"You taste of strawberries," she whispered.

His eyes opened slowly - unfocused, darker than usual - and he carefully put her down on the ground. Apparently, he'd lifted her at some point, his arms wrapped around her waist tightly.

Viola laughed, rose on her tiptoes, and brushed her lips to his again, this time lightly and playfully. He blinked rapidly, his face dazed. He then released her, and she stepped back.

"Well, you should–" She patted his chest and cleared her throat. "They'll be announcing the winners now. I'll wait for you. You promised to take me skating after lunch, remember?"

"Yeah," he said hoarsely.

"Alright, I'll be there."

She pointed at the bench where the rest of the Holyoakes were no doubt watching them, and he looked over her shoulder.

"Yeah," he said again.

To think of it, most likely every single person in the tent was watching them right now. Somehow, it didn't bother Viola one bit. Their eyes met again, and he gave her a small uncertain smile.

"Laters," she said, patted his chest again, and walked away - before she'd given in and kissed him again.

Her lips still tingled, and some sort of uncontrollable jolly giggles were bursting out of her. As she crossed the tent, quite a few people gave her curious or meaningful looks, there were a couple of winks, and even a small cheer. Again, she just couldn't be bothered.

When she sat down on the bench, she could feel the Holyoakes' stares on her, and she sat, her eyes fixed on the tent.

"So," John said, and then oophed when Clem rammed her elbow into his side.

Fiona laughed at his antiques - he was rubbing his side, muttering something about 'a bony bird' - and Viola caught a warm look from Will from the corner of her eyes. She gave him a shy smile, and he nodded. Viola didn't dare to look at Mable. After all, she'd just shamelessly snogged her favourite grandson in front of the whole county. That had been quite a statement - and Viola had made it perfectly conscientiously.

***

After the Watanabes received their First Prize, and Frank - with a shy smile on his burning face - accepted his Worst Bake Cup, everyone started getting up and moving around. Viola saw Rhys talk to the same man she'd seen with him behind the tent, and then Rhys shook his hand vigorously, patting his shoulder with his left hand. The man threw Viola a look, and then Rhys slipped behind one of the tent walls. Viola followed him with her eyes as he reappeared in the back - and then he beckoned her with his hand.

"I'll see you all later at the bonfire," she said hurriedly, rising, and the Holyoakes' answers mingled and clashed - but she wasn't listening.

She quickly went down the stands, as much as jogged around the tent, turned the corner - and stopped abruptly in front of Rhys.

"Hi," she said - and he dove in, and pulled her in, and kissed her.

Viola wrapped her arms around his neck, he straightened up, lifting her, and she dangled her feet.

"Why does it feel like we're sneaking away?" she asked, between small kisses she was peppering on his lips.

"Because we are," he said with a chuckle and lowered her carefully. "I'm supposed to be helping to put away the tent. But Nikolić will cover for me. Come!"

He picked up her hand and pulled her after him.

"Don't you want to eat lunch first?" she asked teasingly, following him.

"We'll pick up something on the way," he dismissed. "What do you want?"

Viola laughed. "I have an eating disorder, Rhys. I can't answer this question."

He slowed down and looked at her, his face immediately serious.

"I'm sorry, Vi, I forgot." His voice was remorseful. "So, what should we do then?"

"Let's just stop by some place, and see what looks good," she said lightly. "Something with strawberries."

His face relaxed, and he chuckled.

"Alright," he said. "A bakery of sorts then?"

"Or fish and chips," she said, and he gave her a surprised look.

"Sure."

Willy's Fish and Chips was your typical chippy shop, the oldest in Fleckney. Rhys rang them up and placed an order on the way, and by the time they reached it, their two Haddock Specials with Scampi - and something else that he'd ordered with a laugh saying 'Oh definitely two of these' after they'd answered his question what kind of pudding they had - were waiting for them.

While walking to the shop, he hadn't let go of her hand. She waited for him outside of Willy's, reading the paper clippings - praising its traditional 'chipper' and the secret recipe dating back to 1947 - on the window. When he stepped out of the door, Viola caught the delicious smell of their food, and she realised she was starving.

"And where are we going to eat that?" she asked. "It's like we're poor students again. Maybe we should have driven here."

"You can't drive in Fleckney during the Festival," he said with a shrug. "We'd still be on the same street. And I know just the place," he said with a wink.

"Oh my," Viola laughed. "Are you luring me into some sort of a lair of debauchery? I'm a twice married woman, so you know."

He gave her a sardonic look from under a raised eyebrow, and Viola grabbed his sleeve and pulled him down. His bright eyes were suddenly on the same level with hers.

"I don't know what's going on," she said and pecked his lips. "I feel– silly! And as if drunk. And– I don't know what's wrong with me today!"

