Reaching the relative safety of the kitchen, Millie all but threw herself through the door and dropped into a nearby chair. She sat there for a moment, gulping in deep breaths as she tried to slow the frantic thud of her heart.
Only once the panic began to fade did she realize she wasn’t alone.
Alfie sat at a corner table, hunched over a steaming bowl of soup. He didn’t so much as glance up—he looked completely unbothered, as if he hadn’t just witnessed her dramatic entrance.
Millie straightened in her seat, forcing a shaky smile as she approached him.
“Hey, Alfie,” she greeted.
The young gardener grinned, a spoonful of soup wobbling in his hand. “Millie! You okay? You look like you sprinted halfway across the estate to escape someone.”
The dead-on guess sent heat rising up her neck.
