Emily had known for a while that she had to get out of London. Had known it for a year or so. Actually getting out, however, was a different matter entirely. She’d been saving for some while and had built up a steady sum that would get her by for a year or so, as long as she was careful. And so, one night, she packed as many possessions as she dared, hoisted the backpack over her shoulder, and left for the train station. She’d chosen a little coastal town to descend to, up in the Lake District. It was a six-hour journey, but Emily figured it was worth it if it meant a new life. It was somewhere Logan wouldn’t suspect, somewhere he wouldn’t think to look for her. Because he would, he would look for her. She’d got too tangled up with him and his mates for him to just let her leave. Emily Underwood was a fly at the center of a web, and she was determined not to be eaten, not to be consumed by Logan’s obsessive control and anger issues.

She slept outside the train station until the first train early in the morning. One-way ticket bought, Emily climbed onto the train and took a seat. She was trembling, couldn’t stop it. She was scared. Terrified, in fact; couldn’t shake the feeling that suddenly one of Logan’s friends would appear, drag her off the train and back to her and Logan’s bedsit. He’d beat her, and she’d deserve it. She did deserve it; she deserved it for being so bloody stupid. She knew that it was a stupid idea, running away. That if-when- Logan caught her, she’d certainly get a beating or two for her troubles. But she’d had to get out. Couldn’t go to her friends’ flats and houses, couldn’t put them in danger. Besides, she’d grown distant from them since she’d met Logan. It wasn’t something Emily was proud of, but it had just happened before she could realize what had happened. There was no one she could go to. She had no family to speak of, not anymore at least. She’d gone from care home to care home as a child, after her parents’ deaths. No one to care about her, worry about her. Maybe that was for the best, Emily mused as she watched several businessmen and women join her on the train. Maybe it was the only way to keep people safe. For them to avoid her. Maybe it was her way of protecting herself, with no one for Logan to use against her. Emily was protecting her friends, but also protecting her heart.

Emily left the train at Lancashire, boarding another train destined for the seaside town that was to become her home. She watched the scenery of the Lake District flash past her window, all greens, and browns, views of picturesque lakes now and then. She must have drifted off at some point because when she finally woke, they were just coming up to their final stop. Greenbrook. The name had seemed a little odd to Emily, but that was partly why she’d picked it; it was such a small, obscurely named town that she was almost certain Logan wouldn’t cotton on to where she’d fled to. But that didn’t mean she wasn’t worried. Logan had ways, and Emily swore up and down that she wouldn’t get herself too settled in case she had to run again. A life on the run, Emily decided as she left the train, would surely be better than a life with Logan Collingwood in a grubby bedsit.

Leaving the station, however, and getting her first view of Greenbrook, Emily began to question herself. The station was situated on a hill; the town sloping down and away as it spilled out towards the sea. It didn’t look overly massive, and Emily could see just one church, houses clustered about inroads so short that Emily would rather think of them as lanes. It looked small, and while the relatively unknown town would protect Emily from Logan and his friends, she had the feeling that she’d be the topic of conversation for almost all, if not the entire town.

First things first, however, she had to find a place to stay. She could maybe find a little B&B for a few weeks, while she found an actual flat, but that would be wasting money she’d rather be putting on rent. Brow furrowed, Emily surveyed the landscape laid out in front of her, bag at her feet and jumper slipping off one shoulder. She should have made a plan, Emily realized belatedly. She should have planned what she was going to do, where she would live, what she would do once her money ran out. But she’d been so desperate to get away from Logan, get out of London, that none of that had occurred to her until now. And then her mobile buzzed in her pocket. Eyes never leaving the small town in front of her, Emily reached for her phone, opening the message. And it was only then that she realized what a mistake it had been.

I’m coming to get you, bitch.

Emily swallowed thickly. She’d been stupid. She’d been so incredibly, incredibly stupid. Why she thought she could escape Logan, she didn’t know. She was an idiot, she’d always been an idiot. She was stupid, worthless. Not even her boyfriend had wanted her really. Logan had always told her she was stupid, just a blonde bimbo, there to make him look good in the clubs, to cheer him on at his gigs. He’d only ever chosen her because she was a pretty blonde and looked good in a tight dress. Why had she ever agreed to go out with him? Why had she agreed to a second date? Why hadn’t she listened to her friends’ warnings? Infuriated tears were suddenly spilling down Emily’s cheeks, mobile clenched in her fist as the text message remained stubbornly on the screen for all the world to see.

“You all right, sweetheart?”

