Chapter 14
Chapter Fourteen
We find a quiet, leafy spot off the narrow footpath beside the River Lune, with a picturesque old stone bridge, the Devil’s Bridge, a short distance away.
It’s idyllic, a gentle green landscape around us, a fenced pasture to our backs.
And somehow, we have the place to ourselves.
Birds call. Today, the heat is soft, a high veil of wispy cloud cutting the July sun.
Will has a blanket in the back of his Land Rover that we’re using for our impromptu picnic overlooking the river.
As picnics go, it’s kind of funny because although we have a lot of food, I’m still stuffed from the full breakfast I had a couple of hours ago, though I’m making a valiant effort with some fruit and cheese.
Meanwhile, Will’s sticking to sparkling water and crackers and giving everything else side-eye, which tells me plenty about how he’s feeling, even if he won’t confess.
At least I had my tie-dyed bucket hat in his SUV, which he’s now wearing, so that’s helping cut some of the brightness for him, even if we are beneath the shade of a large tree.
We haven’t said anything so far about what happened between us this morning. Or about the reveals of yesterday either.
Do I bring any of this up? I eat more grapes as I mull this over. There’re a million reasons why not.
On the water, ducks swim, and we watch them as Will slowly crunches through cracker after cracker. A soft breeze stirs the grasses on the bank.
“We should probably forget what happened earlier,” I say tentatively.
“Yes,” Will says immediately. “Excellent idea.”
“Great.” Relieved, I nod. “No problem. Nothing happened.”
“Nothing happened. Nothing to talk about,” Will agrees, his gaze still following the duck family on the water, leaving ripples in their wake. We very carefully don’t look at each other.
“I mean,” I reason, “least of all we have to work together. We should keep things professional.”
“Yes. Work.” Will nods too. “Strong point. Let’s keep things professional, like you said. It’s for the best.”
We fall quiet.
It’s a very reasonable idea. But why do I also feel a loss at the same time?
It’s not like I’m looking for anything more than a date or a hookup.
Least of all with Will, who is out of the league of mere mortals like me and the rest of us on Earth, frankly.
There’s no way that’s happening this lifetime, even if I wanted it. Which I don’t.
Our fingers brush as we reach for more sparkling water, and we both yank back at the same time.
“Sorry,” I blurt.
“My mistake,” Will says at the same time, flushing.
This is going to be just fine.
We stand by the Land Rover. Well, Will stands as I put the picnic food and blanket in the back. He walks a small circle, takes his—my—hat off, and runs a hand through his hair. He’s not looking well.
I sit against the bumper with the hatch open, considering him as he stops again and tosses the hat in the back.
“What do you want to do?” I ask. “How’re you feeling?”
“Let’s get back to London.” Will pulls the keys out of his pocket, fidgeting with them. He’s giving me another squinty look, even through his sunglasses.
“You’re okay to drive?” I ask, skeptical. “Because you don’t seem okay.”
Will bristles. “I’m fine.” Then he sits beside me, carefully not touching, and sighs. “Please give me a minute.”
I shake my head. “Listen. We can get another room somewhere around here. Two rooms, even. And go back tomorrow—”
“No. We should get back today.”
“’Kay. Or, you know, I could drive—” I offer.
“No way.”
I frown at him. “I’m not exactly feeling reassured about your ability to drive all the way to London.”
“I got us here, didn’t I?”
“A little country lane is not the same as the highway. For hours and hours.” I sigh.
“Listen. Believe it or not, I have a driver’s license, and I’m an excellent driver, for the record.
And yeah, I might not be on your insurance, but I’m not going to crash your car.
And fuck, even if I did, I’m sure you could afford it—”
He reddens. “Not a chance. You’re not used to right-hand drive.”
“They rent cars to tourists here all the time,” I point out. “It’s not that different. Except your Land Rover’s probably fancier than the average rental, I’ll give you that. But I promise to be extra careful—”
“There’s no way you’ll be able to navigate London. It’s a nightmare at the best of times—”
“That’s what the GPS is for,” I say cheerfully. “Unless you want to go somewhere else? I mean, it would be nice to get home if we’re going all that way.”
