Chapter 8
Alistair
Wearing only a ridiculous sparkly pink helmet for protection, Isla actually had the gall to reply. “Me? What are you doing, pulling in like that? I thought I was about to be murdered.”
“Don’t count it out just yet.” I threw my hand out of the window. “That was a blind bend back there, I almost didn’t see you.”
“I cycle this route all the time.”
“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” Did the woman have zero self-preservation instincts? My heart felt like it was trying to batter its way out of my chest. “I’m beginning to think you have a death wish.”
“This is a popular cycle route, loads of people do it.”
Yeah, and I’d bet they wore full Lycra like they were prepping for the Tour de France. “Those idiots aren’t my concern.”
“And I am?”
Yes. The word filled every corner of my brain.
For the life of me, I couldn’t understand why I was drawn to this woman.
The only person I’d ever seriously dated was Juniper, and while we were a thousand shades wrong for each other, we’d at least made sense on paper.
But Isla was a perfect fucking distraction.
When we went at each other like this it was easy to forget how badly my efforts to repair community relations had crashed and burned back there.
Her hands flew to her hips with indignation.
The bike wobbled, and she immediately gripped the handlebars.
I felt my scowl deepen. How had she lived for this long when even her own lack of balance was attempting to kill her?
“It’s the height of summer; do you know how many traffic accidents happen on this road every year? ”
“I’m sure you’re about to tell me.”
My fingers tightened on the wheel. I needed to leave. Now. Before my brain fully short-circuited and the ridiculous plan that had been battering around my brain for the past hour spewed forth.
My mouth did the opposite. “Get in.”
“In your car?” Her eyes widened, like I’d just offered to show her my taxidermy collection.
“No, the boot. Of course the car, Lang.”
“Sarcasm. At least it’s an improvement on the surliness,” she said. “But no, I get travel-sick.”
“It’s a five-minute drive.”
“Even more reason for me to keep cycling. I’d hate to ruin your interiors.”
“Is that why you aren’t driving your tin can?”
“One, don’t insult Daisy.” The car had a name? “And two, not that it’s any of your business, but she’s still having a little engine trouble.”
“What kind of engine trouble?”
“The wait-until-payday kind.”
“Better to swallow the expense now than die, isn’t it?”
Isla shifted on her seat, clearly uncomfortable, and something about the pained look in her eye – the one that had been lingering ever since Annabelle’s speech – made me soften.
Fuck it. Unclipping my belt, I climbed out onto the deserted roadside. “Can I offer you a piece of advice?”
She tucked her legs behind the pedals and rolled back an inch. “Maybe you should focus on your own problems.”
“Oh, you mean being the village pariah? I’ll pass.”
She stared at me. Not denying it.
Her cardigan had slid off one shoulder, revealing a pale shoulder that glowed in the moonlight.
Her jeans were even more ridiculous, a floral pattern printed all over the flared denim that reminded me of dearly departed Granny Macabe’s old curtains.
Why would anyone pick them out in a store much less wear them?
“You need to grow a backbone,” I said. “You let Annabelle walk all over you tonight with that bullshit rule change.”
She jerked. “What was I supposed to do? Demand they change the entire contest just for me?”
I shrugged. “You could have tried.”
She barked out a harsh laugh. “Maybe that’s how things work in your world, Alistair, where you inherit Daddy’s business and then cry about it. Some of us aren’t so lucky; we just have to make do with the cards we’re handed.”
“Maybe,” I agreed. I could see how I looked like a privileged arsehole from the outside. This wasn’t about me. “That doesn’t change the fact you’d rather spend the rest of your life miserable because you’re scared to ruffle a few feathers.”
Tonight had been a total disaster for me, but at least I’d tried. I wasn’t rolling over and giving up like she was.
She rolled her eyes. “Sharing a wall for four months doesn’t mean you know me. I have a backbone.”
Prove it, I almost said. But this definitely wasn’t the place for that conversation. “Get in the car.”
“No.”
I seized the handlebars – not roughly, just to hold the bike steady.
My knuckles curled beside her freckled ones, close enough to feel her heat but not her skin.
A shadow of a touch. How long had it been since I’d touched another person?
Not as part of my work, or an alcohol-induced tumble with a woman I’d met on a dating app.
But properly, so I could take my time with them.
I didn’t even know.
I swallowed at the thought. “What happened to our truce?”
“I don’t make bargains with arseholes.”
I had the oddest sensation in my chest. Laughter?
Nah, couldn’t be.