Emily whipped around, startled at the sudden voice to see an elderly man in a tweed cap frowning at her in concern. Emily sniffed and managed a weak smile.

“Fine,” Emily managed feebly, a watery smile on her lips. “I just… Never mind.”

The man frowned further.

“Seems like you’re a long way away from fine,” the man noted with some concern. “I’m Devon, by the way. Finnegan Boyle.”

Emily blinked, then smiled.

“Pleased to meet you, Finnegan,” Emily responded. “Now, I don’t suppose you know of any flats to rent, relatively cheap?”

She’d asked for cheap, and that’s what she’d gotten. What the estate agent hadn’t mentioned was that ‘cheap’ translated to ‘rundown’ in Greenbrook. Emily pulled a face as she surveyed her new flat. In all fairness, the estate agent had tried to explain the condition of the flat, but Emily had been more interested in actually signing the contract and just paying for the first three months’ rent upfront. The estate agent had actually looked a little bemused by the whole thing, especially Emily’s reluctance to tell them her name. But she’d picked the first flat at a low enough budget, and now she was renting it.

In truth, the new flat wasn’t really that bad. Well, only about as bad as the bedsit she’d just escaped. The thought made Emily shudder as she surveyed the tiny, one-bed flat. It had come furnished, a small luxury, if the rest of the flat was to go by; the walls, were riddled with damp, the carpets threadbare, the windows certainly weren’t double-glazed. In fact, Emily decided, it was the perfect place for her to hide from Logan.

With a bit of paint, maybe she could get the flat looking all right. The rooms were small but workable, and for the first time since she’d begun running the night before, Emily finally allowed herself to relax. She felt a bone-weary tiredness, and suddenly the lumpy mattress on the filthy bed actually looked inviting. With a deep sigh, Emily padded through the flat to her postage-stamp-sized bedroom and sank gratefully onto the bed. She knew she shouldn’t give in, shouldn’t relax, not with Logan already searching for her. But she was so tired, and within moments of her head hitting the pillow, she was asleep.

Weeks passed, and Emily still hadn’t settled into life in Greenbrook. She didn’t want to, really. It wasn’t for lack of wishing; she loved the seaside town; it was beautiful. But she was scared that she’d just settle down and then Logan would swoop in, having found her. She was still too broken to settle, couldn’t risk the heartbreak of finally believing she was safe, just to have her new life ripped away from her. She’d received several more threatening messages from Logan and his friends, all threatening various bodily injuries to her when they did eventually catch up with her, and all calling her foul names. In some ways, the more texts she got, the more reassuring it was. They’d clearly searched all over London for her, to no avail, and had now turned their search to surrounding areas. The texts showed that they still had no idea where she was and felt that threats would flush her out from whatever hole she’d been hiding in. But in other ways, it was the very opposite of reassuring; more texts meant Logan was getting more frustrated, and the more frustrated he got, the worse the beating would be when he found her.

But Emily did her best to push that to the back of her mind. Instead, she preferred to concentrate on the stories about her that had swept through the small coastal town like wildfire. Some rumors she’d heard had been rather amusing, Emily decided, like the ones where she was a murderer, or an escaped convict, or a bride who’d been jilted at the altar. Other stories, however, hit too close to home. She didn’t interact with the locals much, only doing so when necessary, such as doing the food shop. The rest of her time was spent in her damp flat, by herself. She didn’t have a TV, but Emily had found a small second-hand bookshop down near the sea and had bought a few books to tide her over. They wouldn’t last long though, and she daren’t risk splashing out on a TV, even an old one; she needed all the money she’d saved to pay for food and rent. Probably couldn’t afford a TV license anyway, Emily decided miserably.

She hadn’t spoken to anyone, really, since that old man- Devon- at the train station. She’d seen the man around a few times. He seemed to man one of the few newspaper stands in the town. But other than him and the few people in the bookstore and supermarket she’d ventured to, she had kept her distance. Dodged any questions about her name, why she’d moved to Greenbrook if she had a boyfriend. There’d been remarks about how a young woman of twenty-three had suddenly appeared in Greenbrook with an awful lot of savings and no boyfriend and had quickly begun renting a flat without even looking at it. Emily knew it looked suspicious, it was suspicious, but there was very little she could do about it. It was her past, and as much as she was trying to forget about it, trying to make a fresh start, Emily knew that the threat of Logan and his friends, and his associates, were all hanging over her head.

