I try to answer but the laugh catches, turning into a fit I can’t stop.
“Seriously,” he says, chuckling now. “What’s set you off?”
I manage to shake my head, tears in my eyes. “This. All of this. The sandwiches. The blanket. The fact that we’re sitting in your boot pretending it’s normal.”
I wipe at my cheeks, still laughing. “Imagine if someone drives past right now and sees us like this.”
Aaron leans back against the pillows, utterly unruffled. “Let them.”
I blink at him. “You don’t care?”
He shakes his head, a small smile playing at his mouth. “Not at all. Let them stare. Let them think whatever they like.”
I can’t help smiling at that, the last of my laughter fading into something softer. I lie back beside him again, the blanket shifting as I settle against the pillows. The air is cool, fresh, carrying the faint scent of rain and grass.
“I’m almost sad I’m going home tomorrow,” I admit quietly, surprising myself with how honest it sounds.
Aaron turns his head slightly. “That’s a good sign, I think.”
I smile, still looking out at the valley. “Maybe. Still, it feels strange. It’s been nice… all of this.”
He nods, thoughtful. “Then we shouldn’t let it end there. We can stay in touch. Be friends.”
I let out a small, breathy laugh. “I’m not really a good friend person.”
“Why?”
“I live too far away to meet up often,” I say, tugging gently at a loose thread on the blanket. “I have a phobia of phone calls, and I get bored of endless text exchanges where people describe what they had for dinner or how tired they are. Sometimes I think I was born in the wrongcentury. I’d have thrived when people wrote letters instead.”
He chuckles. “Letters, huh? Bit formal for a friendship.”
“Maybe,” I say, smiling faintly. “But at least you get to think before you reply.”
He tilts his head, considering me. “Alright, then. Let’s do letters. But maybe in the modern way.”
I glance over, curious. “What are you saying?”
He grins. “Emails. Same principle, less waiting around for the post.”
“You’re serious?” I can’t stop the giggle.
“Completely. You write, I’ll reply. No small talk required.”
I shake my head, still smiling. “You’re very strange.”
“Probably,” he says, looking out at the hills again. “But in a good way.”
Something about that makes my chest ache in a way I can’t name. “Emails it is, then,” I say softly.
He glances at me, the corners of his mouth lifting. “Good. I like that plan.”
And for a moment, I let myself imagine opening my inbox and seeing his name there… an unexpected tether between two very different lives.
The drive back to Morton Hall is quiet. The rain has nearly stopped, leaving the road slick and shining under the headlights. When Aaron pulls up in front of the hotel, the wipers make one last slow pass before stopping.
I unbuckle my seatbelt but don’t move straight away. “Thank you,” I say after a moment. “For today. And the spa. And the pub. And for being so understanding about… me.”
He glances over, curious. “About you?”
