After the dance practice, Viola left Yola in the company of John, not sure which one would be charming whose knickers off. Thursday evening was the opening evening of the Winter Festival, and John had invited them both for dinner, with Nana, Clem, Will, and Fiona - and possibly Rhys and Oliver - joining them later, but Viola was feeling exhausted. The last few days had been so irregular she just wanted to climb in her bed and read her new Olivia Dane.

When she parked her car in front of the surgery, she dropped her head back and closed her eyes. A knock came to her window, making her jump up with a gasp. Gathering her bearings, she lowered the window, and Fenton leaned to her.

"I'm heading out to dinner in the Oak and Shield," he said in a grumpy tone. "Would you like to join me?"

"No, thank you, Alan," she answered. "I think I'll just have an early night."

"It's the first day of the Festival," he said, giving her a shocked look. "Didn't anyone ask you out for tonight?"

Someone had. Earlier that day she'd received a text from James Whitlaw inviting her to 'grab a bite' with him in the pub, and the Holyoakes had probably expected her to join them. The day before, one of her patients, Leo Onions, the son of Fiona and Will Holyoakes' neighbour, had asked her out for the night as well. And this morning another acquaintance from Fleckney Fields had tried. She, obviously, had refused every single one - mostly, because when she'd moved to Fleckney, she'd been adamant romance just wasn't in the books for her. There was always a chance of her falling madly in love with someone and getting herself the third husband, but Viola had considered the option laughable. Rhys was obviously an exception - not that she quite understood what was happening between her and Rhys.

"I'm just too tired, Alan," Viola answered and picked up her handbag.

She stepped out of her Panda. Fenton still lingered and watched her with a frown.

"Are you sure? I distinctly remember you mentioning you loved the Festival and were going to go to every single event," he said.

"Enjoy your evening, Alan," she said softly and headed to the entrance to the flat.

"Flowers were delivered for you an hour ago," he said behind her, and Viola's hand froze on the door handle. "Mrs. Tomlin's shop will be sending you a cut soon," he grumbled.

"Good night, Alan," Viola said with a laugh, waved to him without turning, and walked in.

This time, the bouquet consisted of a dozen large roses, of delicate lilac colour, white freesias, and panicgrass, tied with a lilac silk ribbon. It was simply perfect - and Viola leaned in and touched the tip of her nose to a gentle petal.

The card inside had a writing in Rhys' spidery handwriting.

Give me a call if you'd like.

R.

Viola read it again. A note in a bouquet, which one couldn't predict when she'd get, was an oddly inefficient way to contact her. She carried the bouquet into her bedroom, arranged it on a low side table she'd recently purchased, and picked up her phone.

"Evening," he answered after just one tone.

"Hi," she said, sitting down on the edge of her bed. "Thank you for the flowers, they are lovely."

He hummed in response, and she could hear he was in a loud crowded place.

"Is it a bad time?" she asked. "Sorry, I just saw your card now, and–"

"Is that Viola?" someone, most likely Yola, asked near him.

He seemed to walk away from them, and a few seconds later she heard him step outside.

"Alright, I'm here," he said.

"I just thought you wanted to talk," she said.

"No, I didn't," he said. "I mean, I did– I do. But I think–" He cleared his throat. "I thought you'd call me if you felt it, like I said. You know, if you want to talk."

"Oh." Viola chewed her bottom lip. "I don't think I quite understand."

"Vi, I've been arsing it up with you, haven't I?" he asked gravely. "I know, I'm difficult. I mean, you've left me once before. How much clearer can you be? And these past few days, I've been doing the same thing as when we were married - you know, coming to you for support and help with my family drama. Our family drama," he corrected himself. "And I– I heard you, yeah? What you said about how I was using you, basically, to make myself feel better, while for you it was hard, and–" She could easily imagine how he just shook his head in that displeased way of his. Like some large, heavy animal. "And you told me about your food thing, and then I made you come to eat at my place, twice. So, I thought we could do it your way now. You said you didn't like that our relationship was in a flux. Well, just tell me what you want. When you– If you want it. I'll do it. Anything to make you feel good."