"There's nothing wrong with you," he murmured and kissed her back just as lightly. "C'mon, let's go to my lair."

He started walking, and she hurried after him. Something told her it wasn't the promise of lunch that was making him stride so widely.

***

"You must be joking!" she exclaimed. "And what do you call that?"

"That, love, is a sleeper," he said with a wide grin.

Viola looked over a small metal cabin tucked away on the edge of the meres, away from the main pathways. On their way here, she'd jokingly asked whether he was leading her into shrubbery to have his wicked way with her - but she didn't expect him to attempt to do so in the comfort of what appeared to be a sort of a caravan!

"It's a sleeper - a temporary accommodation for construction workers," he said stately. "There's a bed and a table. It's mine. I just keep it here, when we don't work on a remote project. It's a deluxe version, actually, with a shower, a loo, and a sink."

"I can't believe it! You have an actual shag shack! In the woods!"

Viola gave him a fake shocked look, and then burst into loud laughter from how taken aback he looked.

"I don't bring anyone here! It's for work!" he proclaimed in a sincere disconcerted tone. "And it's clean! I had it professionally cleaned after the last project, and–"

He stopped, because Viola bent in half she was laughing so hard.

"Vi?" he asked.

"Let's just go in and eat already," she said, gasping for breath. "Is it cold inside?"

"It is, but it warms up very quickly," he said, still throwing her bewildered looks. "It has a generator and a heater."

"And you don't bring women here? Blimey, speak of wasted opportunities," she purred and shook her head.

He glared at her - almost sincerely - and unlocked the door. Inside the sleeper was most lovely. It reminded Viola of her favourite Polly Pocket Starfish from her childhood. It somehow housed said narrow, single bed, a desk, a mini-fridge, a microwave, a wardrobe, and she could see a door that probably led to the shower and loo. He put their food down and went to the control panel on the wall.

"I could just live here," Viola said, sitting down on the bed. "It's so neat and pared down.

She heard the generator kick in outside, and a stream of warm air blasted from a vent in the wall.

"I can see that. Looks a lot like your boring bed," he said, intonating purposefully, and then glanced at her to gauge her reaction.

Viola snorted.

"I hate it," he said, sitting down near her and handing her her bag.

Viola's hand froze mid-air with the box of fish and scampi in it.

"You do?" It was her turn to sound astonished. "Why?"

"Exactly for the reason you fancy it," he said with a shrug. "It's bare, and– It doesn't feel like home."

"Not enough duvets and pillows, maybe?" Viola asked, and then, after a small moment of hesitation, bumped her shoulder to his upper arm.

He sent a piece of fish in his mouth and looked at her askance.

"I lived in one of these - a much dodgier, cheaper one, of course - for almost two years after our divorce," he said. "Saving money for a house and working on remote projects. I reckon it just reminds me of the time." He looked around. "Maybe I should bring more blankets and pillows next time I use it," he said, shaking his head in amusement.

The sleeper had warmed up already, just as he'd promised.

"How often do you go out of town?" Viola asked, biting into her haddock.

It was most remarkable how comfortable she felt - eating with her hands, out of a box, sitting on an unfamiliar bed, with another person. Each of these circumstances would have sent her into an anxiety attack just recently. Maybe, it's just because this 'another person' is Rhys.

"I don't really have to anymore," he said, opening a packet of vinegar, the box of chips on his lap. "Sometimes, it just feels good, you know? To get away from it all."

"Well, you do have a large family that never stays out of each other's lives. I can see how you'd want that," Viola said softly. She looked at his food and asked quietly, "Could I have a chip from your box, please?"

"You have one in your bag too," he said. "But sure."

He lifted an open box to her, and she picked up a golden slice. She'd chosen this particular piece five minutes ago, watching him pour vinegar and shake salt and pepper on his chips. She didn't like either. She bit and chewed.

"I haven't had potatoes in two years or so," she suddenly announced, and he gawked at her. Viola snorted. "And I had that plum galette on our breakfast date. And I might actually have more chips," she said and picked up another piece from his box.

This one had dressing on it, and she scrunched her nose in disgust.

"Why don't you eat yours?" he asked.

The question sounded harsh, and Viola tensed - but then she saw the warm inquisitive expression in his eyes. He's trying to figure out the mechanism of your disorder. That's Rhys Holyoake in a nutshell: you're a phenomenon he's interested in. He's motivated, hence his attempts to suss out what makes you click.

"Because it's yours," she answered and laughed. "I don't know why it works. There's no resistance in me. It's pretty common - to be able to eat the food we cadge. There's less guilt. But it never worked for me." She took another chip and bit off the very tip. "Except with you. No one else makes me feel OK about food."

He gave her a long studying look.

