They sat quietly for a few minutes, the pub’s Saturday night clamor eddying around them, until Gemma pushed her chair back a bit and sighed. “I do need to be getting home, though. Toby will be missing his mum.”
“Yes.” Kincaid imagined the welcome awaiting Gemma, and for an instant envy ran through him. He shook it off and forced a smile. “I wish…” What did he wish? That he hadn’t gone to Followdale at all. . . ?
Gemma thumped her glass down on the table and he raised his eyes to find an unexpected understanding in hers. The corner of her mouth twitched. “If wishes were horses, my old mum used to say-”
“Right.” They smiled at each other companionably.
“Better luck next time?” Gemma suggested.
Kincaid raised his glass. “Cheers.”
