It sends a soft, dangerous flutter straight through me. I’m in trouble!
When the waiter brings baklava, Alex breaks off a piece and lifts it towards me. It’s such a simple gesture, but it feels intimate in a way that sets off hundreds of butterflies in my stomach. I lean in and take a bite, tasting honey and pistachio and the light brush of his fingers at the corner of my mouth. My breath catches, sharp and involuntary. His eyes flick to my lips before he pulls himself back together, and the awareness between us hums.
Dangerous. Absolutely dangerous. And I still want more.
After the bill is paid, we step out into the cool evening. The air feels clearer somehow, like the whole world has exhaled. Alex doesn’t take my hand this time. He just glances down towards it, leaving the space open, letting the choice sit with me.
My pulse skitters. Hesitant. Hopeful.
I reach first.
His answering smile warms me from the inside out, slow and genuine, like he’s been waiting for exactly that moment.
We walk slowly towards my cottage, taking the long route even though the village is tiny. I don’t know if the night is quiet because Fellside is always like this, or because everything inside me feels strangely peaceful.
At my doorstep, I turn the key, but Alex places his hand gently over mine, stopping the motion. His other hand rests lightly on my hip as he turns me towards him. When I lift my gaze, he leans his forehead against mine.
“I had an amazing time,” he whispers. “You are an amazing woman.”
For a moment, I forget how to breathe.
His hand lifts to cup my chin, guiding my face up. I close my eyes. His lips meet mine, soft at first, then warmer, deeper, pulling a shiver straight through me. My hands find their way to his shoulders, then the back of his neck, and for once I don’t think. I just feel.
When we finally part, I’m shaking slightly, though I couldn’t say whether it’s nerves or need.
“Good night,” Alex murmurs. He brushes one last soft kiss to my lips.
“Night,” I whisper, stepping inside. He gives me a look full of heat and something gentler, something hopeful.
It takes every ounce of sense in my body not to pull him in after me.
Instead, I close the door slowly.
Is this what happiness feels like?
Chapter 9
Alex
It takes more willpowerthan I thought possible to walk away from Emma’s cottage. I can’t remember the last time a date left me feeling both wrung out and wide awake. She talked about Lebanon like it was stitched into her soul, and when she did, something in her opened. Those shy glances vanished, replaced by spark and light. Listening to her made me want to book a flight, grab her hand and see the world through her eyes. Aside from a couple of cheap lads’ trips to Spain, my holidays have always been a mixture of British hills, bad weather and aworkshop full of deadlines. I used to think that was enough. Now I’m not so sure.
By the time I get home, I am smiling at my own front door like it has cracked a joke. I wander into the kitchen, set a beer on the counter and catch my reflection in the oven door. Same face, same hair, same cocky smile. Yet something sits lighter in my chest, an almost foolish lift, the sort that makes a man stand a little straighter without knowing why. I feel younger than I have in years, not in a teenage way, but in that rare, grown-up sense of possibility. The kind you don’t notice slipping away until it suddenly returns.
Two kisses. And they couldn’t have been more different. The one in her shop had been full of first time nerves and I was half afraid breathing wrong would break the moment. The one at her door had been… well. My pulse still jumps at the memory. She had leaned into me with a quiet certainty that made the world tilt a little. No panic, no retreat. Just soft heat and something honest sparking between us. It rattled me more than I care to admit.
I take a swig of beer, set it down and instantly realise the gaping flaw in my romantic triumph. We didn’t exchange numbers. I can’t text her. I can’t even send a goodnight message. A grown man in his early forties should not groan into his hands over this, but here we are.
I’ll fix it tomorrow. First thing.
As always the universe has other plans for me. A rescue callout drags me up a fell before sunrise because two tourists decided climbing in the dark without head torches was the height of romance. They are cold, embarrassed and very grateful, and once the paperwork is done and I get through a meeting at the workshop, half the day has vanished. I should catch up on work, but the only thing looping in my head is the way Emma had looked up at me on her doorstep last night, surprised and soft and entirely unaware of what she was doing to me. Work can wait. She can’t.
I swing by Cherry Pie Bakery first, partly because I want coffee, mostly because turning up at Emma’s shop empty-handed when Christina might be present feels like amateur hour. I need her on my side.
“Three coffees and three éclairs, please,” I tell Lisa.
She arches an eyebrow in that knowing Fellside way, amused rather than prying. Fellside always knows when someone has a crush. Not out of malice, just because the village runs on mild nosiness and baked goods. Someone probably saw Emma and me leaving the restaurant last night, and if anyone glimpsed that kiss on her doorstep, it will already have been shared with a fond chuckle over a morning brew.
Lisa hands over the box of eclairs with a grin that says she could comment but won’t. Fellside might be nosy, but it's kindly with it.
