Hearts on the Line: A Touchline Sapphic Romance, page 1
Hearts on the Line
Copyright © 2025 by Iona Kane
ISBN: 978-1-7391200-5-4
Editor: LZ Edits
Find out more at ionakane.com
Follow me on Instagram, Facebook and TikTok: @ionakanewriter
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or used in any manner without the express permission of the author.
This is a work of fiction. All names, characters and events are either a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to locales, events, business establishments or actual persons—living or dead—is purely coincidental.
CONTENTS
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Epilogue
If you’ve enjoyed this book
ONE
Becca stepped back inside the gloomy kitchen. “I’m sorry Mr Carpenter, there’s no sign of bats out there, real or phantom.” She tried to sound sincere, but these calls took up so much of her time, and she’d been hoping to finish work on time. Still, she dropped into a chair to hear him out.
Mr Carpenter sighed. “You never see ‘em, but they’re out there every night, flapping around in the bags on the compost heap. Breathing their fetid bat breath down my neck. It’s not right. Not in your own garden.”
He shoved a chipped and stained mug across the table. Brown tea slopped over the edge.
Aware she was being observed, Becca tried to hide her distaste at the thought of drinking from the mug. Mr Carpenter was lonely and, he had a vivid imagination, plus the number of the local newspaper on speed dial. An unfortunate combination for Becca. She knew Greg would always pass on these calls to her. No one else wanted them. Not that she did either, but she felt sorry for the old guy.
She looked down at the grubby white mug with the faded logo of the engineering company that had been a major employer in the area until the nineteen-nineties. She knew Mr Carpenter’s forced early retirement had coincided with the sudden death of his wife. She knew too much about most of the residents in her little market town.
Mr Carpenter had spent the intervening years growing vegetables in his back garden, inventing flying mammal-based conspiracy theories and more lately, making Becca’s work life a misery.
She let him drone on for a little longer. There was no use pointing out methane gas generated by the large—and not very well maintained—compost heap could be responsible for the plastic bags’ mysterious movements. She’d said it many times before. Mr Carpenter preferred to believe the much more unlikely story: his garden was haunted by evil bat ghosts. A giggle tried to force its way up, so she took a swig of the rank tea and choked. It was enough to kill her inappropriate humour.
She stood. She’d given Mr Carpenter enough of her time. She had actual articles to write. Admittedly, one of them was about potholes on the High Street, but anything was better than this.
“You off already? You’ve not finished your tea.”
“Sorry, Mr Carpenter, I’ve got another interview across town. I’ve got to get moving.” She grabbed her messenger bag from the back of the chair before he concocted another weird story.
“If they come back again, I’d suggest you get a photo or even better, some video evidence.”
”Video? Do you think I’ve got a cine camera stored here somewhere? Who do you think I am, Alfred Hitchcock?” He followed her to the door, still muttering as she flung it open to take a gulp of fresh air. She’d been in dirtier houses, but it would benefit from a deep clean.
She almost achieved a jog by the time she approached his garden gate. “Bye, Mr Carpenter, I’ll see you soon.”
Too soon, she would hazard to guess.
If I didn’t humour him, he wouldn’t keep calling.
Her critical inner voice could be a bitch sometimes. But she couldn’t bear to be impatient with him. He was lonely and who was she to deny him a little human interaction? So, whenever he called, she turned up and feigned interest for a while. It wasn’t like the big pothole exclusive was going to run away without her if she was a few minutes late. The pothole was there to stay. That was the point of the story.
She pulled off from the kerb, waving to Mr Carpenter as he stood at his gate. He didn’t wave back. It had been a long day already. An interview at eight am had begun her day and she had been full-on ever since.
Two dreary interviews, and a quick stop at the newspaper’s town centre office later, Becca was finally able to head home. She checked the dashboard clock.
Damn, it’s late. She’d wanted to head home to finish a freelance article on puppy farming, but she was due at her brother Ben’s place in twenty minutes, and he got upset if she was late. Then it would be home to pack her holiday bag and try for a few hours’ sleep before a very early start to the airport.
Becca zipped up her bag, finally convinced she had everything she needed for a week of sun, sea, and sand. The most important item, her laptop, wouldn’t leave her side for the duration of the journey.
“Stop faffing around and get your arse out to the car.”
Rowan’s call from the stairs wasn’t loud enough to disturb Becca’s neighbours at this early hour, but the language indicated the frustration she was causing her habitually soft-spoken best friend.
It made her chest tighten even more. She’d never left Ben for so long. And her mum hadn’t been doing well lately. Sure, her mum’s neighbour had promised to pop in occasionally, but that wasn’t the same as Becca being ten minutes away if she was needed. And she had so much work to do.
Maybe this holiday had been a bad idea.
She had flipped her laptop back open just as Rowan appeared at the door.
“I just remembered something I need to tell Ben’s support worker.”