Maybe I was developing angina. The symptoms were all there: light-headedness and a tight feeling in my chest.
“Are you embarrassed to be seen with me?” I cut straight to the truth of the matter.
“No!” she shot back far too quickly, then winced. “I am sorry about what happened back there. People aren’t usually so mean-spirited.”
“I grew up here, remember? I know exactly how these people are.” Though I’d underestimated how deeply they could hold a grudge. Amy was going to have a field day about it tomorrow. She’d warned me they wouldn’t be so easily swayed.
“Did you get any sign-ups?”
“One,” I admitted. “Heather.”
She cringed. “Oof.”
My thoughts exactly, but I kept my expression stern. Having my wee sister’s pity required a full return to factory settings.
“Let’s make this quick.” I gestured to her bike. “I have places to be.” A lie, but if I could just get her into my car, I’d have at least five minutes of her undivided attention.
She’d be forced to hear my offer.
Snickers from the committee still echoing in my head, I’d hung back after the meeting, overhearing Annabelle, rather falsely, comfort Isla with, “There’s always next year. And who knows, maybe you’ll have a new man by then.” And the plan had hit me like a bolt of lightning.
I couldn’t play Santa Claus. But if Kinleith wanted a pie-baking, lawn-mowing suburban hero, then I’d slap on some New Balances and kick-start the neighbourhood watch if that’s what it took to get me out of here.
Isla puffed out a breath. For a second I could have sworn she was about to say no again and I’d be forced to drive at a glacial pace behind her the entire way home.
“Fine,” she finally said. “But only because the saddle is becoming uncomfortable. Not because you told me to.”
My eyes, apparently needing no further invitation, flicked to where she straddled the bike with that magnificent heart-shaped arse. “Whatever gets you in the car faster.”
I didn’t watch as she dismounted, purposely taking her time.
“Satisfied?” she asked.
“Rarely.”
“What are you going to do with my bike?”
“It’ll fit in the back.” I hefted it up, cringing as oil smeared my shirtsleeve. She followed behind me, watching as I stored it in the boot beside my medical kit and closed the door.
“Up front.” I steered her toward the passenger side with a hand on her shoulder – the cardigan-covered one – before I even became conscious of the action.
I snatched it back but stayed close, a barricade between her and the road as she used the step to hoist herself in.
“At least you wore a fucking helmet,” I ground out, reaching beneath her chin to unclip the strap. Her skin was soft, and I flexed my fingers, bending to stow it in the footwell.
By the time I climbed into the driver’s seat, she’d wedged herself against the door, smoothing her hand over her wind-tangled curls. The cab already smelled too sweet – like she’d fallen into a candyfloss machine right before I picked her up.
“Your car is freakishly clean.” Her hands went from her hair to the cup holder. Then she opened the glove box, closed it again and dragged her fingertips across the dashboard, inspecting for dust.
“Want to examine the upholstery next?”
“Sure. Do you have a UV light handy?”
I clipped in my seatbelt. “Searching for blood?”
“Among other things. A girl can’t be too careful.”
Starting the engine, I pulled back onto the road, deciding where to start, but before I could speak, she beat me to it. “You didn’t want to stay and hang with your family?”
“Nah, everyone’s pretty busy.” The lie rolled off my tongue far too easily.
She threw me a look that told me she wasn’t buying it, but all she said was, “I always wanted siblings.”
I glanced at her, then back at the road, turning down the dirt track that led to Croft Cottages. “Where did you grow up?”
“Surrey. Not the nice bit you see on TV though.”
“Your parents still live there?”
“Yep. Well, my mum lives there permanently. Dad stays with her during their on-again periods, but they usually last no more than a month or two.”
“And when they’re off-again?”
“He’s retired now, but used to be a long-haul lorry driver, travelled all over Europe. Sometimes he was away for weeks at a time.”
“Did you miss him a lot as a kid?”
“At first.” She nodded, reaching out to flick the radio between channels until it settled on a folk station, a mournful Gaelic song I was ashamed to admit I could only understand half of.
“Until I grew old enough to understand that life only felt unsteady when he was at home. I think my mum loves the idea of him more than she actually loves him, if that makes sense. When I was a kid, she’d keep this big calendar on the fridge, counting down the days with a big red cross until he came home. ”
“And when he was home?” I didn’t know why I was nudging. Why I was swallowing down every scrap of information she fed me like a starving man. The less I knew about Isla Lang the better.
“Endless screaming rows.”
So different from my childhood.