"We most certainly are not!" she exclaimed in indignation.

"Are we not? Pity," he deadpanned. He suddenly leaned to her, making her almost jump up, and picked up the tray from her lap. "Would you like more tea?"

"No," she hissed, but of course had to add, "thank you." She cleared her throat. "Rhys, it's rather late, and I don't want to make it any more awkward between you and Alan, so–"

"It's not awkward," he stated, once again in the same infuriating assured tone of his. He stood up and gave her a look from under a raised eyebrow. "It's not like you're married to him."

"Neither am I married to you!"

He was driving her mad! How else could one explain this sudden childish mulishness of hers?!

"Not entirely, no," he said with a lopsided smirk. The audacity of the man!

"Not at all!" she hissed. Stop arguing with him!

"I'll make you more tea in a thermos, for later," he said and left the room, picking up his tray and other dishes on his way.

By the time he was back, she'd managed to gather her thoughts. She knew him well after all. Had known him well, to be precise. He set a thermos on the floor near her and looked down at her.

"Could you please sit for a moment?" she said in a level tone, and pointed at her bed with her eyes.

He chuckled, shook his head slightly, but obeyed.

"Yes?" he drew out because she was still silent.

"I think we need to set some–" She wanted to say 'rules,' but suddenly remembered how he used to tease her and call this tone of her 'professorial.' "Boundaries," she said, softening her tone. "I think it would be wise to treat our relationship as a new one. Let's just put all our past aside - and have dinner. It'll be our first date, and that will be the level of familiarity we will have."

His left eyebrow jumped up sardonically.

"I'm grateful that you were here, and helped me out," she said, "but I feel it threw our dynamic off."

He tilted his head, and she could see he was trying not to smile. She suppressed her rising irritation. She needed to take the situation under control!

"Alright," he said with a nod.

"Alright?" She as much as squinted in suspicion. It can't possibly be that easy!

"Yes, we'll do it your way," he said. "If that's what makes you happy, we'll start from scratch. But," he added, and she tensed. "I would still need you to tell me what I used to do wrong," he continued. "What's the point of bollocksing our relationship again if I can avoid it, yeah? Just give me the list."

"The... list?" Viola asked, staring at him.

"Yeah, the list of things that cheese you off," he answered lightly and grinned. "Leaving clothes on the floor and dishes everywhere. Saying hurtful things," he started listing, curling his fingers. "Being closed off, right?" He curled another of his long digits. "Hungry grumpiness," he continued. "I'll give you that, it was daft. What else?"

"You're not serious!" she exclaimed.

"I am serious," he said. "I want to make it work."

"But– This makes no sense!" Her voice was rising. "You can't just 'stop saying hurtful things.'" She almost gestured bunny years in the air. "I'm sure if you knew that these statements of yours were hurtful, you wouldn't say these things. That's just what you're like! And–"

"And people don't change, right?" he offered her the continuation of her sentence. "I can. I will."

It's fascinating how after all these years his level of confidence can still boggle one's mind!

Viola opened her mouth, closed it, and then opened it again, "I have nothing to answer to this."

"You're tired, love," he said sympathetically, got up, and then leaned in and kissed the top of her head. "Rest. And let me know if you need anything." She saw a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. "Not because we're dating, since we still haven't had our first date - but because I'm in no danger of getting sick, unlike your other fellows."

What 'other fellows?!'

"Pardon?"

Viola watching him pick up his jacket from the floor and pull it on.

"Let me know if I need to change the reservation for our dinner," he said, checking his phone. "I've got a table for 6 o'clock on Saturday, but if you aren't well yet, we'll postpone."

And with a jolly 'Cheers,' he was gone. Viola pressed her hand to her forehead, groaned, and decided that the wisest thing at the moment was simply to go to sleep.

***

Two days later she felt strong enough to arrange a dance practice with John after work. She'd mentioned to him that she had been ill and made it clear they would only meet for a bit, to brainstorm and to choose the music. She still decided to put on her cuffed athletic trousers and her favourite slouch top. While getting dressed she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror, and pressed her lips in distress. She somehow managed to lose even more weight because she'd been ill. She reminded herself that she was nervous at the moment, and couldn't trust her perception, but a wave of negative thoughts flashed through her mind, making nausea rise. She should've eaten, she chastised herself. She hadn't had any food since lunch.

John was already waiting for her in the Hall, amicably chatting with Mrs. Small, who greeted Viola and quickly left with a small giggle.

"Evening, John," Viola said with a polite smile.

"Evening," he said, leaned in, and kissed her cheek. "How are you feeling?"

"Much better, thank you. I see you came straight from work," she said, pointing at his excellent three-piece suit.

"Ah, yes," he said with a chuckle. "It's a long drive. I'll be staying with Nana next week, though. Clem and the babies are coming too. Clemmie loves the Festival," he said with warmth in his voice. "So you and I can have longer practices starting Monday."

"Excellent," Viola said, pulling her laptop out of her messenger bag. "I'm still recovering so maybe today we can just look at a couple of videos. I'm thinking tango," she said, opening her Mac.

"Oh! Tango? That's quite an unexpected choice," he exclaimed.

"Why?" Viola asked, opening YouTube, her eyes on the screen. "It's a crowd pleaser, and we both have experience with it. And even a pared down routine will look impressive."

He was quiet for a few seconds, and Viola looked up at him. His eyebrows were raised high, and then he chuckled.

"Fair point," he said.

She sat on a bench by the wall, and he joined her.

"What do you think about La Cumparsita?" she asked, clicking on the first video from her new playlist.

***

Two hours later they entered the Oak and Shield, absorbed in the conversation they'd started when he'd offered to grab a bite together.