Rowan’s expression made her want to slam it shut, but she resisted.
“It won’t take long, I promise.”
Rowan’s face softened as she approached, and she gently retrieved the laptop from Becca’s hand. “You’re taking it with you. It’s nothing AJ needs to know this morning, is it?”
Becca shook her head. Rowan must regret ever asking her to go on holiday. But she had her responsibilities to consider.
“Will Ben be okay, do you think? I’ve never left him alone for this long.” She couldn’t hide the tremor in her voice.
Rowan led her to the table, and they sat down. “We’ve been over this loads of times.”
She checked her watch. They should have been on the way to the airport twenty minutes ago, and it was all Becca’s fault they were late.
“He’s not alone. He’s had six months to settle into his accommodation. He’s doing really well, and AJ thinks he’ll be fine for a week without you.” Rowan slipped the laptop into its case and pushed it across the table to Becca.
“I know, I know, I’m ridiculous.” Becca twisted her hands in the strap of the bag. She wished it was as simple to get a grip on her worries.
Rowan covered her hands. “Not ridiculous. You’ve got a lot on your plate, so it’s difficult to let go. I wouldn’t be pushing you to come if I didn’t believe you really needed it, bud.”
Rowan’s phone rang out, and she pulled it from her jeans. “Hi, yeah, we’re just on our way—I know. We’ll be there in a minute, I promise.”
She rose and shoved the phone back in her pocket. “Tess says she’s leaving without us if we’re not outside in two minutes. C’mon Becs, I’m not running down the street after her.”
Becca sighed and pulled herself together. She had committed to this trip. She’d need to go through with it now.
As the plane accelerated along the runway, Becca rested against the headrest and gripped the arms of her seat. She looked to Rowan across the aisle for reassurance, but she was leaning across Tess in the window seat, watching as the runway sped past them.
Becca still wasn’t sure if this trip was wise. It was her friends’ first proper holiday as a couple, without either of Tess’s children, yet here she was, tagging along. She’d tried to get out of it, but they’d both been so insistent she needed a break, she’d finally given in.
They meant well, she knew, but it was easier for Tess to leave her job behind. Others would pick up the work at the print factory in her absence. Becca had deadlines. And not just in her full-time job—which she’d rather not think about at the moment—but more importantly, for the freelance pieces she wrote. That kept her sane, not writing about parking fines and potholes. The articles she sold to online magazines and blogs were about important topics. It was her way of making a difference in the world.
She suddenly blinked back tears as a wave of self-pity flooded her. She checked again on Rowan and Tess. They were engrossed in the view, and each other. Fine with her. She slipped her laptop out of her bag and opened it.
Making a final check, Rowan was distracted and not likely to scold her for using the flight productively, a pair of jeans-clad legs blocked her view in the aisle. She couldn’t help admiring the obviously female shape. Well-fitting Levi’s slung from slim hips that flared into a neat bum. The woman’s legs appeared toned, the denim clinging to them in a delicious way.
Becca realised the figure had been standing next to her seat for too long, and she looked up to see the woman looking over her shoulder, her laughing blue eyes shining. The woman raised a dark eyebrow and gave her a cheeky wink.
Becca fixed her stare on the headrest in front of her until the toilet door opened, and the woman exchanged places with the man exiting the cubicle.
Becca groaned and turned back to her laptop. Tess had booked this holiday at a lesbian-owned resort, in part because her friends hoped Becca might get to have some fun. If staring at the arse of any attractive woman who entered her orbit was the best she could do, they were probably wasting their holiday opportunity.
Becca shook her head and scrolled to the end of her article. If she didn’t get it finished in the next two days, she’d miss the deadline, and the journal may not agree to publish it the following month.
She scanned through the last few paragraphs. She’d spent hours of research on this, even posing as a buyer to get closer to the people who bred pedigree pups for profit. She’d found plenty of ethical breeders. People who loved their dogs and were genuinely interested in their welfare. But far too many unscrupulous gangs who would hire a barn and breed as many dogs as they could squeeze into the space. Until they moved on, leaving the local dog rescue charity with a kennel full of new, vulnerable rescues. Or worse.
Her fury fed this intensive research. She had crammed it between her everyday responsibilities. How could people not care about the fallout of their moneymaking schemes? The terrified, unsocialised dogs, the charity workers overwhelmed by the high-maintenance, often unhealthy, animals to re-home. It made her blood boil.
Occasionally, she worried that she was confronting potentially ruthless people. She used a pen name, sure, but if someone wanted to trace her, it would be easy. She had Ben’s safety to think about. But she was driven by injustices. If people weren’t informed, how could they make the right decisions?
She typed, vaguely aware when Levi’s woman passed again, but stayed fully engrossed in her work. Sexual attraction was alive and living in her pants. But wasn’t meaningful work the place to achieve real satisfaction?
