He kisses the top of my head. “I love you too.”
Above us, the stars whirl their own journeys across the sky.
I imagine the future we’ll build. I can’t picture it yet. Maybe we’ll go travelling for a month. Maybe it will last a year. Maybewe’ll settle somewhere new. Maybe we’ll come back home. Maybe we won’t go at all.
And, after, I don’t know if I’ll move, or he will, or if we’ll find somewhere to meet in between, or spend a year sitting on trains across the country, waiting until we’re in each other’s arms.
I don’t know if we’ll live in a flat or a house, where he’ll hang his plaid shirts and I’ll store my hiking boots. If we’ll spend lazy Sundays in bed with a book, or if he’ll make us get up with the sun and drive to the nearest patch of grass. If this will fizzle out after six months, or I’ll be nodding off beside him when we’re both eighty years old.
I don’t know anything, except that when I’m not with him there’s an ache in my chest, and that nothing has ever felt so good as the press of his arms.
That when he whispers in my ear, the rumble of his voice makes me think of home.
I meant what I said: this is a risk. The idea of loving him, of losing him, scares me to death. But living safe hasn’t made me happy. Hasn’t brought me joy.
We’re on the path. Now we have to keep going. Day by day. Step by step.
That’s how we’ll climb this mountain.
That’s how we’ll get to the top.
Epilogue
Rowan
Six months later
“Argh.”
I haul myself over the final metre of the steep climb with an aching groan, like a fish who has been dragged from her native water and handed a pair of legs to use for the first time. I thump down onto the nearest bit of flat ground, unclipping my bag.
“That’s my lass.” Angus flops next to me, slinging his arm around my shoulder and pulling me close to press a kiss to my temple. “She always makes it to the top.”
“Christ, Angus. What the fuck was that?”
Angus looks back down the slope with a wide grin. He’s barely sweating, his hair messy in the way I like best, a little longer than usual after travelling for so long. He fishes a handful of nuts out of his bag pocket and hands them to me.
“That was a proper fucking munro.”
“I think I died on the way up. Can you pinch me? See if I’m a ghost?”
Angus runs a hand along my thigh, squeezing gently at its apex, and even in my sweaty, dishevelled state, a twinge ripplesthrough me. I bite back a smile and a squirm, savouring the sensation.
“I think you’re alright, love,” he says into my ear, breath hot on my neck as he kisses the tender skin there. Six months in, and Angus has found every inch of my kryptonite. “You feel pretty alive to me.”
“Babe.” I glance around. His hand is still roving. “We are on the top of a mountain.”
“Aye.” Angus’ eyes are liquid as they catch mine. “Exactly. We’re perfectly alone.”
“The grumpy mountain man needing his solitude again?” I tease. “I’ll head back down, shall I?”
“No.” Angus catches my hand. “You’ll stay right here, with me.”
It’s ridiculous, how much the simplest gesture from him can light me up. The barest glance, a single word. Everything.
“Alright.” I fake reluctance. “If you really need me to.”
“I really do, love,” Angus says seriously. “I always need you.”