She’d been in Greenbrook for almost three months when it happened. With little else to do and no TV to preoccupy her, Emily had made her way through the small pile of books she’d purchased. And so, with some reluctance, she slid on her boots, combed her fingers through her somewhat messy hair, and shrugged on her jacket. She didn’t bother taking her mobile; it had gotten to the point where Emily had just turned her mobile off and stuffed it in a kitchen drawer. The only people who text her were people associated with Logan Collingwood, and they were all vile texts written to make her feel bad. They worked, of course, and also made her feel constantly on-edge as if something was going to go wrong and her life would come crashing down around her ears.

Taking a deep breath, Emily left her flat. Less than a minute later, she was slamming the door shut and making her way down the road. She had the route memorized, knew what roads she needed to go down to get to the little second-hand bookshop. Greenbrook had become somewhat of a haven for Emily, and that bookshop was the heart of it. It was the one shop she’d really, truly, happily leave the house to visit. Even supermarket shopping was done with some reluctance; she wanted to remain anonymous for as long as possible, not get too involved with the residents of the town, and that meant staying away from prying eyes. Because, Emily knew, if she spent too much time around them, got too friendly, she wouldn’t be able to hide her fear, her fear that Logan was coming for her; that her life in Greenbrook had been too peaceful to be real. Her flat was far from perfect, she couldn’t risk getting a job to earn money in case she got too close to people, couldn’t even afford a TV. But, for the first time since she was eighteen, Emily Underwood was free. Free from Logan’s abusive, controlling nature, free from the nasty habits he and his friends indulged in, free from the terrifying life she’d defiantly been living.

As she stepped into the second-hand bookshop, a little bell rang above the door. Emily glanced up at it briefly, before beginning to look around. It was then that a tall man appeared from a room behind the counter. He blinked as he saw Emily, looking slightly shocked.

“Oh. Hello,” he managed, still staring.

Emily blinked back.

“Hello,” she replied slowly, before inclining her head towards some bookshelves. “Am I all right to have a look around?”

The man nodded.

“Yes, that’s fine,” he responded, making his way out from behind the counter to lean against it.

They were silent for several long moments, as Emily browsed and the man watched.

“I’m Grayson, by the way,” the man announced after a while. “Grayson Brown. And you, you must be the mysterious new girl who moved here a few months back. You’re from London, right?”

Emily stilled, hand frozen halfway between reaching for a book. Blinking again, she turned her head to look at Grayson.

“How do you know where I’m from?” she asked quietly, suddenly scared.

For a brief flash of a moment, Emily entertained the possibility of Logan already having found her, of having sent friends, spies, to keep an eye on her…

“Well, it’s a small town,” Grayson shrugged with a smirk, hand ruffling his already-tousled brown hair, “and news traveled fast.” He paused. “Besides, with your accent, it’s sort of obvious.”

Emily continued staring. She watched, face passive and hiding her amusement as Grayson suddenly frowned.

“Was that rude?” Grayson asked quietly, more to himself than Emily as he frowned. “That… That was rude, wasn’t it?” Then he glanced across the shop at Emily, brow still furrowed. “Sorry, that was rude.”

Emily nodded slowly, bemused. Grayson nodded back.

“I can do that sometimes, be a bit rude,” he explained suddenly, pushing away from the counter to move down the aisle of books towards Emily. “Sorry about that. Kathleen’s always telling me to shut up.”

Emily was still watching Grayson carefully, brow furrowing.

“You weren’t in here the first time I came in,” she said eventually.

Grayson frowned momentarily before his eyes widened in realization.

“Oh! No, no, you probably came in when my friend, Kathleen, was holding the fort. While I was picking my kids up from school,” Grayson explained hurriedly. Then he paused, swallowed. “My wife died, see, a few months back. She always did the school run and stuff, but now… Kathleen comes in, runs the shop for the last two hours of business, so I can pick the kids up…”

He trailed off then, frowning and looking away. Emily recognized the look well. It was the look she always got when she’d said too much in front of people about Logan. A look of fear, of knowing too much had been said, but the information was too weighty for someone to forget they’d heard.

There was an awkward silence then, Grayson suddenly busying himself rearranging a nearby shelf while Emily reached for the book she’d wanted to look at. She pulled it from the shelf, flicking through it. And then, Emily was suddenly aware of Grayson standing right next to her. Emily turned and stared. Grayson, his brown hair messy and spiky fringe flopping over his eyes, was next to her, hands in the pockets of his jeans.

