Alex felt completely unsettled once she was outside of Mayfield. She wondered if it had been a mistake, if she'd been released too early. She never thought she'd ever wish to return to the dull, grey-walled rooms of the institution, but all of a sudden they felt like a haven.

It wasn't just the sudden change into an unregimented existence or the demands of instant full-time parenthood – even though either Maria, Kelly or Greg were there to help most of the time. There was something more. A yawning sense of displacement.

Where did she belong?

Was this really her life?

Greg had moved himself and Tilly to a small house near the hospital and told her that her old place had been rented out. She didn't want to go back there, not now that all her memories of what had happened there had returned, but she yearned for something familiar. Nothing was the same anymore, nothing. Not even herself.

Greg mentioned that he'd kept her personal papers – photos, letters, that kind of thing – but they were packed in boxes in the garage. She thought about searching them out, but it was too cold and too daunting to go unpack them.

The new house was nice, there was no denying that. Comfortable, spacious, nicely decorated. But it didn't feel like home.

She wondered if anywhere ever would.

The child of a nomad, Alex was used to change – she and her mother had always been on the move. They hadn't lived anywhere more than a year or two. Even boarding school in England had only been for two years before she'd returned to Europe. Meeting and marrying Kevin had been the end of that lifestyle and Alex had welcomed it. She'd welcomed the chance to grow roots, to get settled.

Perhaps she just needed to give this time, as Dr Beasley had suggested when Alex had brought up her anxiety around the topic. Perhaps this would become home.

But as the darkness deepened on her first night of freedom, another, more awkward problem emerged.

Tilly had been put to bed and Kelly had gone home.

Greg was watching television and reading a journal.

It was just the two of them. For the first time.

Alex kept herself busy with chores that didn't need doing – Maria was an excellent housekeeper – but she couldn't bring herself to just sit there next to him calmly watching TV while she was riddled with an anxiety that made it feel as if ants were crawling over her skin.

What did he expect?

Her inspection of the house had revealed four bedrooms – a main bedroom that he obviously slept in, Tilly's room, one room that had been turned into an office-cum-den, and a fourth, clearly spare room, with a made-up bed. Her pre-Mayfield clothes and toiletries and other personal things had been put into his room, which of course was perfectly normal.

She just didn't know if she was ready for that yet.

His reaction to her hesitation was the big unknown.

But he just sat and read and ignored her fidgeting. Then, about an hour after Alex had begun rearranging the CDs into alphabetical order, he yawned and stretched with exaggerated effort. "I'm going to bed." He stood up and looked over to where she crouched on the floor surrounded by stacks of CD cases. "You can sleep in the spare room if you want," he added dismissively, waving a hand in that general direction before limping off to his room.

She knew it was his way – putting it out there before she had the chance to reject him first. Making it his idea.

This time she was grateful.

"Merci," she said, not looking at him, not sure if he heard her before he disappeared down the hallway.

Lying in the cold bed hours later, unable to sleep, Alex wondered if her life could ever be normal again. She wanted it to be like it had been before, with Kevin and Jack, but Greg wasn't Kevin and Tilly wasn't Jack, and it wasn't fair to expect them to be. She loved Tilly, of that she was sure. She loved Greg too, but what that meant she was far from sure.

She did miss him.

Hugging the pillow, she imagined – not for the first time – lying in bed with him again. That musky, sandalwood scent of his; the heavy strength of his arm lying across her; the occasional snore that happened when he was very tired. Not to mention arts de l'amour. It had been seven weeks since Tilly's birth and Alex's body felt ready. But her mind didn't.

He'd already been so patient. She wondered how long he would wait.

-

-

The week leading up to Christmas passed quickly and in establishing a daily routine, some of Alex's discomfort subsided. There was a subtle reassurance to be gained from mundane activities like grocery shopping and laundry and caring for an infant. She'd even done a little cooking, much to Maria's indignation.

