“I’m not sure what that means. How can I look more like me?”
“Hiking up mountains. Paddleboarding. Looking for shells on the beach. You smile differently when you’re doing stuff like that,” he said gruffly, looking back at the mountains still far ahead.
“Maybe I should start a company doing adventure tours in North-Wales.”
“You’d have to get up too early for that. Maybe you should do what you’re planning and move here. Build a recording studio and write songs for other artists, then you can do this whenever you want.”
“Maybe you’re right. I was right to think of that. I wasn’t sure you wanted me living here. Thought I’d cramp your style.”
He didn’t say anything at first, and I wondered whether I’d hit a nerve, one that seemed to be strangely prominent, but then I saw that he was looking at something else.
“Is that a drone?”
Caleb laughed, his eyes creasing, mirth dancing in them. “No, city girl, it’s a red kite. A bird of prey.”
I watched, unoffended by his words, the bird hovering before swooping down probably to catch its chosen snack. “I love it here.”
“It’s why I never left.”
We carried on walking, chatting about everything and nothing, the path sometimes steep and challenging. The weather stayed clear, the sky staying grey, the physical labour keeping us warm. We’d done this through the years, walking places that were remote, escaping from the clamour of people and things to where it felt clearer, calmer. It was the same when we were out at sea, only each other to be silent with against the call of the gulls and the wind.
My thoughts wandered through the paths I was on at the moment: my career, which I was determined to redirect, to figure out myself where I wanted it to go, rather than the people who had something to gain from my being almost their puppet; where I lived now that I didn’t need to be in London so much; my stalker and what course he would choose to take; and who I spent my time with.
I glanced behind me at Caleb, who’d come to a sudden stop, looking out from the ridge we were walking along. His profile was silhouetted by the October sun, his features looking like they were carved out of stone. With his hands in his pockets and his backpack at his feet, he looked like he’d stepped from the pages of some glossy travel magazine.
“Finding it tricky?” It was a joke, of course. I was fit from dancing on stage and the gruelling physicality of touring, but Caleb was fit from everyday graft, helping out Thane with the boats and then the same at the University, even though they had a department that did that. He shifted barrels around the Puffin Inn and moved, moved so much. This walk was nothing to him even though it wasn’t easy.
“I could do this carrying you at the same time as both our backpacks.” His face shifted as he grinned, turning his body to me instead of the view.
“I could test that brag.” I could feel myself smiling hard back. “I won’t. I wouldn’t want your male ego to be bruised.” I paused, watching him. “Why’ve you stopped?”
“The view. This spot.” He shrugged. I walked over to him, automatically touching him. “I came up here with my great-grandad about a year before he died.”
“Was he hunting a rare strain of cannabis or something?” We both laughed. Caleb’s grandfather had a hobby of cultivating different strains of certain plants, on a small scale and for medicinal use as he’d explained it.
“Could’ve been. It wouldn’t have surprised me. We just came up for a walk before his health declined and this spot reminds me of him and that day.” He looked back over the ridge.
“Why this spot of all the different views from here?”
“He was talking about his life in general, which parts he looked back on as the best times and how they weren’t always the ones you’d expect. He wasn’t being maudlin, just reflective. It was interesting. Want some coffee?” Caleb bent down to rummage in the backpack for the flask he’d prepped.
“Please. Thank you.” I bent down to help, holding the cups, the soft smell of milky coffee like a soft blanket. “You made it how I like it.”
“Like coffee for a three year old.” He shook his head at me, still smiling. “Odd.”
“I prefer sweet things.” I really did, and now I could eat and drink more of them. We stood back up again, sipping the too-hot coffee. The view was amazing especially because there wasn’t a single other person around. “You should’ve done a flask of the tar you drink for you.”
He shook his head. “I can cope for a day. And I don’t mind drinking this.”
I watched him finish his drink, his eyes back on the view, maybe thinking about his great grandad or maybe thinking about food – that was never far from Caleb’s mind. My chest felt a little warmer, my stomach flipping in a way that made me feel ten years younger.
How no woman had managed to lure Caleb into something more serious than a brief fling was a mystery to me. He was the complete deal – gorgeous, clever, kind, funny, although his obsession with all things to do with the ocean could get a little tedious at times. He was also extremely untidy, slept like the dead and denied snoring. For some women, that would be an automatic search for an escape exit.
“I can hear you thinking.” He raised his brows and shook his head slowly. “You’re wondering how you got so lucky to have such a handsome fake boyfriend.”
“Completely. I’m waiting for you to start eating loads of garlic to make sure I know you’ve got a flaw.”
“There’s garlic on my sandwich actually. Just so you know. If you want to get another selfie of us together, you might want to do it before I eat.” He tidied up the flask and cups, his backpack more organised that anything else he possessed.
