the surgery. She couldn't wish for a more efficient way to spread awareness and to promote her practice.

She took a quick hot shower and rummaged in her bag for loungewear. Mable Holyoake kept her cottage notoriously warm, and Viola decided a lace vest and a pair of silk culottes would be the best. She still put on a pair of matching fluffy sole socks, her feet were always cold, and she bounced down the stairs, her robe in her hand. She was right, the house was sweltering, and she threw the robe on one of the kitchen chairs.

She was filling the kettle when she heard the front door unlock and open. Viola froze. Who could possibly come into this cottage at this time of day, uninvited, and in possession of the key? She slowly put the kettle on the hob and turned to the door. If she knew someone besides Mable would see her, she surely wouldn't have gone for this revealing periwinkle-coloured outfit.

And then a man stepped into the kitchen, unzipping his parka, and pulling his scarf from around his neck with the other hand. He stopped in his tracks and stared at her flabbergasted. Viola's eyes ran him - from the disheveled coffee-coloured curls, with one silver strand on his left temple, down along his strong neck, his exceptionally wide shoulders, his massive torso, narrow hips, and his long sculpted legs in dark denim - and then she once again looked up and met his electric blue eyes.

"Morning, Rhys."