Chapter 1
Millie’s POV
The train slowed to a stop with a screech loud enough to make Millie wince.
London.
Even the word felt too big for her.
She tightened her fingers around the handle of her suitcase and stared out the window at the crowded station. People moved in every direction, rushing past each other like they all had somewhere incredibly important to be. Phones pressed to ears. Coffee cups in hands. Sharp shoes clicking against the floor.
Truro suddenly felt a million miles away.
For a second, panic crept into her chest. Then she exhaled slowly and pushed herself up from her seat.
New beginning.Be brave.
The station was warm and loud and smelled vaguely of coffee and rain somehow, despite the bright summer weather outside. Millie stepped onto the platform, brushing a strand of black hair behind her ear as she searched through the crowd.
And then she saw him.
“Dad,”
“There’s my girl,” Coach Carne grinned instantly, opening his arms before she could even reach him.
Millie laughed softly as he pulled her into a hug. He still smelled faintly like aftershave and mint gum, exactly the same as when she was seventeen. Tall, athletic, broad shouldered man despite being in his fifties, her father looked more capable of playing football than coaching it half the time.
“It’s good to see you,” she admitted quietly.
“You too, sweetheart,” He pulled back to look at her properly. “Long trip?”
“I survived. Barely. I was seated next to a man who chewed like a dying tractor.”
Her dad snorted, “Welcome to London.”
Millie rolled her eyes, but she smiled.
He grabbed one of her suitcases before she could protest. “How’s your mum doing?”
“She’s good.” Millie followed him through the station. “Still married to Roger.”
Her father groaned dramatically, “That man wears sandals with jeans, Millie. Sandals. With jeans.”
She burst out laughing, “You’re just jealous because he owns seven Hawaiian shirts.”
“Eight.” Her dad corrected her darkly, “I counted at last Christmas.”
“Oh my God.”
“And every single one looked like a tropical disease.”
Millie laughed harder, shaking her head as they stepped outside the station. The London heat wrapped around her instantly, warmer and heavier than Cornwall’s soft coastal breeze.
Cars honked somewhere nearby.
People rushed past.
Too much.
Her father glanced at her briefly, like he could read her mind, “You alright?”
“Yeah,” she said quickly, “Just... adjusting.”
His expression softened a little, but he nodded and didn’t push.
Thankfully.
The drive to his house took nearly forty minutes. Millie spent most of it staring out the window at busy streets and endless rows of buildings while her dad filled the silence with stories about football practice and one of his players nearly setting off the fire alarm trying to make a toast.
“How badly do you burn a toast to summon firefighters?” She asked
“With determination.”
“That’s honestly impressive.”
“It was Luke,” he muttered.
Millie hummed absentmindedly, “Sounds intelligent.”
Her dad laughed.
Eventually they pulled into a quieter neighborhood with tree-lined streets and neat brick houses. Her father’s house sat near the end of the road; a beautiful two-story house with cream walls and wide windows.
Millie’s eyes widened slightly as she stepped out of the car.
“Dad... this place is gorgeous.”
His face brightened immediately, “You think so?”
“I know so.”
The inside was warm and modern, without feeling cold. Dark wooden floors, large windows, soft lighting. Comfortable.
Homey.
But it was the garden that truly caught her attention.
“Oh, I love this.”
Two adult swings hung beneath a tree near the fence, and a hammock stretched lazily between two wooden posts.
Her father looked ridiculously pleased with himself, “Thought you’d like that part.”
“I’m absolutely stealing that hammock.”
“I expected nothing less.”
By the time her dad disappeared into the kitchen to make dinner, Millie finally allowed herself to breathe properly.
Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad.
Her phone buzzed in her backpack.
Daisy.
Millie answered immediately, “Miss me already?”
“Obviously,” Daisy replied dramatically. “So. Tell me everything. Have you settled in? Have you met any hot London guys yet? Is there a tall stranger waiting for you at the crosswalk?”
Millie laughed, dropping into the hammock, “I’ve been here approximately four seconds.”
“That’s not a no.”
“It’s absolutely a no.”
Daisy sighed, “Boring.”
Millie smiled despite herself. Daisy had always been chaotic in the most lovable way possible.
“The house is nice,” Millie said. “Dad seems really happy.”
“And you?”
That question hit a little harder.
Millie stared at the sky for a second, “I don’t know yet.”
“You’ll love it there.”
“Maybe,” she tacked her hair behind her ear, “It’s just... different.”
“And different is good.”
“Different is terrifying.”
Daisy ignored that completely, “Back to the important topics. Hot guys.”
“Oh my God.”
“What? You’re single now. Free. Reborn. Like a sexy little phoenix.”
Millie snorted, “The last thing I need right now is another relationship.”
“Wrong,” Daisy declared immediately. “A relationship is exactly what you need.”
Millie’s face faded slightly.
“Daisy.”
“What?”
“If I got into a relationship right now, I’d probably come with a trust issues and emotional damage.”
“Okay, fair,” Daisy admitted. “But the best cure for trust issues is a new man.”
“That sounds medically incorrect.”