"Did you have it when we were married?" he asked.

"Only at the end," Viola answered and put another piece of fish in her mouth.

"So, I just didn't notice," he said in a low voice. "I should've noticed."

"You had a lot on your mind," Viola said. "And it's not always obvious. I've always been good at hiding it. And then in med school everyone was mental anyroad," she said with a joyless laugh. "Hani never noticed either. No until I started having heart problems."

"What sort of heart problems?" he asked sharply.

"Nothing irreversible," Viola answered and gave him a comforting smile. "I had a mitral valve prolapse. It's harmless in most cases, and it improved with weight gain. I just had these chest pains, and we were worried it was something more serious. They never came back after I gained more weight."

Viola finished her fish, put the empty box into the bag, and peeked in. There was a small square box inside, and she assumed it contained their pudding.

"I ordered one for you too, but I'll have it if you don't want it," he said.

She realised it was his somewhat clumsy attempt to remove pressure, and she pulled out the box and put it on the bed near her.

"I'll wait for you," she said.

He nodded and continued eating. She realised she was staring at him - at the way his jaw moved when he chewed, his Adam's apple, his throat bobbing when he swallowed - and she said in a nonchalant tone, "If you want my opinion on your appearance–"

His jaw stopped, and he gave her a questioning look.

"Yes?" he said.

"You don't need to go to a barber," she said, snatched another chip from his box, and popped it in her mouth. "Clean lines and hipster cuts aren't your look." She tilted her head and gave his neck an appreciative glance over. The beard had grown out, and his throat was covered in harsh whiskers. "You might want to trim it a bit from time to time, but this is much better."

She gestured around him with her index finger and then wiped her hands with a napkin.

"Good to know," he said, scooped the last few chips from the bottom of the box, and threw them into his mouth. "It's all for your sake anyroad," he said after swallowing. "Glad I don't have to deal with those tossers anymore."

"Did you not enjoy your pampering?" Viola asked cheekily.

He put the box aside, leaned back against the wall, and stretched his legs in front of him. He was taking so much space that his boots as much as pressed in the opposite wall.

"I missed your dancing," he grumbled. "And then I had to answer all those questions, about the beard oil and 'sculpting' and how I clearly eat enough vitamin B since it's so 'lush.'"

He made a derisive noise, and Viola snorted. Unlike him, when fed and warm, she didn't feel like stretching. She was suddenly overwhelmed by the acute desire to shake off her boots and curl on the bed, like a cat in its basket. As if echoing her sentiment, Rhys yawned widely.

"Maybe you should have a nap," Viola said cunningly.

"What? No, I'm fine," he said - and couldn't hold back another spasmodic yawn.

"You're clearly sleep deprived, love," Viola said. "Is there enough petrol in the generator for another hour?"

"Yeah, but, Vi–" He looked at her, frowning. "We were supposed to go skating."

"And we will. But first, I want to test something," she said. "The bedding is clean, right?"

"Yeah," he said slowly, "but– You aren't going to sleep with me here, are you?!"

"Why not?" Viola asked. "I could use a nap too."

His eyes boggled, and she laughed.

"Let me just put our pudding away," she said and picked up the bags with food.

She quickly got off the bed, arranged the food in the fridge, and returned to him. He was sitting with his back exceptionally straight, and Viola pressed her hand into his shoulder and pushed gently.

"I want to see if I enjoy sleeping with you," she murmured. "I eat with you. I eat pudding. I want to see if you'll help my insomnia. Can you please lie down?"

"So, it's an experiment," he said, his eyes roaming her face, clearly trying to discern if she was joking. Tough tits. She had an excellent poker face after all.

"Yes, and stop dawdling, please. You're standing in the way of scientific progress," she said haughtily - and he quickly unzipped his jacket, while toeing off his boots at the same time.

Viola laughed at the eager expression on his face, took off her own jacket, and pushed her Sorrels off. He lay back, pulling the blanket from under himself, and he lifted it inviting her to join him. She tucked herself into his side. There was no other way to fit on this bed - but she would have anyway. She settled her head on his shoulder, and he covered them both. She shifted for a few seconds, finding the best positions for her arms and legs.

It's as if her body is remembering his.

He smelled nice, like pines or cedar, from his cologne, and of detergent, and soap - and Rhys. She was warm just seconds later - it's felt as if it had been years since she was that warm - and she closed her eyes.

"We should–" he started saying, and another desperate yawn interrupted his words. "We should set an alarm."

Viola voice commanded her Android to set a timer for an hour. He started saying something, but she rubbed her hand up and down his sternum, and told him to stop talking. He hooked his curled index finger to her chin, made her lift her face, kissed her quickly, and let her go back to her - so very comfortable - position.

She wasn't sure who fell asleep first.