He smiles. “We’ve got a local walking group, actually. The Ramblers of St Claire. They go out every Saturday morning. Bit of exercise, bit of gossip, a lot of cake afterwards. I usually join when I can.”
“Oh,” I say, my mind scrambling for a polite way to decline without sounding rude. The idea of a group walk sounds… exhausting. Conversation, introductions, strangers expecting me to be interesting. But his tone is friendly, not pushy, and that makes it worse somehow.
He carries on, cheerful and unbothered. “If you don’t fancy hiking alone, you’d be very welcome. They meet at the village green at ten. It’s nothing formal.”
I nod, already feeling cornered by my own good manners. “That sounds… nice.”
“You should come,” he says, still smiling. “It’s a good crowd.”
“Right. Yes. Maybe I will.”
“Great,” he says warmly, as if it’s decided. “If you do, I’ll see you there.”
He gives a small nod and heads off towards another table, stopping to chat with an older couple near the window.
I stare after him, mentally replaying the conversation and wondering how I’ve managed to agree to join a group of complete strangers on a countryside hike.
This is the problem with being polite. People think you mean what you say.
I take another sip of tea, trying to convince myself that it’s fine, that I’ll just “forget” about it by Saturday. Except now that I’ve promised, I know I won’t. I never do.
Chapter 3
Aaron
The pub smells ofwood smoke and gravy, the kind of scent that makes you hungry before you’ve even sat down. It’s early evening, the fire’s crackling in the corner, and the windows are fogged with heat and laughter.
Abby, Jon, Layla, and I have taken a big table near the fire. It’s the sort of place that feels lived in rather than decorated; full of chatter, clinking glasses, and damp coats drying by the door.
Layla is busy at the end of the table with one of those children’s placemats the waitress handed over, colouring a sheep bright purple with complete seriousness.
Abby checks her phone, smiling. “Nancy just texted. They’re on their way.”
“Good,” I say. “I’m glad they can make it.”
Jon gives me a curious look. “It was kind of you to invite them as well.”
I shrug. “You said Abby and her sister are close. Figured it might be nice to meet them. Helps me feel a bit less like the strange lodger from London.”
Abby laughs. “You’re not strange just because you decided to camp out in Yorkshire in January, Aaron.”
“Will would disagree,” I reply, grinning.
A few minutes later the door swings open and a cold gust of rain follows two people inside. A woman with blonde hair and a quick smile waves at Abby, and a tall man trails behind her, shaking off his coat with ease .
“There they are,” Abby says, standing to greet them. “Aaron, this is my sister, Nancy, and her partner, Luke. Nancy, Luke—this is Aaron. He’s staying with us for a few weeks.”
Luke shakes my hand, his grip firm and relaxed. “Nice to meet you, Aaron. Thanks for the invite. Always good to have an excuse to eat here.”
“Glad you could come,” I say.
Nancy slips out of her coat and leans over to give Abby a quick hug before taking the seat beside her. “So this is your latest stray, then?” she says with a grin. “You do love collecting people.”
Abby rolls her eyes. “He’s not a stray, Nancy. He’s a friend of Will’s.”
“Same difference,” Nancy says cheerfully. “You feed them, you house them, you make them family. Honestly, you should rebrand your business from a B&B to a shelter for lost souls.”
Jon chuckles. “Don’t give her ideas.”
