“He absolutely did,” Aaron says, grinning. “Cleared out half the shop. The owner opened a window and asked if we could take our business elsewhere.”
I try to keep a straight face and fail completely. “You’ve been in Skipton for what, ten minutes?”
“Seven, technically.”
I can’t stop laughing. “You and Bernard really are something else.”
He grins, utterly unrepentant, and for a moment, the station, the noise, the fluttering nerves, all of it just fades away.
By the time we pull into the gravel drive of the Sunshine Cottage B&B, the clouds have started to thin, letting a pale strip of sunlight spill across the stone walls. The place looks like it has been there forever, tucked between the trees at the edge of the lane. The walls are warm honey-colouredstone, the kind that seems to hold on to the light, and there are two small windows with lace curtains and a crooked wooden sign swinging from a post that readsSunshine Cottage. It looks exactly like somewhere you could accidentally stay forever.
The drive from Skipton was quick. Aaron talked most of the way, telling stories from his climbing days: a night spent in a tent that nearly took flight in a Himalayan storm, a teammate who claimed eating dry noodles counted as a training regime, and the goat incident, which apparently still haunts Will to this day.
I mostly listened. Smiled when he glanced over. Laughed once or twice. It was easy, the kind of conversation that doesn’t demand anything from you. Mostly, I watched the hills roll past the window, soft and endless and somehow already familiar.
Now, as the car engine cuts off, the silence folds back around us. Bernard lifts his head from the back seat, stretches, and gives a theatrical sigh as if to announce our arrival.
Aaron steps out first and opens my door before I can reach for the handle. “Welcome to Sunshine Cottage,” he says, his tone light but his smile unguarded.
I jump out, the gravel crunching beneath my boots, and take it all in properly. The air smells faintly of woodsmoke and wet grass. Somewhere nearby, a stream is murmuring to itself. “It’s beautiful,” I say, before I can stop myself.
He looks pleased. “Wait until you see inside. Abby’s been on a mission to make it look like a magazine cover. She succeeded, obviously.”
Bernard hops out of the car and trots up the front path with purpose, as if he’s giving a guided tour. I follow, myhandbag slung over my shoulder, and try to ignore the ridiculous warmth spreading through me. A warmth that has nothing to do with the spring sun and everything to do with being here.
Inside, the cottage is even lovelier than I expected. Warm, bright, and faintly scented with polish and lavendar. The hallway opens into a small sitting room with mismatched armchairs, a vase of tulips on the windowsill, and a low hum of peace that feels instantly disarming.
Aaron carries my bag upstairs, insisting it’s no trouble even though I try to protest. The staircase creaks softly under our steps, and he pauses at the top to gesture toward a door on the right.
“This one’s you,” he says, nudging it open with his shoulder. “And I’m next door.”
Something inside my stomach does a small, traitorous flip. I tell myself it’s just the climb up the stairs.
The room is simple but beautiful. A soft bedspread in cream and pale green, a wide window looking out over the fields, sunlight pooling on the floorboards.
“It’s lovely,” I manage, setting my bag down carefully, as if the wrong movement might break the spell.
Aaron smiles. “Glad you like it.”
I nod, trying very hard not to think about the ‘I’m next door’ part.
“And Bernard?” I ask instead, grasping at a safe topic.
“He’s probably downstairs in the kitchen,” Aaron says, straight-faced. “But don’t worry, he has his own room at night. It’s just opposite from us. His… gas emissions are lethal. I’d risk suffocating if I shared a space with him.”
I laugh, half horrified, half delighted. “That’s quite an image.”
“It’s also not an exaggeration,” he says, looking far too pleased with himself.
Before I can come up with a response, he steps forward and, without hesitation, pulls me into a cautious hug. It’s warm and brief, just long enough for me to feel the steady beat of his heart against my cheek.
“I’m really glad you’re here,” he says quietly.
And then he’s gone, leaving the faint smell of rain and lemon tart in the air and me standing in the middle of the room, smiling like an absolute fool.
I’ve just finished unpacking and am about to head downstairs when my phone rings. The sound makes me jump. I glance at the screen and frown. Jennifer. It can only be her. She is the only one who is determined to break my phone phobia by calling me regularly.
For a moment, I consider letting it ring out. Then I sigh and answer. “Hi.”
