It was a nice house, not really a "cottage" at all. It was certainly much nicer than the house Chiara had left behind. First of all, the rooms were much larger, and the house as a whole was much larger, than the place she'd rented with her father. The finishes were all newer; it was obvious this place had been renovated sometime within the last few years.

Chiara, Drew, and Ned walked around the place, checking where the movers had placed everything.

"Does everything look okay?" Drew asked, looking at Chiara. "Does anything need to be moved? They wanted you to check before they leave, they're happy to move whatever you want."

Chiara shook her head. "No, everything looks fine. I mean, all of our old furniture looks a bit small and shabby in this beautiful new space, but other than that, I think it's fine, don't you?"

They went into the smaller of the two bedrooms. Her father's furniture had been moved in, but all of his stuff was still boxed up.

"You want to go through his things, yeah?" Drew asked. "I thought it would be easier to leave everything in boxes for you." He put an arm around her as she nodded.

"Thank you," she said quietly. "For everything." She leaned her head on his shoulder briefly before continuing to walk around her new abode.

"This is such a beautiful place," she finally said. "Look at this kitchen, you guys! I actually have a real kitchen, not just a space off the lounge, I mean, wow!" She smiled, then the smile faded as she thought of her father. "I wish he could've lived in a nice place like this," she said. "He worked so hard, all his life, with nothing to show for it."

"Don't say that, he had you, he must've been so proud of you," Ned said, putting a hand on her shoulder.

"I hope so," she replied. She sniffed and shook herself, giving the boys a smile after. "You want a cuppa?" she offered. "If I can find the tea, that is."

One of the movers was a very intuitive person, because Chiara found everything in the first place she looked. Five minutes later, they were sitting at the Cavuto's old, scarred table, drinking hot cups of tea and eating shortbread.

"This is a nice, homey place," Ned declared, grabbing another piece of shortbread. "I think you're going to be happy here, Chiara. I mean, once you've finished grieving for your dad." He looked abashed. "I'm sorry, I don't mean to sound insensitive."

Chiara shook her head as she put her hand over his. "Oh, please, Ned, you don't have to apologize, I know what you mean."

She looked back and forth between the two young men who were sitting with her. "I never thought I'd have two good friends to help me the way you have, and I'm grateful to both of you. I didn't know my dad was going to die, but if someone had told me he was going to, I would've thought my life was going to fall apart. But here I am, a beautiful place to live, all moved in, the business still intact, I mean--" she looked down, overwhelmed. "I don't know what to say, I don't."

She sniffed and grabbed for the tissues. "I swear, I've cried enough these last weeks to last a lifetime, so embarrassing."

"Come on, mate, give me a hand with those lamps, yeah?" Ned suggested, rising as he looked at Drew.

"Sure," Drew agreed with a nod, giving Chiara's shoulder a squeeze on his way out.

She got herself under control while they were gone, and even had some ideas about where to put them when they came back.

"They look good there, don't they? Or they will, as soon as I have some bulbs to go in them," Chiara said, admiring them in the corner she'd chosen.

"So what do you say we have a little housewarming party, then?" Ned suggested. "Netflix and chill here on this great, comfortable old sofa?"

"Really? You wouldn't be more comfortable up at the big house?" Chiara asked. "Nicer TV and all that?"

"Nah, let's do this right, order some delivery, have some beer and popcorn and that, get in our PJs, watch a movie?" Ned looked at Drew for approval.

"Sounds good to me," Drew agreed with a smile and a nod.

So the boys trekked back up to the house one more time to get changed and gather provisions while Chiara showered in her new-to-her bathroom and put her pajamas on. Part of her felt disloyal to her father to even be contemplating having fun when he was lying in the cemetery not a stone's throw from where she was. She knew, however, that nothing she did would bring him back, and that he wouldn't want her to sit around alone crying in her tea.

She put out the rest of the shortbread and waited for the boys, who returned ten minutes later with beer, wine, popcorn, and with the pizza already ordered.

They settled down on the sofa to watch the movie, and Ned was right, it was a very comfortable one, roomy and soft. Chiara sat between the two boys, with one large blanket to cover them all. They watched Deadpool 2, which Chiara knew the boys had chosen on purpose because it was a comedy, and they wanted to keep her cheered up, which she thought was very kind of them.

By the time the movie was over, they'd drunk all the beer and most of the wine, and absolutely demolished the pizza.

"I think we're all pleasantly pissed," Ned declared with a happy laugh.

"I think you're right, Neddy," Drew agreed, slapping Ned's thigh. "What about you, CC? How you feeling?"

