Lazarus Rising

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The chapter is dedicated to all my readers who 'complained' about my cliffhangers *insert an emoji with its tongue sticking out* I love you, my darlings!

K. xx

***

He went to open the door, and Ulla pushed away her yet unfilled mug and decisively started loading the Sage. When he was back, she'd have to answer his question - and somehow she wasn't sure she wanted to do her usual thing and bluntly inform him that he sucked. Ulla groaned. Why couldn't he be a bit more like his brother - and have an innate talent, impeccable sense of word choice, and an elegant plot building ability?

"Ms. Svensson, allow me to introduce you to James Whitlaw," he said behind her, and Ulla turned around.

Oh my. Yeah, there's definitely something in the water in this village. What's with hench Charlie Hunnam look-alikes? This one was wider and more macho than lovely Frank Harris, the car mechanic, but they were probably related.

"Whitlaw?" she asked sardonically. "I believe I've met your brother."

The wide grin on the blond's face didn't waver.

"He's never getting over that meeting," he said. "Unlike other redheads that happened to stay in this cottage, you freaked him out." He looked her over. "And he was right. You do have ace legs."

Ulla mimicked his gesture.

"So do you," she quipped back and turned to the coffee machine.

He barked a laugh, and then there was a strangely tense silence behind her. She glanced over, and saw Oliver Holyoake's blank face. If he didn't enjoy his mate's company, why did he invite him in?

"Are you joining us for tea?" she asked.

"Am I, Oli?" Whitlaw asked.

"If Ms. Svensson doesn't mind," Holyoake answered in his usual mellow manner. "James is here to check on the renovations of the first floor's studio."

"I'm working on Will's cottage for him and the missus," the blond explained. "And if I'm allowed to stay, I'd rather have coffee."

He gave Ulla a lopsided grin and walked out into the hall. She heard his steps go up the stairs.

"The bedroom was initially on the first floor," Holyoake said. Ulla put his mug with brew on the table, and he stepped closer but didn't sit down. "They're renovating it to have Fiona's studio there. And– well, you've seen the bedroom."

"Yes, I have," Ulla said with a chuckle.

The Sage started grinding the beans, and they just stood in silence waiting for it. Ulla pulled out a clean mug for herself and the cream from the fridge.

"I needed to measure it," James Whitlaw said entering the kitchen again. "And I was right, we didn't order enough paint."

"The coffee is almost ready," Ulla announced.

Whitlaw sat at the table and looked between Ulla and Holyoake.

"So, how's your writing, Oli?" the blond asked.

That surely didn't sound reverent enough, all puns intended.

"It's progressing," Holyoake answered. "Miss Svensson is here to help me out. She's a professional editor from John's publishing house." He gave Ulla a respectful nod that was almost a bow.

"I'll tell you that, no one in the village cares about that," Whitlaw said with a bark of a throaty laugh. "Considering what your brothers had gotten up to in this cottage, having a fit redhead loiter around in your jumper was a ballsy move, Oli."

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