CHAPTER TWO

      ‘Mum? Dad? You home?’ Serena pushed open the front door, festively decorated with a faux pine wreath, complete with red ribbons and golden bells, and barrelled in, not waiting for an answer.

      Ritchie hung about the doorstep. A rare and disconcerting mix of shyness, uncertainty, and a good dollop of distress, sending little swirls of bile spinning about his stomach. Unlike most sons-in-law he’d spent little time with his wife’s parents. Little time? More like no time at all. Serena had pushed for them to meet at the beginning. She had tried to tell him the longer it took for them to meet after they’d eloped, the harder it would be for them all to get along. But he’d pushed back. He’d used his burgeoning career as not only an excuse not to visit, but also to not have them visit. To not have them remind him of all he’d missed out on. Or worse. All he had experienced.

      ‘What are you waiting for, Ritchie? An invitation?’ Serena turned to face him, her top knot bouncing as she shook her head. ‘You’re family, remember? That’s what you said back at the shop. So I’m bringing you home to meet them. Finally. So, come on.’ She jerked her head towards a door at the end of the hall, then strode towards it.

      ‘Serena?’ Her mother’s voice stopped him in his tracks. He swallowed hard, pushed away the fear that unfurled whenever he was faced with parental authority, and lengthened his strides to catch up with Serena.

      ‘Mum. Look who turned up at on my doorstep just now? Figured it was time you met him.’ Serena’s hand clasped his forearm. One sharp tug and he stumbled forwards into a room. The kitchen, large, with low ceilings, emitted a cosy feel. A solid looking wooden dining table took pride of place in the centre. On one side of it was the kitchen bench, stove, sink, and cupboards painted in a warm cream colour with olive trim. Opposite, a fire roared in the hearth. Burning wood glowed orange as sparks wafted up the chimney.

      ‘I take it this is your Ritchie?’

      Ritchie tore his gaze away from the fire to the man standing at the back door, his feet encased in wellington boots. Dark green overalls sat over a navy blue woollen top. He was tall and impressive, broad-shouldered and broad-chested, and even had Serena’s chin, complete with its small cleft front and centre. Her father.

      ‘It’s nice to meet you, son.’ He toed off the wellingtons, grunting with the effort, then extended his hand.

      Ritchie stared at it. The hands were strong to look at, with long fingers, and skin that looked like it had seen hard work. Much like the hands that had belonged to the man he’d called father.

      But that’s where the similarities ended. This man had an open smile, a twinkle in his eye and exuded a warmth that came from somewhere down deep.

      Good to the core.

      ‘Shake the man’s hand already.’ Serena nudged him with her elbow.

      Ritchie did as he was told, and allowed that strong hand to clasp his. To give it a shake. Firm. Brief. Welcoming.

      ‘Good to meet you. Call me Roger.’ The man clapped his other hand over Ritchie’s. Embracing him in the handshake, then broke his hold.

      Ritchie turned to Serena’s mother who was hunkered down in front of the oven door, staring at something cooking in it, filling the air with a savoury scent that had his mouth watering. His stomach grumbled and he remembered he hadn’t had a bite to eat in hours.

      He’d been too busy pushing forward with his mission. To find his wife and win her back. And failure was not an option because without her he had no inspiration. Which meant no songs. No albums. No adoring fans. Nothing to keep his mind occupied. Nothing to shield himself against the pain of his past. No one to keep his heart warm at night.

      ‘Mum? Are you going to say hello? Ritchie’s come all the way from Malibu to visit us. The least you could do is acknowledge his presence.’

      There was a lilting tone to Serena’s words. A jauntiness. Why? Because after all these years he was having to do the one thing he’d refused to do time and time again?

      Although that didn’t explain the stiffness of Serena’s mother’s back. The grim thin line of lips, void of a smile. The absolute opposite of Serena’s father.

      ‘I’m keeping an eye on the bacon, Serena.’

      ‘Well you’ll have to introduce yourself eventually, because Ritchie’s going to be staying with you while he’s here.’

      ‘What?’ Serena’s mother’s head snapped round. A deep line marring the space between her eyebrows. ‘Who is staying where?’

      Ritchie took an unsteady step backwards, his gut aching as if he’d been sucker punched. ‘Serena, you said you’d found a place for me to stay. You never said anything about it being with your parents. And your mum doesn’t look like she wants me here. So, let’s go back to the original plan. I’m staying with you.’

      Serena rounded on him, her eyebrows raised high and triumph shining in her luminous brown