The walking group is easy to spot—a blur of bright jackets and cheerful voices. They look like they’ve all known each other for years, laughing and adjusting walking poles while I hover awkwardly at the edge, trying to look casual and failing miserably.
I could still back out. Go back to the hotel, order tea, and call it a day. No one would know.
Before I can decide, he turns, scanning the group, and spots me immediately. Of course he does. He gives me that slow, knowing smile of his, then saunters over, hands tucked into his jacket pockets as if the rain’s too polite to bother him.
“Morning,” he says, voice warm despite the weather. “You found us.”
“I did,” I reply, aware of the nervous wobble in my voice. “It wasn’t difficult. The waterproofs gave it away.”
He laughs, “I promise we’re mostly friendly.”
“I’ll hold you to that,” I say, cautiously smiling.
He turns slightly and gestures to the man standing a few paces away—a tall, fair-haired man with an expensive-looking jacket and the kind of confidence that suggests he’s rarely without an audience.
“This is Peter,” Hunter says. “My best mate and, if I get my way, my soon-to-be brother-in-law.”
Peter smirks as he shakes my hand. “He’s getting ahead of himself. My sister’s still pretending she hasn’t noticed his grand plan.”
Hunter rolls his eyes. “Alex's pretending nothing. She’s been running the plan.”
Peter chuckles. “Fair point.” He turns back to me. “Brave choice, coming here in January. Most people prefer it when the wind doesn’t attack them.”
“I like a challenge,” I say, though my voice comes out lighter than I mean it to.
Hunter glances at me, smiling. “We’ll take that as commitment.”
“Or madness,” Peter adds. “It’s a fine line.”
They both laugh, the familiar sort that suggests a long friendship, and I find myself smiling despite the cold creeping into my gloves.
Hunter checks his watch. “I’d better pop into the pub and say hi to Alex before Nancy drags the group off without me.” He gives me a quick grin. “You’ll be fine with Peter. He can talk to anyone.”
“That’s true,” Peter says. “I’ve been known to hold entire conversations with pigeons.”
Hunter shakes his head, amused. “That’s not the selling point you think it is,” he says before heading towards the pub next to the village green.
As soon as he’s gone, Peter turns to me with a playful smile. “Don’t worry, I’m much less annoying once you get used to me.”
“I’ll take your word for it,” I say, tucking a stray strand of wet hair back under my hood.
“You’re brave, you know,” he says conversationally. “Most first-timers take one look at the weather and head straight for the pub instead.”
“I did think about it,” I admit softly.
“Ah, but you didn’t do it,” he says. “That’s the mark of a true Rambler. Foolish optimism.”
I nod. “I suppose that’s one way to put it.”
He studies me for a moment, still friendly, but with a hint of teasing in his eyes. “So, are you visiting or hiding out?”
I blink. “Sorry?”
“Everyone in this village is either local, tourist, or lying low,” he says cheerfully. “Just trying to work out which category you fall into.”
“Visiting,” I say quickly, and immediately regret how defensive that sounds.
“Visiting,” he repeats with mock gravity. “The second most mysterious of the three.”
