“It was,” I admit. “Still is, some days. We tried to make it work. I gave up the travel, spent more time at home, thought that was the problem. It wasn’t.”
She stays quiet, not rushing me, and I find myself continuing. “Turns out she’d fallen for someone else. A woman, actually. Took her a while to figure that out herself.”
There’s no judgement in Eve’s expression, just quiet understanding.
“I was angry at first,” I say. “Not because of that, just because I thought I could fix it. Like if I worked hard enough, I could make us right again. But some things aren’t broken—they’re just finished.”
Eve nods slowly. “That’s… quite wise.”
I smile faintly. “Feels less wise and more like hard-earned hindsight.”
She gives the smallest smile in return, soft and sympathetic, and for a moment, the rain, the cold, the long day—all of it fades.
It’s strange how easy it is to talk to her.
Chapter 6
Eve
Iwatch him quietlyfor a moment. There’s something steady about the way he takes up space in the world, like he’s not afraid of silence. Most people rush to fill it. He lets it breathe.
To keep the conversation alive, I ask, “You mentioned work before… what do you do?”
He leans back a little, thinking. “I run a security company. We support organisations overseas, mainly NGOs and journalists. Make sure their teams are safe when they’re working in places that aren’t.”
“That sounds intense.”
He smiles faintly. “It can be, but I’m not in the field anymore. I run things from an office these days.”
“Still,” I say, tracing a finger around the rim of my mug. “It’s important work.”
He shrugs. “Useful, I suppose. You?”
I hesitate. I don’t usually talk about my job. People either look confused or uncomfortable once they realise what I actually do. “I’m a forensic linguist,” I say finally.
He raises an eyebrow. “That sounds… complicated.”
“It’s not as exciting as it sounds,” I say quickly. “I analyse threatening communications for NGOs, journalists, legal teams. Mostly written threats or harassment cases.”
His expression changes, curiosity sharpening into understanding. “So you work with the kind of people I try to protect.”
“I suppose I do,” I say, surprised by the connection. “From the other side of the fence, anyway. I used to teach part-time at a university, but academia didn’t suit me. Too much noise, too many egos. Now I work alone.”
“From home?”
“Yes. I have a cottage close to the beach. It’s quiet there. Just me, the sea, and a very opinionated neighbour’s cat.”
That earns a laugh, low and genuine. “Sounds peaceful.”
“It is,” I say, then add, “Sometimes too much so. My therapist said I should spend time with actual humans. Hence the walking holiday.”
“Ah,” he says, smiling. “So this is therapy homework?”
“Apparently,” I reply, amused despite myself. “One long weekend of human interaction before I’m allowed back to my spreadsheets and sociopaths.”
He chuckles, and I feel the warmth of it settle somewhere deep in my chest.
“Well,” he says, “you’ve picked an interesting group for your first assignment. Ramblers of St Claire aren’t exactly quiet.”