Tilly was a beautiful baby and despite the hesitations she'd discussed at length in her continuing regular sessions with Dr Beasley, Alex found no problems adjusting to being a mother again. She still had Kelly and Maria's help, but both were friendly, easy-going women (as long as she stayed out of the kitchen) and she didn't mind their presence. It was redundant for them both to be there – Alex wanted to take care of Tilly so neither of them had that much to do, but Alex didn't yet fully trust herself and until then, it felt safer to have at least one other person around most of the time. Besides which, as much as it helped to settle her nerves, Alex had never been a fan of housework.

After that first night, Greg wasn't home much. He had a patient, one of those ones that kept him at the hospital late – one night he didn't even come home. Alex worried, as she always did, but in some part of her mind she was pleased by it. It meant he trusted her enough to leave Tilly in her care all night; it meant he was treating her like everything was normal. It wasn't – not by a long shot – but it was as good as she was capable of, for now.

On December twenty-third he called in the late afternoon.

"What's Maria cooked for dinner?" he asked without saying hello; his usual style.

"I cooked today," Alex said proudly. "Chicken and leek pie."

"I'll be home late. Around midnight. Save me some." Click.

Alex felt a tickle in her belly, a fast-forming knot of nerves and anticipation. It was like he'd declared something, an intention, a deadline.

Tonight, she decided, they would eat together and . . . see what that led to.

As the afternoon faded into evening, her knot intensified. It was equal parts excitement and dread, wanting it to happen at the same time as she didn't – all the while not even really sure what "it" was. As much as she didn't want to imbue the night with too much gravitas, she took the opportunity while Kelly was still around to have a long shower, washing her hair and shaving her legs. She dressed with care; while her leftover baby weight meant many of her clothes still didn't fit, she found a pair of jeans and a soft cashmere sweater that made her feel casually sexy. Her blow-dried hair behaved for once, sitting in long waves over her shoulders. She left it out instead of tying it back as she usually did.

Kelly gave her a knowing look as she said good bye.

Alex tried to calm her nerves by lying on the sofa and reading Rimbaud, which still had the ability to transport her into a world of words. Feeling like Cinderella, she couldn't resist the distraction of watching the clock hands wind their way to midnight, shooting out of her skin when the scrape of the key came in the door at eleven-thirty.

"You're early," she said as soon as he walked in.

He looked surprised and Alex wished she could bite back the words. They'd tumbled out of her in shock, but they sounded defensive; wrong.

"Gotta take a break when I can," he said eventually, shrugging out of his heavy winter pea coat. "This dude's dying all over the place."

"Are you hungry?" Alex asked, trying to be more conciliatory.

"Starved."

She got up and headed into the kitchen, immediately fussing around to fix them both plates. "Do you want wine or whisky?" she asked over her shoulder, noting he'd followed her. He stood just inside the room, leaning against the wall, observing her in that way he did.

"What does the chef recommend?" he asked.

"I had a glass of Sancerre earlier, I think that would go nicely."

"Sounds good. Have you eaten?"

She risked a glance his way as she pulled the wine from the refrigerator. "No. I thought we might eat together."

He nodded, but his expression remained impassive.

She poured them both a glass of wine and handed his over. "It'll only be a minute, I just have to reheat it."

"Fine." He took a seat at the artfully battered, French-provincial style white-washed table that took up a large corner of the kitchen. Falling into the chair with a heavy sigh he took a long drink of wine.

"Tilly was good today," Alex said, nervously filling the silence with chatter about the baby. The whole situation had an edge of unreality to it, while at the same time she knew it was far from unusual. In fact, it was as familiar to her as the back of her hand. She'd lost count of the number of times he'd come home at some odd hour, obsessed by the case he was working on, so driven he'd forgotten to eat. She had fed him, comforted him, and never worried about the fact that he hardly spoke. She'd learned his process: if he needed to talk it through, he stayed at the hospital where he had other doctors to bounce ideas off; if he needed to think it through, he came home and was silent.

Putting two plates down on the table she'd already set with cutlery, Alex took a seat at right-angles to him.

"What's the green stuff?" he asked.

"Thyme. And asparagus." It must have been acceptable because without further comment he dug in and ate voraciously.

Alex ate too, picking at her meal like a bird. She hadn't eaten earlier, deliberately waiting for him, but she had no appetite.

