Grace was a mistress. Luck hadn’t been on her side when it came to marriage. She’d stayed single till she was thirty before finally deciding to find herself a man.
At first, she didn’t know Paul was married, but when he realised she’d grown attached, he didn’t bother hiding it. Yet Grace never once blamed him—instead, she scolded herself for the affair and her weakness. She felt flawed, as if she’d failed by not finding a proper husband in time, and the years kept slipping away. Still, she wasn’t a bad catch—not a beauty, but pleasant-looking, a little plump, which might’ve made her seem older. The relationship with Paul was going nowhere. Grace didn’t want to stay as his mistress, but she couldn’t bring herself to leave him either. The thought of being alone terrified her.
One day, her cousin Steve dropped by unexpectedly. He was in town for work and stopped in to see her for a few hours—they hadn’t met in ages. Over lunch in the kitchen, they chatted like old times, catching up on life. Grace opened up about her situation, telling him everything, even shedding a few tears.
Just then, the neighbour knocked, asking Grace to come over and see some new purchases. She stepped out for twenty minutes. That’s when the doorbell rang. Assuming Grace had returned, Steve went to answer—she hadn’t locked the door. On the step stood Paul. Steve knew instantly who he was. Paul froze at the sight of a burly bloke in joggers and a vest, munching on a ham sandwich.
“Er—Grace in?” was all Paul managed.
“She’s in the bath,” Steve shot back without missing a beat.
“Sorry, but who are you?” Paul asked, still flustered.
“Her husband. Common-law. For now… And you’d be?” Steve stepped closer, grabbing Paul by the collar. “Wouldn’t happen to be that married bloke she told me about, would ya? Listen here. If I catch you round again, I’ll toss you down the stairs. Got it?”
Paul wriggled free and bolted down the steps.
When Grace returned, Steve told her about the visit.
“What’ve you done? Who asked you to interfere?” Grace burst into tears. “He won’t come back now.” She sank onto the sofa, covering her face.
“Damn right he won’t—and good riddance. Stop blubbering. Got a proper bloke in mind for you. Widower, back in our village. Women’ve been after him since his wife passed, but he’s been turning ‘em all down—reckons he needs time. Here’s the plan. Once my work trip’s done, I’ll swing by. We’ll go back together. I’ll introduce you.”
“How? No, Steve, I can’t just—some stranger. And me turning up like that—it’s humiliating!”
“Humiliating’s shacking up with a married man, not meeting a free one. No one’s dragging you to bed. We’re going—it’s Liza’s birthday, anyway.”
A few days later, Grace and Steve were back in the village. His wife, Liza, had set up a table in the garden by the shed. Neighbours, friends, and Steve’s mate—the widower Alfie—joined the family gathering. Grace knew most of them already but had never met Alfie before.
After a warm evening of chatter, Grace returned to town. She couldn’t stop thinking about Alfie—how quiet and gentle he’d been. *Still grieving his wife, poor man. Not many that kind-hearted.*
A week later, on her day off, the doorbell rang. Grace wasn’t expecting anyone. She opened it and froze—there stood Alfie, holding a bag.
“Hope you don’t mind, Grace. Just passing through—market run. Figured since we know each other now, I’d stop by,” he muttered, tripping over his rehearsed words.
She invited him in, baffled but polite, offering tea as she suspected his visit wasn’t random.
“Get everything you needed at the market?” she asked.
“Aye, got the lot in the car. Brought you these, though.” He pulled out a small bunch of daffodils, handing them over.
Grace took them, eyes brightening. They sat drinking tea, making small talk about the weather and rising prices. Finally, as Alfie rose to leave, he lingered in the hall, fumbling with his coat and boots. Then, at the door, he turned back suddenly.
“If I walk out now without saying it, I’ll regret it. Grace, I’ve thought of nowt but you all week. Swear down. Couldn’t wait for the weekend—came straight over. Got your address from Steve…”
Grace flushed, dropping her gaze.
“We hardly know each other…”
“Doesn’t matter. Only… you’re not put off by me, are you? Mind if I drop the ‘miss’? Know I’m no prize. Got a little lass, too—eight, staying with her nan.”
His hands trembled slightly.
“A daughter’s lovely. That’s real happiness,” Grace said softly. “Always wanted a girl.”
Encouraged, Alfie took her hands, pulling her close before kissing her. When he stepped back, her eyes were glistening.
“Was that… wrong?”
“No. The opposite. Never thought I’d feel… safe. No stealing from anyone else this time.”
From then on, they met every weekend. Two months later, they married and settled in the village. Grace found work at a nursery. A year on, she had a daughter of her own—two girls in the house, both cherished, with love to spare. And with each passing year, Grace and Alfie only grew happier, their bond deepening like aged whiskey.
At gatherings, Steve would nudge Grace with a wink.
“Well, Gracie? What’d I tell ya? Proper catch, eh? Glowing like a lass half your age. Never doubt your big cousin.”
