Jean's knitting needles clicked together angrily. Lucien peeked behind Matthew, meeting her gaze beseechingly. He only got her raised eyebrows as a tart reply.
He'd offered Mattie's old room to Matthew, thinking it would be for a few short days.
It had been two weeks. No more kiss and cuddle in the lounge after dinner. No more pressing Jean against the kitchen worktop, tea towel wrapped around her waist, burying his nose in her hair. No more greeting at the door with her arms draped around his neck.
Because within moments, there would be the thump of Matthew's cane to make them leap apart.
Frustration wedged in their hearts, just like Matthew was that evening, taking the spot between them on the settee. After all, there were game shows on TV every night.
"How are you settling back into the force?" Jean said suddenly.
"It's going alright," Matthew muttered, focused on his show's final death round.
Her mouth became a thin line. Before she started to say more, Lucien shook his head. He understood her irritation, but he couldn't toss Matthew out. He'd found his home; how could he deny his friend that same thing?
Jean rose. "I'll go to bed." Sweeping from the room, she left Lucien without even a peck on the cheek goodnight.
But the next evening, she was cheerful, hips swinging as she hurried to the ringing doorbell.
Alice Harvey had arrived. Jean smartly moved her into the lounge, sat her by Matthew, and suggested they discuss the newest corpse. This delightful topic unbent the shy couple. Lucien started to join in, but Jean dragged him into the sunroom with her.
"What are you doing?" he hissed.
"Dislodging a stone from my shoe," she said, pushing him down onto the seat and curling on his lap.