He ate in silence, methodically cleaning his plate. When it was empty he sat back with his wine glass and arched his back in a stretch.

"That was good," he said and then burped.

"If you didn't eat so fast, you wouldn't get indigestion," Alex chided lightly.

"Stop cooking such delicious meals then," he replied with a smile.

Alex smiled back and then ducked her head to avoid the growing warmth of their shared gaze. "How's your patient?" she asked, knowing that topic was less likely to lead to him smiling in a way that made her stomach flip over.

He shrugged and the weariness she'd noted when he first walked in resettled over him. "Not great. I'm close to something, I just don't know what."

He looked sad. Most of his colleagues would never know how human he was, how much every life in his hands weighed him down. Without conscious intention, Alex reached out and gently traced his temple with her fingertips, smoothing the creases that ran from the corners of his eyes. "You look tired."

His gaze was piercing as it met hers, and Alex was aware that it was the first time since Mayfield that they'd touched like this. Her instinct was to draw back, to retreat from whatever she'd accidentally initiated. But as if he could read her mind, he reached up and took her hand, pressing it against his face more fully.

"I am tired," he said. "And I might not have much time."

A thousand butterflies burst from their cocoons inside her stomach. What did that mean?

He brought her hand around to his mouth and pressed a kiss into her palm.

Alex's heart jumped against her ribs and her stomach twisted. Her whole body began to tremble as it sometimes did when they made love, only this time she couldn't differentiate whether it was fear or excitement.

"Greg, I—"

The heated look his in eyes shuttered down and he gave her a short nod. "I know." He put her hand down on the table with exaggerated care. As soon as he was no longer touching her Alex's skin felt chilled even though the room was warm.

Was he not interested? No, that wasn't it. But her nervousness put him off, she could see that.

Why was she so nervous? What did it matter? She'd made love to this man more times and in more ways than she could count. Why, now, was it like everything was new? All this old well-explored territory suddenly undiscovered again? She knew him intimately. His nipples weren't all that sensitive, but brushing her fingers over his inner thighs made him breakout in goose bumps. He had ticklish feet and didn't like her touching them. If he was close to orgasm, digging her fingernails into his back or pressing her tongue against the sensitive underside of his penis would send him over the edge. She knew him, and he knew her. Intimately. He knew that she was embarrassed about the size of her thighs and insisted he didn't even notice. Had a way of kissing her that made her panties get wet, just like in an erotic story. Did this little trick with his fingers that reached a place no one ever had before, sending shivers through her whole body.

Just thinking about that made her shudder.

They knew each other and yet they didn't. Not anymore.

Everything was new again.

He sat there, sipping his wine and looking off into the distance. He was trying so hard. He wasn't pushing. Even though persistence was in his very DNA.

Quickly, before she could think too much about it, Alex rose from her chair and leaned over him. Clumsy in her haste, she almost missed his mouth as she pressed her lips to his. It was an awkward kiss, closed lipped and cold, and when she pulled back Alex noted his eyes were still open.

"Merde," she swore under her breath. "Sorry, that was not good." She felt every inch of her skin blush with acute embarrassment.

"You took me by surprise."

"I wanted to do it before I lost my nerve."

He snorted. "Flattering."

The flush flaming across her cheeks deepened. "That's not what I meant, I—"

"Yeah, I get it."

Alex fumbled for her glass of wine and drained it, willing it to cool her down, for it to somehow quell the burning agony that had begun to ache in her chest.

She'd ruined everything.

"Do you think Mayfield destroyed your kissing abilities?" he asked, his voice casual, as if they were discussing the weather.

"What?"

"Do you think being in Mayfield destroyed your kissing abilities?" he repeated. "I seem to remember you were reasonably good at it before."

Why was he going on about it? Alex writhed with embarrassment. It had been a mistake. Why couldn't he just drop it?

"I'm sorry," she said again.

"You should try again, just to be sure."

What? Go through that mortifying experience again? No way. She shook her head and reached over to take his plate, stacking it on top of hers. "I think I will go to bed now. I'm tired."

