Just Visiting by Jane Shaw
Synopsos
“Awesome… the plot is grand, the sex is logical. This is what romance should be.” – Bookause Reviews
Seven years ago, Samantha walked away from the man who would eventually become her sister’s husband. Now, she’s finally ready to face the ghosts of her past, stepping into Lucy and Ethan’s picture-perfect life with a guarded heart and a steady resolve. She expected a quiet family reunion; she didn’t expect Craig.
The neighbor with a dangerous reputation and a smile that promises trouble, Craig is everything Samantha usually avoids: younger, reckless, and far too charming for his own good. Despite her sister’s frantic warnings of his Casanova ways, Samantha is certain she’s immune to his games. But as the city heat rises and Craig turns his full, undivided attention toward her, her “drama-free” holiday begins to melt away. Samantha came to find closure, but she might just find herself falling for the one man she swore she’d never want.
1
The arrivals hall at Leeds Bradford Airport buzzed with the usual chaos. Families reuniting, suitcases thudding against tiled floors, and the scent of coffee lingering in the air. Samantha Hartley adjusted the strap of her handbag and scanned the crowd, her heart thudding with a cocktail of anticipation and unease.
Four years. That’s how long it had been since she’d seen Lucy in person. Four years since the wedding, the argument, and the silence that followed. And now, here she was, about to meet her sister’s newborn son for the first time, with a suitcase full of baby gifts and emotional baggage she hadn’t quite unpacked.
She tugged her wheeled luggage through the crowd, her heels clicking with purpose. Her eyes darted across the sea of faces until she spotted a familiar one, Lucy, waving enthusiastically, a baby carrier strapped to her front. Beside her stood a man she didn’t recognize, tall and sun-kissed, with
a crooked smile and a mop of sandy hair that looked like it had never met a comb.
Craig.
Samantha hesitated for a beat, then forced a smile and walked toward them.
“Sam!” Lucy called out, her voice bright and breathless. “You made it!”
Samantha reached them, her arms already aching from the weight of her carry-ons. Lucy leaned in for a quick, slightly awkward hug, careful not to jostle the baby. The infant stirred, making a soft cooing sound that tugged at Samantha’s heart.
“You must be exhausted,” Lucy said. “This is Craig, he’s our neighbour. Ethan’s stuck at work, and Craig offered to drive me when he saw me struggling with the car seat.”
Craig stepped forward, his smile easy and disarming. “Welcome to Yorkshire, Samantha. Let me grab those for you.”
Before she could protest, he was already lifting her suitcase with one hand and balancing her duffel over his shoulder like it weighed nothing.
“Thanks,” she said, a little too formally. “That’s very kind of you.”
He winked. “I’m known for my heroic airport rescues. It’s a niche skill.”
Lucy laughed, and Samantha found herself softening just a little. Maybe this visit wouldn’t be so bad. Maybe the past could stay in the past, at least for a few days.
As they walked toward the car, Craig chatting easily with Lucy and occasionally glancing at Samantha with curious eyes, she felt the first flicker of something unexpected. Not quite attraction. Not yet. But something warm. Something potentially dangerous.
The car hummed along the winding country roads, the late afternoon sun casting golden streaks across the windshield. Samantha sat in the passenger seat, her sunglasses perched on her nose, trying not to notice how Craig’s forearm flexed as he shifted gears.
Lucy sat in the back, gently rocking the baby carrier with one hand, her eyes flicking between her son and the front seats.
“So,” Craig said, glancing at Samantha with a grin, “first time in Yorkshire?”
“First time anywhere that doesn’t have a skyline,” she replied, smirking. “I’m more of a city girl.”
“Ah, so you’re here to be converted,” he teased. “We’ll have you trading stilettos for wellies in no time.”
Samantha chuckled. “You’re optimistic.”
“I’m persuasive,” he said, eyes twinkling. “Give me one afternoon and I’ll show you why this place is anything but sleepy.”
She tilted her head, amused. “Is that your pitch to all the newcomers?”
“Only the ones who look like they need convincing.”
Lucy cleared her throat softly from the back. “Craig knows every pub and walking trail within a ten-mile radius. He’s basically the unofficial mayor.”
Craig laughed. “I prefer ‘local legend,’ but I’ll take mayor.”
Samantha turned to him, her tone playful. “You’re very… confident.”
“Is that a compliment?”
“Maybe,” she said, lips curving. “You’re also surprisingly helpful. And charming. And you didn’t even complain about my over packed suitcase.”
Craig gave a mock bow while driving. “I aim to impress.”
Lucy shifted slightly, adjusting the baby’s blanket. “Craig’s always been good at making people feel welcome,” she said, her voice light but clipped.