TWO
Nel Rogers stepped out of the aircraft cabin onto the steps and took a deep breath. The October heat—and the unfamiliar smells on the air—shouted holiday time. She allowed her face to relax into a wide, contented smile and looked at the land that surrounded the airport. Dusty and brown, the style of buildings made it clear she was somewhere far from England, if the heat and the smell hadn’t already convinced her. Her Navy years were long gone, but she still felt a flicker of gratitude each time she stepped off a plane taking her somewhere she’d actually chosen to go.
A cough. She turned to see the man behind her glaring, incensed she might cause him to miss a moment of his vacation. She hoisted her small backpack onto her shoulder and took the steps quickly. She never understood the rush to get off a plane when everyone was just going to be packed onto a hot shuttle bus waiting for the last stragglers.
Once on the bus, she made the call that the opposite doors would be the ones used to disembark and positioned herself for a quick exit. Beating the rush for passport control was her next goal. The sooner she was settled with a sea view and a cold glass of wine, the better.
Nel despised queuing. It was for people who didn’t know what they were doing. She turned to look at the other bus passengers, wondering what sort of people would be at her destination. She’d never visited the island before, but online sites had recommended the LGBTQ+-owned hotel in an upmarket bay, and it had looked perfect for her getaway. She’d found the ideal villa close to the beach and was looking forward to exercising on the water, unwinding on her balcony, and if the opportunity arose, a hookup would add nicely to her relaxation.
Vacation hookups suited her. Everyone was laid back, no one was bothering with questions about the future or when they could next see you. You have some fun and then you say goodbye and get on a plane. No chance to get trapped or let someone down.
As if driven by her thoughts, her gaze settled on the cute woman with the honey-brown hair she’d caught observing her ass on the flight. Nel had enjoyed the colour that had flooded the woman’s high cheekbones as she’d glanced up through her wire-rimmed glasses. Nel had held her gaze for quite some time, bathing in her obvious attraction. It went both ways.
Butt-gazer was currently hauling a heavy-looking holdall onto the bus. Nel didn’t understand why people chose not to check their luggage. She’d squeezed in this vacation before starting a new job, so she hadn’t had time to be fussy about airlines, but there was no way she was going to be fighting for overhead lockers. She didn’t want to think too much about the position she was about to start. An industry she wasn’t familiar with, and her first time since she’d moved to the UK living outside of London. She’d been there ten years, and it was the only part of England she’d gotten to know well. So, it would all change on her return. She wondered why she was putting herself through it. God knew she didn’t need the money. Years of living light, no mortgage, no family to fund, and the investments her father had drilled her to make meant her accounts were more than healthy. The inheritance he’d left, once her mother finally handed it over, hadn’t hurt, either. But she had to do something, and big city living had begun to feel a little too lonely.
She dragged her thoughts away from work, and back to the woman, a much more enjoyable subject. As she watched, the woman’s foot caught in the loose shoulder strap of her luggage, and she lurched forward. Before Nel could move to stop her fall, a hand appeared on her shoulder and steadied her.
“Careful, Becca. I don’t want to spend the first day of my holiday in a hospital waiting room.”
The gruff voice presumably belonged to the owner of the hand. The woman—Becca— muttered what Nel assumed was a thank you and looked around the bus.
A woman with short blond hair peered over her shoulder. “Choose a seat, we’re holding people up.”
Becca glanced at the door closest to Nel, then dropped into a seat on the opposite side. The blond woman stepped up into the bus, pulling a third, shorter figure behind her. The blond woman tripped over Becca’s bag, abandoned on the floor in front of her.
The third woman, a little older, with red, wavy hair, squeezed alongside and they both blocked Nel’s pleasant view. The bus was filling up now and the temperature was rising. While Nel still had enough space around her, she pulled off her linen shirt. You never knew how long you could get stuck on these sweaty shuttle buses. She folded it quickly and tucked it into her backpack, settling that between her feet as people crowded around her. She reached up for the only handrail available, the one on the ceiling, always a stretch for a woman of below average height. She spotted Becca watching her through a gap in the bodies and tightened her grip to flex her bicep. She winked again, and the woman ducked back behind her friends.
Once the bus got moving, it was a mercifully short journey to the arrivals gate. Nel wondered at the need for a bus at all and smiled in satisfaction as the doors in front of her opened. First out, she headed into the passport queue before it got any longer. It snaked around the arrivals hall in that annoying way that made you feel herded like an animal. As she shuffled toward the immigration desks, the next line moved, and Becca moved to stand opposite. She was pushing her bag with her foot, fully focused on her phone screen. Close up, she was a little older than Nel had first thought. Her hair was cut in a jaw-length, casually tousled style, and she had the cutest dimple in her chin. Nel did love a dimple.
The woman looked up, and her mouth quirked into a wry smile.