Alex rose from the table and took the dishes to the sink, turning the taps on full. She rinsed the plates and swirled water in her wineglass, deliberately taking a long time with the tasks. Her hope was that by the time she'd finished, he'd be gone.

You idiot, she railed at herself. Vous avez le cervau d'un sandwich au fromage. You have the brain of a cheese sandwich.

She turned around, wet plates in her hand, about to load them into the dishwasher, when she bumped into a hard male chest. He'd walked up right behind her and over the sound of rushing water and her own inner turmoil, she hadn't noticed.

Alex tilted her head up slowly, and when she met his eyes her heart skipped a beat. Without giving her time to think, he put a hand to her cheek to hold her in place and lowered his head.

Alex's eyes drifted closed as his lips nibbled hers, moving against her mouth with feather-light touches, wordlessly encouraging her to surrender. She reached behind herself to set the plates back on the counter, carefully, so that the kiss was not disrupted.

His mouth moved over hers, learning her all over again, tasting her gently.

Everything was new again.

Suddenly Alex realized that that didn't have to be a bad thing.

Her lips parted with a sigh and as if that was the signal he'd been waiting for, he took a step forward, pressing her between his body and the kitchen counter. The kiss deepened, his tongue tasting her properly, and Alex heard a small whimper escape from the back of her throat. Her hands wound around his back instinctively, one rising to the nape of his neck to hold him to her. One of his hands rose to her hair, winding the thick length of it around his fingers. He pulled gently to tilt her head back further, opening her to him.

After leisurely exploring her mouth, his lips left hers to press wet kisses across her jaw and then down her neck. He kissed her clavicle, tracing a path to where her pulse beat rapidly, licking her there and sending another shudder through her body.

On the edges of consciousness, Alex was aware of the baby monitor crackling to life on the counter nearby. At first the sounds were the small fretting of wakefulness, but in moments they became a full-blown cry for attention.

Against her neck, he froze and then swore.

Alex couldn't help a hysterical-sounding laugh. "Where did she inherit her timing?"

As if in answer, his cell phone rang.

He stepped back and ran both hands up his face and over his head, clasping them behind his neck. "Someone better be dead," he muttered, his expression dark as a thunderstorm.

"I'll see to Tilly," Alex said, turning and following the wailing down the hallway.

Excitement and anticipation outweighed her fear ten-to-one as she practically skipped into the baby's room. She knew she had a ridiculous smile on her face, but couldn't seem to wipe it away.

"What's the matter ma chou chou?" Alex asked, reaching in to pick up Tilly. "What are you doing awake?" Alex quickly established a wet diaper had caused the disturbance. "Let's get that off then, shall we?"

The little girl's yowling soon subsided once the discomfort was removed, and after the fresh diaper was in place Alex leaned down to blow a raspberry on her belly. Tilly didn't smile, just frowned, her usual serious look, as if disapproving of such childish behavior. "Oh, you are your father's daughter," Alex laughed. She redressed the baby into her sleeper suit, noticing that Tilly's eyes were already drooping. Good. There should be no problems getting her back to sleep, Alex thought.

"I have to go back in."

Alex felt the anticipation burst inside her like a balloon against a bramble hedge. Pasting a smile on her face, she turned around to face the door where he stood – keeping one hand on Tilly's belly, not just for the safety of the baby on the change table, but as an anchor for herself. "That's what you do," she said, struggling to keep her tone light.

He nodded. "I wish . . . I mean, I wanted . . ." He shrugged and Alex knew exactly what he meant.

"Go," she said quietly.

"I promise I'll be home tomorrow night for Christmas Eve. If I have to euthanize the guy to be here."

Alex grimaced at the very idea, but she knew he was joking. "Go save a life. Tilly and I will be here when you get back."

He took a step inside the room and pressed a kiss to her mouth, quick, but hard.

They shared a look and Alex wanted to say so much, but the words wouldn't come. Tilly broke the silence with a restless cry designed to let everyone know she was sick of not being the center of her parents' attention. Alex twisted around and bundled the flailing baby into her arms. By the time she turned back to the door, he was gone.