Candy Hearts, Vol. 2

Chapter 3

CHAPTER 3

NOLAN

After I shut the door, I lean heavily against the wall and take several deep breaths. I felt like an arsehole closing it the first time, in the guy’s face. I was sure there must have been some mistake, but my brain jumped to the conclusion that it was some sort of sick joke. I managed to reason with myself that the only people who know I’m here wouldn’t do that to me, which enabled me to open the door the second time. I felt bad for the guy, he was clearly just trying to do his job on what must be one of the busiest days of the year for him. And he was cute, exceedingly so. He was shorter than me by several inches, reddish brown hair which looked super soft, and a close-cropped beard. He also had rosy cheeks—either natural due to the cold day or because he was embarrassed—but the colour suited him, especially against his green eyes. Wow, those eyes, they were the most verdant I’ve ever seen. Like two emeralds shining out of his face. He looked, well... happy, like one of those people who are always affable no matter what. I don’t understand them myself but it was definitely charming. I laugh at myself for noticing these things, but that’s alright because one, he’s not my type—I’ve never been one for the cute and cheerful type—and two, I’m never going to see him again.

Once I’ve had a minute to regroup my thoughts, I push off the wall. All is fine. I managed it. I saw flowers, even had them almost thrust in my face, and... well... nothing really. I survived. One step at a time. I can do this without going to pieces. My life from now on is work, photography, and the occasional Grindr hookup, not that there have been many of those. Romance just complicates things and makes it messy. Nope, I just want to keep it simple. I drink my now cold—urgh—coffee and get ready to head out into the countryside.

I close the cottage door behind me and walk across the village green. I glance at the pub. Mac said it was a great place and served a decent meal, and I’d planned to try it out later. I stop in my tracks. Outside the front door is a huge red-headed guy wrestling with a balloon arch, the sort you see at weddings. Is there some sort of wedding function there today? That would be just my luck. The feeling that somehow the universe is conspiring against me is back as I take a deep breath and walk over. I just want to know if there’s a private function today. If so, I’ll make other plans for dinner this evening.

“Hi.” I greet the guy who has just about managed to tame the balloon arch in different shades of red and pink, as well as silver. I have to admit it does look beautiful, even if the memories it provokes act as acid in my stomach.

“Hey, you’re staying at Ivy Cottage, right?”

“I am,” I affirm, frowning. There’s no point denying it, he probably saw me walking out the door a few moments ago. But what business is it of his? I feel prickly at the second intrusion into my privacy this morning, and it’s barely ten. “But what of it?”

If he notices my aggressive tone he ignores it and gives me a broad grin.

“I was just going to wish you a happy stay.”

Oh? Oh. Not another eternally friendly person. I’m not used to it. In the city we leave each other alone to be grumpy in our own little bubbles. I came here to not see people, so I’m not sure I can cope with this small-town friendliness.

“Thanks,” I mutter so I don’t actually appear rude, but I don’t think eating here later will be a good idea. Maybe the local shop will sell something I can heat up instead. Sad, but at least I can be left alone. No longer needing to know the reason for the balloon arch, my curiosity wanes and I go to leave.

“You’ll be welcome to join us later,” the guy calls to me and I turn back. “We’re having a Valentine’s party here. Everyone’s invited, not just couples. No one should be alone on Valentine’s Day, so we host a friendly get-together.”

Dear god, this town is too much. I can’t think of anything I’d rather do less than join a bunch of losers like myself, forcing ourselves to be jolly and sociable when we’re really dying inside. It sounds worse than torture.

My face contorts into the definite shape of “I’d rather suck on a scorpion,” but just to make sure, I add, “Thanks, but I’ll be busy later.”

Yep, busy with my microwavable dinner for one. What a fucking loser I am, and what a fucking disaster this “get away from all that romantic crap” idea is turning out to be. I turn my back on the guy and walk determinedly towards the river and the path heading out of the village, more annoyed than I was before I came here. I’m riled up and need to vent so I call Mac. After all, he’s the one that suggested this place to me.

I barely let him get a greeting in before I start my rant.

“What hell have you sent me to? It’s a quiet small town, you said. Just you and the countryside, no one to bother you.”

“What’s up? Are they chasing you out of the village with pitchforks already?” I can hear his amused tone and it brings my level of being pissed off down a few notches. I know he won’t take offence at me spouting off at him. It’s one of the many things I like about Mac. He doesn’t care how I show up, he’s got my back. As I do for him. We’re pretty similar—scarily so, really. We found that out when we met at a gym in our first week of university at Oxford. We both went to different colleges and studied different subjects—me doing engineering science at Magdalen and Mac studying human sciences at Hertford—but we both preferred hitting the gym to hitting the student bars, neither of us being particularly good at socialising. Instead we’d spend many hours sinking a beer in one of the quieter pubs, talking about anything and everything. Now, twenty years later, he’s my oldest and dearest friend, not that I have many. Reece being the only other one I’d count as a true friend.