Samantha glanced back, catching the flicker of something in her sister’s eyes, discomfort, maybe. Or protectiveness.
“I appreciate it,” Samantha said, more seriously now. “It’s been a long time since I’ve had a proper break.”
Craig nodded. “Then let’s make sure it’s a good one. I’ll take you to the best fish and chips spot, show you the moors, and if you’re lucky, I might even let you see my studio.”
“Studio?” Samantha asked.
“I paint,” he said casually. “Mostly landscapes. Sometimes people. It’s not really my studio. It’s my mate’s but he lets me use it.”
Lucy leaned forward. “He’s being modest. He’s had pieces in the local gallery.”
Craig shrugged. “It’s just a hobby that got out of hand. Plus, the gallery lady may have had a crush on me ‘cos that piece is rubbish.”
Samantha raised an eyebrow. “Now I’m intrigued.”
Craig flashed her a grin. “Good. That’s step one of the conversions.”
As the car turned into the village lane, Samantha felt a strange flutter in her chest. Maybe it was the jet lag. Or maybe it was the way Craig looked at her like she wasn’t just another visitor passing through.
And maybe Lucy’s silence wasn’t just about the baby.
Late afternoon sunlight slanted through gauzy curtains. The distant hum of traffic wafted in from the street. Lucy curled up on the arm of an oversized couch, tea cooling in her hands. Sam stood by the open window, arms folded, staring out like she’s waiting for something.
Lucy smirked. “I feel like I should warn you, before you get swept into one of Craig’s cinematic disasters. He’s a walking rom-com cliché.”
Sam chuckled, brushing hair off her shoulder. “Trust me, I’m not about to start frolicking with a man-child in a leather jacket. He was fun to humour on the drive, like a pet who thinks he’s in charge.”
“Oh God. Don’t tell him that, he’ll take it as a challenge.”
The sisters laughed softly. There’s warmth, but also something tentative between them.
After a moment, Sam said, “I still can’t believe you married an Irish stranger who came to town for a work trip.”
Lucy smiled, “It wasn’t just a work trip. And it wasn’t as simple as you make it sound. We were talking every day of his trip. Two weeks later we were looking at rings.”
“That’s either incredibly romantic or deeply alarming.”
“Bit of both, probably.”
“You’ve been back to Canada twice since then, right?”
“Yeah. Once for paperwork, once for Mum’s birthday. I tried reaching out, but you were always… not around.”
Sam turns from the window, her face stiff for a moment.
“It was timing. Bad timing.”
“Or maybe good excuses?”
Sam sighed and sat beside her. “I didn’t know how to face you, honestly. I was still… figuring myself out. You just vanished into this whirlwind life, and… you know the story.”
Lucy took her hand, “Sam, I didn’t vanish. I just… accelerated. Doesn’t mean I don’t know what it meant to you. I understand the awkwardness and didn’t have any hard feeling.”
A long silence followed, filled with the soft tick of the antique clock on the mantel.
Sam said softly, “I missed you.”
Lucy smiled, “I missed you too.”
They allowed a moment to pass while staring blankly at the muted TV.
Lucy leaned forward, teacup cradled between her palms, her tone sliding from playful to pointed.
“So… be honest. Were you avoiding us, those times you were ‘conveniently’ on work trips?”
Sam stiffened slightly, eyes drifting to the half-empty cup in front of her. “It wasn’t planned. The timing was just off. Work’s been chaotic.”
“Twice, though? In four years? That’s more than a coincidence.”
Sam exhaled, slow and heavy. “I needed space. You got married so fast, disappeared into that life, and I guess… I didn’t know where I fit anymore.”
Lucy carefully said, “Or maybe it’s about Ethan.”
Silence creeped in like a cold draft.
Sam turned, her brows knitting together. “What about Ethan?”
“Well… he asked you out first. That’s not ancient history.”
Sam replied defensively, almost too quickly. “No, it’s not ancient history. He asked. I said I needed time. And a few days later, he was asking you instead.”
Lucy nodded, not without a flicker of guilt. “And I said yes.”
There was no accusation in her voice, just quiet honesty. Sam looked away, jaw tense. “Must’ve been a short time between him waiting on me and falling for you.”
“I didn’t know he’d asked you first until months later.”
“Still stings a little. Not because he chose you… but because it felt like everything I paused for passed me by.”
A breeze rustles the curtains. Outside, the sun’s dipped slightly, softening the light.
Lucy reached for Sam’s hand. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. I don’t think he did either. Maybe timing’s just a cruel little trickster.”
Sam, half-smiling. “Timing and I don’t really get along.”