"I feel fine," she said with dignity. "I don't feel pissed at all." She rose to go to the bathroom and stumbled against the edge of the rug.

"Whoa, careful, now," Ned admonished, grabbing her around the waist.

"I'm fine, I'm fine," she assured the boys.

She looked at herself in the bathroom mirror, wondering how some girls could drink and drink and look beautiful, when she herself always looked pale as a ghost after a few beers and a couple of glasses of wine.

"Are you up for another movie, or are you tired?" Ned asked when she returned to the living room.

"I'm wide awake," Chiara said, sitting down between the boys again. "I'm game if you are."

So they started another movie, but within twenty minutes, Chiara, to her mortification, was nodding off, first sagging on Ned's shoulder, then Drew's. After about half an hour of this, one of them clicked the movie off.

"Come on, then, you, off to bed with you," Drew said into her ear.

"I'm not sleepy," Chiara protested as Ned helped her up.

"Right, course not, come along," he agreed.

So they helped her to bed, and she was sleeping before they got back to the door.

🌙⭐️🌙⭐️🌙⭐️🌙⭐️🌙

Chiara woke up disoriented in the middle of the night. After two weeks of sleeping in Drew's bed, in Drew's room, she'd gotten used to seeing his ceiling, to his sheets, to his scent all around her, to his pillows.

Where was she?

She recognized her own bed, her sheets with the little flowers on them, her yellow duvet cover. But the windows were all wrong, and the room smelled like fresh paint.

Then she remembered. Her dad had died all alone on the floor of their house while she was playing games with Drew and Ned at Langton, and she'd gotten sick kneeling at his graveside during a snowstorm. Drew had carried her to his bedroom and tended her through a bout of flu which had nearly killed her. She'd lost their house to the wanker landlords who'd been trying to take it from them for years, and Drew had generously let her have this house, the gardener's cottage at Langton, to live in.

And here she was, all alone.

The tears came as she lay in bed, wondering what was going to happen to her. She felt utterly, bitterly, alone, adrift, with nothing to hold her down to the planet.

She rolled into a ball on her side, clutching her comforter into a ball against her stomach, letting her sobs come, letting her tears fall. There was no one to hear her anyway. Before, she had to cry quietly when she was in bed, because her father was such a light sleeper. He would always hear her and come in, his slippers making a scuffing noise on the Lino. He would place a gentle hand on her shoulder and ask, "What's the matter?"

Chiara nearly jumped out of the bed when she felt a gentle hand on her shoulder and a quiet voice asked, "What's the matter?"

She rolled over, her heart in her mouth.

It was Drew.

"What are you doing here? How did you get in?"

"I never left. I slept on the sofa in the lounge. I thought you might need--someone--in the night."

Chiara let out a sob and reached for him, flipping back the duvet as she did so.

He climbed in next to her, making a sound of sympathy as he took her trembling body in his arms, tucking her hot face in his neck.

"Okay, okay, just let it out, let it out," he whispered against the top of her head. "Poor girl, it must be just awful to feel so alone. I'm sorry, so sorry, darling."

He rubbed her back, enveloping her in his body, offering whatever comfort he could.

She continued to cry for a few minutes, until finally, after ten minutes or so, her sobs tapered off to intermittent hiccups, which made him smile, though he didn't say anything. The hiccups went on for a few minutes, then, at long last, peaceful release, and she took a deep breath and spoke.

"He died all alone, Drew. How do I ever get over that? How do I know he wasn't aware of that?"

"You heard what the doctor said," he chided, giving her a gentle shake. "You could've been in the same room with him, you could've been standing right next to him, and it wouldn't have mattered a jot or a tittle! You heard her say that, CC, you heard her and I heard her. I happened so fast he was probably gone before he hit the floor."

In spite of how awful she felt, Chiara couldn't help but laugh a little. "Did you say 'a jot or a tittle?'"

"Yeah? So?" Drew chuckled softly. "You having a laugh?"

"Maybe."

"I'll forgive you, because your laugh is so cute."

Drew leaned in and kissed her cheek, keeping his face close to hers after.

Their lips were so close each could feel the other's breath, and Drew was suddenly aware of the movements of her ribcage against his torso, the slow and steady pulse of her heart against his chest. And her hair smelled like flowers, and he could tell, just from the tiny bit of moonlight glinting off them, that her lips were supple and soft from her crying.

Dammit.

She had her hand on his bicep, and he felt her squeeze it, just slightly, as she lifted her leg over his, the tiniest bit.

The remnants of his willpower crumbled to dust at his feet, and he leaned in and kissed her.