Heather Young

Its scars are worn now; the years have smoothed them to dark ripples in the golden wood.

They stood for a long time like that, his weight heavy on her. When her back began to ache, she eased him away, kissing him in solace. His cheeks were soft, like a baby’s.

He made her feel safe. He did. But something about the burglary niggled at her.

every man was a prince – until he was a liar, or a pervert, or a nutcase