As the evening deepened. The last of the light paints long amber stripes on the floor. Sam and Lucy sat with empty teacups between them, a breeze lifting the edge of a curtain.
Sam said softly, with a gentle smile. “Just so you know… I’ve let all that go. No bitterness. Honestly, I’m happy for you both.”
Lucy tilted her head, searching Sam’s face. “You mean that?”
Sam nodded. “I do.”
A little pause passed. Then Lucy spoke carefully, as if testing a fragile bridge. “But… was there ever something? With Ethan? A flicker, even?”
Sam straightened slightly. Her smile faltered for a half second. Her voice remained calm, but there’s a tightness in the way she folded her hands.
“No. I never felt that way about him.”
Lucy watched her, brow furrowed.
Sam avoided her gaze, pretending to smooth the fabric of her sleeve.
“You are sure? Because the way you looked just now… it didn’t match your words.”
Sam forced a laugh. “Oh come on, Lu. I said no. That should be enough.”
But her eyes lingered on the teacup longer than necessary. There’s a flicker of something unresolved behind them, not longing exactly, but a mix of confusion and bruised pride.
“He chose me, Sam. But sometimes I wonder what he might’ve chosen if you’d said yes first.”
Sam’s voice dropped, threaded with vulnerability. “I wonder that too… sometimes. But wondering doesn’t mean wanting.”
A hush fell. The wind picked up slightly, whispering through the house like it’s eavesdropping.
Steam clung to the bathroom like a second skin, softening the edges of everything it touched. The mirror was a blurred moon, the tiles a muted mosaic beneath the dim light. Sam lay reclined in the tub, water lapping gently at her collarbones, her hair floating around her like dark kelp. The only sound was the slow, persistent drip of the faucet, a metronome for thoughts she’d spent years trying not to revisit.
Four years. A whole life packed into four years. And now he’s just… down the hall again.
She slid lower, letting the warmth cradle her neck, letting memory rise in its place. That night, the almost‑kiss, the breathless pause, the answer neither of them dared to voice, hovered in the steam like a ghost that refused to dissipate.
Did I pull back because I wasn’t ready? Or because I already knew that Lucy also on his mind?
His voice from that night drifted back to her: low, hesitant, threaded with something fragile. She had never been able to decide whether it was longing or fear.
Later, wrapped in a thin dressing robe that did little against the cool air of the hallway, Sam lay sprawled on top of her covers. The house was quiet except for the faint clatter of Lucy washing dishes in the kitchen. Sam stared at the ceiling, nerves fluttering beneath her skin like trapped moths.
What do I say? Hey Ethan, remember almost kissing me and then marrying my sister?
Her lips twitched into a half‑smile, bitter at the edges, fond in the centre, confused everywhere else.
I’ll be normal. I’ll be chill. I’ll be the version of me who isn’t thinking about that night every time I see his face.
The robe slipped from her shoulder; she tugged it back without looking, her mind looping the same questions, the same ache. And somewhere in that spiral, quiet, sharp, impossible to ignore, came the thought:
If he looks at me the way he did back then… what will I do?
A knock shattered the stillness, abrupt, confident. Lucy padded to the door, peered through the glass, then called down the hall.
“Sam? It’s Craig. He’s asking for you.”
Sam groaned into her pillow, then dragged herself upright, cinching the robe with a frustrated tug. The air from outside brushed her skin as she opened the door.
Craig stood there grinning, hands in his pockets, posture loose with the kind of confidence that came from never having been told no in a way that stuck.
“There she is,” he said. “Was starting to think I’d been ghosted.”
“You chose the perfect hour for spontaneity,” Sam replied, arching a brow. “I was about two thoughts away from sleep.”
“But what’s a new town without a little adventure?” he countered. “Come out, just one drink. I’ll show you Yorkshire the way locals pretend they know it.”
“I didn’t think you meant tonight,” she said, leaning against the doorframe. “I’m knackered.”
“No rush.” He shrugged, easy as anything. Then, with a smoothness that was almost impressive, he plucked her phone from her hand, fingers brushing hers just long enough to register, and tapped in a number. “There. I’m only ever a phone call away.”
Sam took the phone back slowly, eyes flicking from the screen to his face. Something unreadable passed through her expression, not quite flirtation, not quite irritation, something in the liminal space between.
“Good to know,” she murmured.
Craig stepped back, one brow raised. “You wear hesitation well, you know.”
He winked, turned, and disappeared into the night. Sam watched him go, the door still ajar, the cool air curling around her like a question she didn’t want to answer.
She closed the door, leaned her back against it, and whispered into the quiet:
“What a bloody mess.”
