‘He doesn’t know about that either.’
An idea comes to me and I turn to look at him. ‘Have you thought about doing stargazing evenings? You could host them, teach people about the stars. Ooh, maybe you could even have schools or Scout groups come in! You’re so good at speaking to people who know next to nothing.’
He looks thoughtful for a moment, and then his eyes cloud over. ‘Maybe. One day.’
One day …
‘Is it hard to work with your father?’
He gives me the smallest of nods, his jaw clenched, then he reaches for a small battery-operated alarm clock and checks the time.
‘Do you have to rush back?’ he asks, a twinge of hope taking the edge off the darkness I saw on his face a moment ago.
‘No.’
His face breaks into a grin and I suddenly know exactly what we’re doing this morning.
The sun hasn’t yet risen over the Berwyn Mountains and the dim light and cool morning air make the Pistyll Rhaeadrseem almost other-worldly as it tumbles over the edge of a cliff eighty metres up in the air and pours into the circular pool at our feet.
The walls around it are alive with bright green plants, long, trailing grass and furry moss that makes me think of the Initiation Well in Sintra. There’s even a natural rocky bridge a little way up that the water has carved over time. It’s absolutely beautiful – and there’s not another soul to be seen.
We climb right up to the edge of the water, and it’s invigorating, a cold spray carrying in the morning breeze to kiss our faces.
‘Have you ever swum here?’ I ask Ash.
‘Once,’ he replies, grinning. ‘It’sreallycold.’
He crouches down by the crystal-clear pool, trailing his hands through the water before scooping some up to splash his face.
I kneel down on the smooth, flat rock beside him, wanting to do the same, but as soon as my fingers sink into the ice-cold depths, I sharply retract them.
He laughs and flicks a little water in my direction.
‘Don’t you dare,’ I warn, making him chuckle.
Behind him, the water continues on its journey, bubbling over rounded boulders on its way to the river down in the valley.
He straightens up and pulls me to my feet, taking my face in his hands. I lay my palms on his chest and we gaze at each other, our lips tilted into small smiles. At the edge of my vision, I can see a long strip of brilliant white, considerablyhigher than Niagara Falls, crashing down the vivid green rock face. The sound of the waterfall drowns out my shallow breathing as Ash bends down to claim my mouth in a long, slow kiss.
Afterwards, we hike up a mountain track to watch the sun rise over the valley.
‘Thank you for bringing me here.’
We’re sitting side by side on the gnarled root of an old tree, sheep nibbling at the short grass around us.
Ash tucks a lock of hair behind my ear and presses a kiss to my cheekbone before asking, ‘Where do you want to go next?’
‘Wherever you want to take me.’
‘Bed?’ he asks hopefully.
I think I smile the whole way back to his bike.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
When I’m not losing myself in Ash over the following days, I’m losing myself in gardening. We’ve been weeding and deadheading, clearing areas of spent low-growing perennials such as leafySymphytumand white-greenBrunnera, turning the compost and pulling cow parsley. The lawn has also gone wild with the warmer weather and it’s a full-time job just to stay on top of mowing and trimming.
But Ash is never far from my mind. It’s hard to escape to the cabin without drawing attention, but Siân and Bethan went to the cinema on Sunday night, and on my day off on Monday, he took me to Portmeirion, a beautiful Italianate village on a private peninsula overlooking the coast.