“I’m sorry,” he began with a small smile. “I shouldn’t have landed all that on you, you only came in for a book. You didn’t need to hear me complaining about my life.”

Unsure how to respond, Emily just smiled back a little uncertainly.

“It’s fine,” she reassured him softly.

There was another pause.

“So,” Emily began slowly, a little uncertain. “Grayson Brown, was it?”

It was sometime later that Emily was watching Grayson ring up a stack of very reasonably priced books for her. Feeling bad about earlier, he’d even given her a discount, which Emily had tried to refuse.

“Will I be seeing you in here often, then?” Grayson asked with a smile as he slid the books into a plain white carrier bag for her.

Emily smiled back and shrugged.

“Maybe,” she admitted. “Don’t exactly have much money at the moment, and you’ve got a lot of decent books.” Emily then paused, eyeing the heavy carrier bag as Grayson passed it to her. “Might take me a while to get through this lot first, though.”

With a final smile and a small wave, Emily was then heading from the shop. She’d just reached the door when Grayson called after her.

“What did you say your name was?” he asked, darting out from behind the counter.

Emily tensed, biting her lip. She’d remained anonymous for so long, with just the estate agent knowing (who, surprisingly, hadn’t actually told anyone. While Emily thought that a little odd that her name hadn’t already been spread, she was at least grateful for that little blessing). But now she was stuck. Taking a deep breath, Emily turned.

“My name’s Emily Underwood.”

By the time Emily had been in Greenbrook five months, her funds were dwindling. The cost of living had come to more than she’d expected, with her having to pay for someone to come out and treat the damp in her flat. Unsure of how much longer she’d have a roof over her head, and how long she had before Logan finally cottoned on to where she was, Emily was getting more and more panicked by the day.

“You’re shaking,” Grayson noted with some concern as he watched her from behind the counter.

Emily shrugged, flashing him a weak smile.

“Haven’t been sleeping well,” she responded quietly.

“I noticed,” Grayson responded, brow furrowing as he surveyed the dark circles under Emily’s eyes.

She’d have covered them up with makeup if she weren’t running out. Emily only had so much money, and if it came between a choice of food, shelter, and makeup, makeup would have to lose.

Not meeting Grayson’s gaze, Emily took a sip of the coffee he’d kindly made for her. Although she loved tea, she felt so bone-achingly tired that she really needed that caffeine boost. Grayson’s bookshop, Bramble Books, had become Emily’s hideout. Their meetings had become somewhat sporadic during the school holidays and had remained so up until October half term, as Grayson had explained his youngest child was just starting school, and only went to school for half a day for the first half term. However, now that they were in November, they’d settled into a routine. Emily spent a lot of her time there during the day, but she was still hesitant. She and Grayson really only talked about books or occasionally boring things like the weather. Any attempt at him to get information on Emily’s past was stubbornly ignored, and even Kathleen hadn’t been able to pry any information out of her.

Emily had made a bit of a joke about it, claiming she still hadn’t settled in, didn’t know everyone well enough. Still, Grayson couldn’t help but feel a little put-out. During their meetings- well, Emily hanging about the shop-, Grayson had told Emily all about himself, and the kids. He’d told her about getting his degree through an Open University course, about how he was a doctor of science. He’d told her about how he and his wife had had their oldest child when they were only eighteen before they’d married. He’d told her about his four kids; three sons and a daughter. Told her about growing up in Greenbrook, and how much it had changed since he was little. And yet, from Emily… From Emily, he’d gotten nothing.

Emily was reluctant to speak, Grayson could see in her eyes, and he didn’t push. He remembered feeling the same way seven months ago when his wife Philippe had died. People trying to get information out of him, constantly asking how he was, how the kids were if he needed anything. All he’d needed was for them to leave him alone and give him and the kids some space. He respected everyone for their concern, of course, but the last thing Grayson had wanted was hoards of people coming into the shop on the pretense of buying books, just to check up on him. But with Emily, it was somehow different. She was closed in, reluctant to speak, but it wasn’t in the same way that Grayson had been reluctant to speak about Philippe. Instead, it was like she was trying to escape from some sort of threat that could still hurt her. From what Grayson had seen of her the past few weeks, Emily was hesitant to make friends, to settle into her new life, as if she was scared someone would suddenly come in and rip the rug from under her feet. Grayson wasn’t a suspicious person, but he couldn’t help wondering just why Emily was so scared to make friends; he got on well with her, and yet she wouldn’t open up to him, wouldn’t even tell him where exactly she was from in London. Maybe she would, given time, Grayson decided.