Chapter 8
CHAPTER 8
ULRICH
This time when I knock on the cottage door, I’m greeted with a smile. It’s almost surreal. I’d spent most of yesterday feeling like I’d done something wrong at worst and he definitely wasn’t interested at best. When he called it took me by surprise, and I had to hold back a whoop when he invited me out. I held it in for as long as the rest of the call and then let out an almighty shout of joy and danced Ross round the shop. Luckily he’s used to me by now.
“Come on in.” He stands back and holds the door open for me.
“Can I get you a coffee? Or tea . . .” He trails off “Actually, I don’t think there is tea. I haven’t checked.”
“Coffee will be fine,” I say and he gives another smile. I could get used to that look.
I follow him through to the kitchen and he starts the kettle. “I apologise in advance for it being instant,” he says, spooning the grounds into a mug.
“I’ll forgive you,” I say lightly, and he huffs a little laugh as he retrieves the milk from the fridge. I’m pleased that he seems in good humour today.
Soon I have a steaming hot coffee in my hands, and I look at him over the top of the mug.
“What are the plans for the day?”
“I hope you like walking,” he says. He’d mentioned that yesterday so I’d dressed appropriately, and he runs his eyes over me, taking that in.
“I do. Where are you thinking of walking?”
“So, my hobby is nature photography, and I’ve spent the last couple of days in the woods around Larchdown, so I thought we could go a bit further away today.”
Ah, that explains his reason for being here for the weekend instead of just for a meeting tomorrow. I wait for him to go on.
“I thought we could head into Blackwood today. I’m told the views across the valley from the ridge are stunning.”
“They are,” I say, and he tilts his head quizzically. “I live in Blackwood Heath but I haven’t taken the path up to the ridge for a long time, not since I came back to live. It was a favourite haunt when I was a teenager and on holiday here, though.”
“Perfect, then you can show me.” He flashes a grin and I wonder what has happened to the Nolan of a couple of days ago—the sullen, grumpy, hesitant one. I liked him of course, or I wouldn’t have come back that night, but I like this version too.
I offer to drive us to the best place to park for the walk and he accepts. As I drive back through Blackwood Heath I point out my little florist shop and a few other landmarks on the way, and he tells me some of the places he’s visited in the last couple of days.
The middle of February can be cold, and today is no exception. I bundle myself into a large coat and pull on some gloves. Once inside Blackwood the wind drops and it warms up a few degrees. The name, over the years, has conjured up spooky stories and local myths, but is more likely derived from the non-native black pines that were planted several hundred years ago.
“Why do you like taking photographs?” I ask as we walk along the path that will take us to the ridge.
“I love capturing nature’s wonder. Nature is beautiful don’t you think?” He turns to look at me when he asks the question and I see genuine delight in his face. His eyes are a light grey, his face open, and damn he’s handsome.
“I do,” I agree simply, and he laughs lightly.
“Of course you do. You use it in creating fantastic displays. I like to capture its beauty in ways people don’t often see.” He stops suddenly and crouches down next to a small yellow flower.
“Take this flower for example,” he says and then looks up at me “Actually, I don’t know what it’s called.”
I take a closer look.
“Winter aconite,” I supply and he flashes me a grin.
“How many people would just walk by this without seeing it? Most likely they wouldn’t even notice it’s there. But everything in nature has its place and its own beauty. Look at the delicate petals that form a cup shape, and the dark green leaves. How many people really see it? We walk through life only taking in a small percentage of what’s around us.”
He pulls out his camera and takes a few shots of the flower. I watch as his face creases in concentration. He chews his lip as he ponders the picture he’s taken and then tries again at a different angle. Eventually he seems satisfied and stands.
“Can I see?” I ask, and he steps close to show me the display screen on his camera. Even on the small screen I can see he’s really good at taking photographs. Very good. Professional almost.
“That’s beautiful!” I exclaim and smile at him. He returns the smile and pauses. Being this close I’m reminded of last night. I wanted to kiss him then, and I do now. What would happen if I tried to? Would he pull away? Despite the look in his eyes, I’m unsure what would happen, and I hesitate.
“Thanks,” he says eventually and turns away, the moment lost. I take a deep breath and follow on after him as he resumes walking along the path.
I swallow down the disappointment and distract myself with learning more about him.
“What do you do with the photographs?”
“I sometimes submit them to competitions, and occasionally a magazine will want one to print,” he says, shrugging like it’s no big deal, but I’m impressed. “But mostly I upload them to my Instagram account.”
“Oh, that’s great. What’s your account?”
He tells me and I pull up my phone and open the app.
“Wow, you have a hundred and twenty-six thousand followers?”
Again he gives a small shrug.
“That’s seriously impressive,” I say and he gives a small self-effacing smile, which pulls at my heart a little.
“Have you won any competitions?”
“Nothing major, just a few in photography and nature magazines.”
I think he’s being very modest about his talents as I take a scroll through his Instagram account, making sure I follow it.
“These are really good. Have you considered doing photography professionally?”
“Yes, a little, but it’s really difficult to make enough money from it. It’s very competitive. Plus, I like my job, my business. I’d rather keep it as a hobby.”
I can understand that, though my hobby is my business and I feel lucky that I’m able to do that.
We fall into an easy stride as we continue walking. Nolan sometimes stops and takes a few photographs. Occasionally he asks me about a flower or a tree and I identify it for him.
“Did you just invite me out here for my botanical knowledge?” I ask after the sixth or seventh time.
“Damn, you’ve found me out.” He gives me a lopsided smile that makes my chest flutter.
“Well, I’m glad I can help.” I give a small bow and carry on walking. “Come on, the ridge is just round this corner.” The path has been climbing steadily and we walk round the last bend. I hear his gasp beside me as I stop. I know how he feels. It must be at least ten years since I’ve been here and it’s still breathtaking, though nothing is quite as wonderful as the first time.
He doesn’t speak for a long time, just gazes out across the valley and into the steep-sided chalk gorge in front of us. Cleaved by a glacier during the ice age, it’s a part of the landscape that hasn’t been touched for thousands of years. The ridge we’re standing on contines to the south for several miles.
“It’s stunning,” he says eventually, and then starts taking pictures.
I find a tree stump and sit, content to watch him at work—planning his shot, looking for a different angle, and then taking several pictures before moving off a little way to do it again. After sitting for a while, the cold air seeps into my bones and I have to move around to keep warm. I still keep an eye on Nolan, though. He looks relaxed, content, almost happy, and I enjoy it. I’m watching him more than I’m looking at the view.
“This is beautiful,” he says as he comes to stand next to where I’m leaning against a tree.
“I’m glad you like it, though it was your idea. I just acted as a guide,” I say and receive another lopsided smile.
“And an excellent one,” he says lightly, stepping closer.
“I’ll put your recommendation in my brochure.” My voice is barely more than a whisper as he’s so close I can feel his breath on my cheek. His smile widens and he gives a small nod in acknowledgement of my joke. Again I get the feeling he’s about to kiss me. I hold my breath, my stomach flipping in anticipation, but he doesn’t move. He just looks at me. I need to know if he feels the same way, if he wants to see where this goes as much as I do. I can’t stand this, not knowing, this stasis. I have to know one way or the other.
“Nolan, why did you invite me out today?” I breathe. I watch his throat bob and then something like pain crosses his face and he spins away.
I let out a breath in a frustrated sigh and see him drop his head into his hands. I feel like every time we get close enough for something to happen he closes down on me, withdraws into something in his past. I don’t like feeling like a yo-yo, but his actions make me believe he’s not doing it deliberately. So I do the only thing I can do—try to help him.