He exhaled noisily. She couldn't imagine the effort it took him to say all that.

"What brought this on, Rhys?" she asked softly.

"I had lunch with Oliver," he said grudgingly.

"Oh, say hello to Oliver," Viola said automatically. "What does it have to do with him?"

"Well, you know how he leads that group, troubled youth or whatever," Rhys said and made a low noise in his throat. "Some delinquents, and drug addicts, and teen mums or something."

"Yes?" Viola nudged him along.

"Well, he knows this stuff," Rhys grumbled. "You know, about feelings, and emotional needs, and–"

Viola bit into her bottom lip again, this time stifling a giggle. Rhys muttered something and grew silent.

"Are you telling me that you asked your much younger cousin who also happens to be an ordained priest... for dating advice?" she drew out, and he huffed on the other end of the line.

"Sure, laugh at me," he muttered, but then said, his voice coloured with sincere emotion, "I'm worried, Vi. I don't want to botch it up again. And I know I am." He paused for a few seconds. "And maybe, if things make no sense to me - the whole first date idea of yours, and you kissing me and backing off - it doesn't mean it's wrong. Maybe, I'm just missing some cogs in my noggin to get it. That's basically Oliver's advice." Rhys gave out a sarcastic chuckle. "He told me to just assume I'm too thick to understand you, and I should just shut my gob and do as you tell me."

Viola threw a look at the bouquet. Her thoughts whirred.

"And I remember, Vi, you said it before, you need time to process this sort of thing," he spoke again, softly now. "So, that's what I mean. Just call me if you feel like it. Let me know if you want to go out, or–"

"Tomorrow is the Karaoke Night in the Oak and Shield," Viola said. "We'll probably see each other there tomorrow."

"It's a tiny bloody county," he said in a disgruntled tone. "There is only that much space I can give you. I can return my ticket to the Dance, though, if you want."

"You didn't buy a ticket to the Dance," she said.

"Maisie bought one for me. Theo's not coming, he'll be out of town that day," he answered and sighed. "But again, Vi, let me know–"

"I'm not going to ask you to move out of the village so you can give me space, Rhys," she said with a laugh. "Let's not take it to the extreme. And– I do want to go out with you. I did agree, and nothing has changed since then. But I do appreciate your newly developed thoughtfulness."

"There's no thoughtfulness, Vi," he gritted through his teeth, but she could hear he was joking. "I still don't get it. I'm just doing as I'm told - by a juvenile clergyman, of all people."

"That couldn't have possibly been an easy conversation for you," Vi said with a chuckle.

"Yeah, I'd rather stab myself in a foot with a spade than do it again," he growled, and Vi finally burst into the giggles she'd been suppressing.

"Well, I do appreciate the sacrifice you made for the sake of our relationship," she murmured.

"Yeah, you say it now. Watch me slip and be a prick again in a day or two," he said in a fake irritated tone. "But, Vi– Are we good?"

Vi shook her head in amusement and said, "Yes, Rhys. We are good."

"OK, good." She could hear relief in his voice. "So– I'll see you later, I reckon?"

"See you later, Rhys."

She waited, and after a few seconds he hung up. Viola stared at the screen for a few seconds, emitted a pensive 'heh,' not at all sure what she thought - and flopped backwards on her bed.

***

The next morning she went for her usual run, and it was one of those days when it just clicked. She moved with ease, her breathing stable, and she could feel the endorphins pumping into her blood. She ran down to the river again, taking the familiar route. The air was crisp, colder than the past few weeks, and Viola greedily breathed it in. She loved this time of the day: most of Fleckney was still sleeping, she could see an occasional dog walker, and the streets looked cosy, especially now, decorated for the Festival.

She ran, Jacques Brel in her headphones - and then she realised she'd reached the Fleckney Woulds Meres. Ten years ago, the area had nothing but overgrown greenery and a few old benches scattered around, mostly used by the local teens to smoke, drink, and some getting off. These days, it had been turned into a charming park, and the location of a few new festivities - such as the Summer Fete - as well as the bonfire and the fireworks that were to take place on Sunday. Viola saw a small team of construction workers building some wooden structure - and Rhys' truck parked nearby.