“Your dad literally coaches football players. Just pick one.”
Millie barked out a laugh, “Absolutely not.”
“Why not?”
“Because football players are all the same.”
“That sounds judgmental.”
“It’s accurate,” Millie corrected. “They kick a ball around for living and probably think ‘emotional depth’ is a yoga position.”
Daisy cackled loudly through the phone.
“How hard can football even be?” Millie continued. “You run around dramatically for ninety minutes and occasionally fall over.”
“You’re gonna fall in love with one now.” Daisy said confidently.
“There’s zero chance of that happening.”
“Never say neve-”
“Millie!” Her dad shouted from the kitchen, “Dinner’s ready!”
Millie grinned, “Saved by the bell.”
“You hate me.”
“Correct. Bye.”
She hung up before Daisy could continue her nonsense and headed to the dining room.
Dinner somehow turned into them sitting on the couch eating pasta while watching Hot Ones on YouTube.
At one point, her dad laughed so hard at an actor choaking on hot sauce that he nearly dropped his fork.
Millie hadn’t laughed this much in weeks.
“I’m glad you’re here Mills.” Her dad said quietly later that evening.
Something about his voice made her chest ache a little.
“Me too.”
And she meant it.
Even if fear still sat quietly in the corners of her mind.
New city. New life. New beginning.
That night, lying in unfamiliar sheets while distant London traffic hummed outside, Millie stared at the ceiling for a long time before sleep finally found her.
***
Morning came. Sunlight poured through the curtains. Millie blinked awake slowly, surprisingly rested.
For a moment she forgot where she was.
Then London returned all at once.
She grabbed her phone, scrolling through messages from Daisy and her mum before dragging herself out of bed.
By the time she showered and dressed, the heat outside had aleady settled heavily over the city. She chose a simple white summer dress and sandals before heading downstairs.
The house was quiet. Too quiet.
Millie frowned slightly before spotting a note on the kitchen counter.
‘Work emergency. Back by lunch. Food in fridge. Don’t burn the house down.’- Dad.
She smiled despite herself. Breakfast alone was significantly less fun.
After eating, she tried watching a movie.
Boring.
Then reading.
Also boring.
By eleven thirty she was officially restless. So she left the house.
London felt differently during daylight. Busy, alive, overwhelming, but interesting too. Millie wandered through unfamiliar streets, passing cafes overflowing with people and tiny bookstores tucked between large buildings.
Then she spotted a gallery.
It was small and quiet, almost hidden between two shops.
Perfect.
Inside, cool air wrapped around her immediately. The gallery was nearly empty except for an older couple near the entrance.
Millie wandered slowly through the paintings until one stopped her completely.
It was a countryside landscape.
Soft green hills. Wildflowers. Golden sunlight stretching over distant trees. It looked like peace. Like home.
Her chest tightened unexpectedly as she stared at it.
“It’s nice isn’t it?”
The male voice startled her.
Millie turned slightly, but not fully.
“Nice?” She repeated, “It’s beautiful.”
“You think so?”
“Yes.” Her eyes stayed on the painting, “I’ve never seen anything quite like it.”
A soft chuckle came from beside her.
“I think it looks amateur.”
That made her finally look at him properly.
Slightly messy light brown hair. Green eyes. Tall. Relaxed posture. The kind of easy confidence some people just naturally carried.
Millie frowned immediately.
“Oh, well.” She crossed her arms lightly, “A professional art critic has spoken.”
His grin appeared instantly. “Exactly.”
She narrowed her eyes suspiciously, “And what qualifications do you have?”
“I once watched a documentary about Van Gogh.”
“Wow,” she deadpanned. “I deeply apologize. I didn’t realize I was speaking to an expert.”
He laughed softly, and annoyingly enough, it was a really nice laugh.
“I’m Luke,” he said, holding out his hand. “Luke Wellington.”
“Millie.” She shook his hand briefly.
Luke glanced back at the painting, “So, you’re into art?”
“I appreciate art,” she corrected. “There’s a difference.”
“Do you paint?”
Millie laughed immediately, “God, no. A three-year-old with finger paints could outperform me.”
“That’s probably true,” Luke said thoughtfully.
She blinked at him.
He continued casually, “Considering you were admiring this monstrosity earlier.”
Millie gasped, “You’re unbelievably rude.”
“I’m honest.”
“You’re blind.”
Luke smirked, “I’ll survive.”
She studied him for a second before shaking her head, “I bet you paint even worse than I do.”
“Guess, we’ll never know,menace.”
Millie rolled her eyes, fighting a smile. Before she could answer, his phone rang. Luke pulled it out of his pocket and sighed. “Yeah?” A pause. “Alright, alright. I’m coming now.”
He hung up and looked back at her, “I have to go unfortunately.”
“What a tragic loss for me.”
“I know,” His grin returned. “Try not to emotionally defend any more ugly paintings while I’m gone.”
Millie scoffed, “Bye Picasso.”
Luke laughed properly this time.
Then he walked away.
And somehow, despite only speaking to him for a few minutes, the gallery suddenly felt quieter after he left.
