“You’re going the wrong way.”
I stop. Look up and down the road, and realise that I’m heading out of town, towards the campsite.
“Oh.”
“Unless you’re looking to get in my tent again?” he teases.
“No!” I say, too quickly, too loudly.
“Well. Then your hotel is this way.” Angus saunters away. “Guess you did need me here. You coming or what, London?”
Arrogant. Difficult. Obnoxious.
And yet, somehow, even more attractive. His air of quiet authority. The way he doesn’t need to look behind him to see if I’m still there. Those wide shoulders tugging at his shirt.
“Nice of you to join,” he says.
“Shut up.”
“Only if you ask very, very nicely.”
“Please, Angus, for the love of god, will you shut up?”
He tilts his head. “That would be a no. You’re welcome to try again though.”
“Like hearing women beg, do you?”
Angus shoots me a glance that is full of promise. “Some women. Oh, aye. I do.”
I shut my mouth at that.
The rumbling growl of his voice does bad things to my chest. To my knees. To every longing, tingling part of me.
Moonlight glints off the sea. Rough waves and specks of white foam disappear into the horizon. It’s almost impossible to tell where the water ends and the sky begins. The air is crisp with the scent of brine, and the wind whips at my skin as I drink it in.
I’m a long way from London’s dingy streets, and I can feel every mile.
When I pull myself back, I find Angus is watching me, his eyes stormy as the water below.
“What are you thinking?” he asks me, unexpectedly.
“That I feel lighter here. More alive.” I watch a sea gull soar across the night sky. “And that I don’t want to go back.”
“Do you have to?”
I jerk in surprise. “Well, yes. Of course I do. My whole life is in London. My job, my flat, my…”
But that isn’t true. Reflex. Nothing more. The flat isn’t mine. The job paid the bills, but it doesn’t fill my soul. Not like this. And when you take those away, what else is there? Marnie. Brian. Rufus, their dog. My sister, who I barely ever see. A handful of friends I meet for dinner once a month.
My life in London is full of holes. An unfinished patchwork blanket I’ve wrapped around my shoulders, pretending I’m warm.
“What about you? Are you looking forward to going home?”
“Yes,” he says immediately, and then, “No. It’s home. It’s everything I’ve known. I’ve worked so hard to make it into something. To keep it alive. But… sometimes I feel I’m living in a house of ghosts, and my brothers are waiting for me to turn into one too. And sometimes I worry they might be right.” He makes a face. “And your bloody sister has ordered everything decorated in bloody lilac.”
I laugh. “That sounds like Sophie.”
We turn a corner and there, at the end of the road, is my hotel. Angus walks me to the front door and we stand facing each other, a body’s length apart. For a terrifying second, I think he might be about to shake my hand.