"...and can you imagine Oliver's face?" he said, widening his eyes dramatically, and Viola snorted. "I reckon there was some sort of a scale in his brain: his priestly duties and love for thy neighbour on one side," John continued an endlessly entertaining story about a pub brawl involving him, his brothers, and Fiona Holyoake's ex. "And the fact that we were going to be beat up by a dozen of thugs, on the other side."

Viola shook her head and sat down. One of her patients greeted her from a corner, and she gave them a wave.

"I'll order," John said. "What would you like?"

"The same as you," Viola gave him her usual answer. "And a lager," she added, surprising herself.

He nodded and headed to the bar. Viola took off her jacket and stretched her tired legs in front of her. All her body was buzzing from the endorphins after an excellent work out she'd just had. She'd forgotten how much she loved to dance! Having a brilliant partner didn't harm either!

John put down two lagers and sat down. He'd loosened his tie and took off his jacket. His charcoal waistcoat made his torso look positively triangular. He then rolled up his sleeves, and leaned back in his chair.

"So," he said, "how have you been, Viola?"

Viola laughed. "Quite well, thank you."

He took a large gulp of his beer and gave her a sardonic look.

"Is Fleckney everything you remembered and more, then?" he asked and licked the foam off his upper lip.

"It is," Viola said and sipped her lager as well. "And it isn't. Some things are the same. The good things," she continued. "The places, the people, the... vibe," she added in a cheeky tone, and the corner of his lips curled up. "But also, it felt good to sort of start from scratch, in a way. I'm enjoying my practice, and my position in the village. I didn't expect to settle in so quickly. I'm not good with warming up to places and people," she shared in an uncharacteristic bout of openness.

He smiled at her softly and nodded.

"It is a magical place, I agree," he said and looked around. "There's a reason why Will, and Di, and Rhys ended up staying or coming back."

"But not you," she pointed out, and he gave out a low velvet laugh.

"No, not me," he said, taking another sip. "It's too quiet for me, too slow. After uni, once I started my business, I could never go back. And then after our parents passed away–" His tone was now coloured with melancholy. "And after Will enlisted, I just–"

He trailed away and looked down into his glass.

"It was easier to stay away from here," she finished for him, and he threw her a surprised look. "Remember," she said quietly, "I've gone through two divorces. It's always easier to lick your wounds away from the places you'd shared with the people you lost."

"I never thought of it that way," he said, his eyes twinkling. "But again, I lack your emotional intelligence. One needs your logic and your empathy for that."

"Let me guess," Viola said with a chuckle, without revealing in her tone and on her face how flattered and pleased she felt by his words. "Clem has mentioned your lack of emotional intelligence, hasn't she?"

He guffawed. "More than once, obviously. She has to put up with quite a lot, poor soul." He halved the beer left in his glass. "You know better than anybody, we aren't an easy lot to be married to."

"You, the Holyoake men?" she asked for clarification, and he nodded. "Oh, I'm aware," she said, and they both laughed. "But something tells me, you did better than some of you." She saluted him with her beer. "You two seem nauseatingly happy."

"We are," he said and shook his head. "It's all her, to be honest. She has the patience of a saint." He chuckled. "As you know, I hadn't had much practice before I met her. If not for the self-isolation, I would've still been an emotionally unavailable, bitter, commitment fearing, overbearing prick."

"Well, here's to self-isolation then," Viola said and lifted her beer again.

They both finished their lager, and John gave Mrs. Owens a wave and pointed at their empty glasses.

It was when she asked with a small laugh that Viola understood she was affected by the drink, "What do you think made you an 'emotionally unavailable, bitter, commitment fearing, overbearing prick?'"You're thinking about Rhys, aren't you, Viola? "You have a wonderful family. You've all had such a happy childhood," she continued musing. "Was it the loss of your parents?"

"Partially, for sure," John said and ran his fingers through his hair. It was of the same attractive warm coffee colour as Rhys'. "Partially, you did."

Viola, lost in her memories of the time she'd been supporting Rhys in his grief, startled and gave John a shocked look. He guffawed again.

"Oh dear, just look at your face!" he said, his shoulders shaking in laughter. "I suspected you hadn't realised that. That it had been a much bigger deal for me than for you all those years ago."

He gave her a cheeky grin, and Mrs. Owens stopped by their table with two more beers. They thanked her, and John picked up his glass. Viola wasn't sure she wanted to continue this conversation.

"Don't look so worried, Vi," he said with a smile. "It's all in the past now. But you were 'the one that got away' for me," he drew out and wiggled his eyebrows. "It had taken Rhys and me three years to start speaking to each other again then. We'd kept it civil during family dinners, but it took two punch-ups to get it out of our systems."

Viola was sitting paralysed, her ears ringing.

"Well, this has gone too heavy too quickly," he said and drank more beer. "How about we change the topic?"

Viola gathered her composure and gave him a polite smile.

"Tell me of the book fair," she said. "I have a friend who's looking into opening a book shop, actually. She's been asking me about the fair we have during the Festival."

"Yolanda, right?" he asked, his body relaxing in the chair. "I remember her from the uni. She was in Business, with Rhys, wasn't she?"

"That's how we met," Viola said. "We've stayed friends all these years."

"She should consider opening a shop in Fleckney," he said. "We've lost the Sanders shop. You know what, actually? Give her my info, maybe we can whisk something up. And you should get her in contact with Rhys, he owns half the village at this stage. He'd certainly be a better landlord for her than the Oakbies."

"What do you mean, Rhys owns half the village?" Viola asked.

And then, as if on cue, the door of the pub opened, and Rhys came in, followed by two men, who Viola remembered were from his construction crew.