Will’s quiet, considering. He takes off his sunglasses and wearily rubs his eyes.
“Keys,” I say sternly, holding out my hand. “There’s no way you’re driving.”
“I guess you’re right. I still have an aura. I think.” Reluctantly, he drops his keys in my hand with a jangle.
“I don’t even know what that means, but I’m glad you’re finally seeing some sense.”
“Migraine aura. It’s a visual thing. Usually, they’re gone by now. Or maybe it’s another one.”
“Double glad I’m driving.” I give him a sidelong glance. He’s back to pale again. Probably too much brightness and he didn’t want to complain about it. Shit. “So, home?”
“Maybe… maybe Cambridge?” Will thinks aloud. “Maybe you can drive to the station. You can get the express train to London from there in an hour. And my parents or someone can come and drive me to their home if I’m not feeling better by then.”
“It’s a plan.”
And at last, we’re on our way beneath sunny skies.
The drive south is quiet, with the hum of the tires on the road and the whizzing traffic on the motorway. Will closes his eyes for much of it, which is either a testament to his secret faith in my driving, or he’s feeling terrible again. Or still.
I practice my best, smoothest driving. There’re no sudden stops or lurches or anything like that. Which is easy enough in this Land Rover on pavement, gliding along.
Outside of Cambridge, Will texts his brother again, who responded to his earlier text that he could come meet us. I’m intrigued to meet a member of Will’s family, even if it’s only to hand over the keys—and Will, like he’s the baton relayed in some sort of marathon.
Cambridge itself is as busy as Will promised. I navigate the streets to the station, which looks new or recently updated or something, and pull into a parking stall. People stream in and out of the station from all directions. I won’t admit it to Will, but it’s a relief to park.
I glance over at Will. He gives me a half smile back. “Sorry to be such a pain.”
“Believe me, you’re not. I wish I could do something else to help.”
“You did loads. And you didn’t leave me in the north.”
I smile at that. “Tempting, but no. But now you have to add me to your Christmas list, that’s all. And I expect very nice gifts.”
“What, did Santa kick you off his?”
I blink and laugh at the callout. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”
Will’s smile broadens, and he shuts his eyes again. It’s a fine moment to study him. A+ content.
Keep it professional, Dylan. He’s not feeling well, besides.
Tightening my grip on the leather steering wheel, I focus ahead.
Good thing, too, because a blond man walks up to us with purpose about then.
Clearly a relative of Will’s, because he’s also criminally attractive, and there’s a strong resemblance between them.
The man smiles at me, and I lower the window.
“Hi.” I take off my sunglasses.
“Hi, Gray,” says Will, peering over.
“Hi. You must be the Dylan I keep hearing about. I’m Gray. Grahame Martin-Greene.” He gives a charming smile that’s an echo of Will’s. It takes a moment to register that Will’s been talking to his family about me. I shiver. He peers at Will. “I’ve seen you in better form, old bean.”
Will grunts acknowledgment.
“Thanks for driving him here,” Gray says to me. “And great job convincing him to let up the keys to his precious vehicle.” He chuckles.
“Not a problem. Guess I talked a bit of sense into him.” I smile over at Will.
“Only this once,” Will vows. “The driving, not the sense, I mean.”
“You’re usually full of sense. At least 80 percent of the time. Which is a good hit rate. Better than me.” I hesitate for a moment, rewarded by a flicker of a smile on Will’s lips. It’s time for me to go, yet I don’t really want to, if I’m honest. “See you Monday?”
“Yes, sounds good. Monday.”
We exchange polite, professional nods. I mean, I don’t know what the etiquette is for goodbyes when someone’s having a migraine or after they’ve made out in bed together.
Fuck, that’s not a helpful thought right now. At last, I slide out of the Land Rover, shake hands with Gray like we’re completing some kind of business transaction, and watch him get in and adjust the rearview and seat for his longer legs and height.
“’Kay. See you,” I say and reluctantly walk away to the station, left with a jumble of thoughts and feelings. It’s not exactly convenient when I’m meant to meet my date later tonight.