“Being run out of town I could live with. No, it’s much worse than that, Mac. They invited me to a party.”

I swear I hear him snort down the phone.

“Did you know about this annual Valentine’s party they have? Was this your idea of fun when you recommended the ‘oh-so quaint’ pub with great food?”

“No, I didn’t, I swear.” He still sounds like he thinks it’s funny, which gets me going again.

“And that was after I had a bouquet of flowers thrust in my face this morning!”

“Who bought you flowers?” His tone turns curious.

“No one, they got the address wrong, but still . . . It was something I didn’t need or want.”

“Damn, I’m sorry.” This time he did sound sincere. He’s the only one who knows what a mess I was after Cliff broke up with me.

“I really could’ve done without it,” I say, though my annoyance has dropped to a low simmer that a day out in the countryside will help with. The hurt brought on by the memories is a different matter. The cuts still sting, and although the edges had started to knit together, the events of today pulled them apart again. I let out a huge breath.

“What are you going to do?” Mac asks, concern still clear in his voice. That he doesn’t instantly try to give advice but gives me space to think things through is another reason I like him so much. He knows that if I need his help, I’ll ask.

“Go and take some photos. That’s what I came for and I’m damn well going to do it.”

“Okay, good. Where are you now?”

I stop walking and look around.

“I’m on the riverbank. I’m following the path, and the pub is behind me.” There aren’t any other obvious landmarks.

“Can you see a bridge in front of you?” I look along the river and can see a stone bridge just round the bend.

“I think so.”

“Go over that and turn left, just along there is the abbey. It’s worth a look.”

I thank him and after saying goodbye I ring off, feeling a lot better than I did ten minutes ago.

I follow his instructions and as soon as I have the bridge fully in sight I can see the abbey beyond it. He’s right, it is worth a look, and although it’s nothing more than a ruin there’s still enough of it for me to sense the size and grandeur of the place. I can imagine what it would have been like hundreds of years ago. I take lots of pictures, planning on showing them to Hartley when I get back to the office.

Hartley is the newest member of our management team. He’s just finished a masters in ancient buildings and monuments, and we took him on board to be our expert in that field. I can imagine his reaction to knowing there’s an abbey here. If we win the contract for the polo club, I’ll bring him to see it.

After spending half an hour at the abbey I continue along the path that leads into the woodland. The trees here are evergreen and their all-year-round foliage deadens any sounds. I like the silence, and I wander along the paths not meeting anyone, which suits me just fine.

I take plenty of photographs, long shots as well as close ups. I see lots of early flowers, more than I thought I would considering it’s the middle of February. Some of them I know, such as crocus, snowdrops, and primroses, but there are many more I have no clue about. I take photos of them for identification later. As I meander along, a thought idly pops into my head. I wonder if the cute florist guy knows what these flowers are?

I have no idea where the thought came from and as soon as it’s out I dismiss it. Surely not. There’s a huge difference between cultivated blooms for bouquets and displays and wildflowers.

But still something niggles in my mind, and it takes me several moments to realise that I dismissed his knowledge, or my assumption of it, not that I’d thought of him in the first place. Well, whatever it means, it’s nothing to me. I have no clue who he is, which if I think too hard is a shame as he was really cute.

Damn, keeping it simple, remember? Definitely not thinking of a pair of green eyes.

I force myself to concentrate on the landscape and not on the flora contained in it, and manage to pass the rest of the day without thinking of much at all, which was my plan all along.

In the afternoon, I find the path has taken me back towards the village, which is good as I was planning to try to find my way back. I reach the cottage just before it starts to get dark. I’d learned last night that it truly gets dark in the countryside in a way we don’t see in the city, and I had no plans to be out in it.

I make myself a coffee to help warm me up, because although it’s mild for the time of year, it’s still February and I’ve been outside all day.

I’m contemplating going over to the village shop to see what I can buy to heat up for dinner. Maybe I’ll get a bottle of wine. A drink and a book I’ve brought with me sound like the perfect way to spend the evening.

I stand, and I’m just rinsing out my mug when there’s a knock on the door.

Fuck my life. How can there be more people in one day knocking on the door of where I don’t live than there was knocking on the door of my own house in a month. I consider not answering, but the lights are on so it’s not like I can pretend I’m not in.

With a sigh I walk down the hallway and wrench the door open.