Chapter 20
By the time they walked back into town, the rainclouds had drifted off to the east without coming to anything and the blue skies had returned.
Peter was glad the weather hadn’t turned.
He didn’t want their day together upended by the need to retreat indoors, not when there were still things and places he wanted to show Gaby.
The morning had been a success so far, at least he hoped so. Gaby seemed to enjoy the riverside walk and returning to the spot on the edge of the water meadow where they’d lain beneath the oak tree all those summers ago.
He wondered if he was laying it on too thick, revisiting all these old haunts.
The last thing he wanted was Gaby thinking he was some sort of sad case who’d spent the last fifteen years living in the past. Until he’d met her again last week, those old memories had rarely occurred to him.
What was the point in thinking about them when the object of his affection back then had vanished from his life?
Gaby’s return had brought everything back and made him want to remind her of just what they’d meant to each other. She seemed to be enjoying herself, which was all he wanted.
Except that wasn’t quite true. He wanted more than that.
Yes, he wanted to show her what they’d shared in the past.
But he also wanted to lure her with what they might share in the future, too.
Admitting to himself that this was what he was doing only reminded him of how pitiful he was and how doomed his efforts were.
He was trying to convince Gaby that she could be happy here with him.
That she could live here, settle down, and be his one and only.
The lunacy of the project made him shake his head.
Gaby lived a completely different life to the one he was trying subtly—okay, probably not so subtly—to sell her.
She travelled the world, working in amazing cities and resorts according to her whims and desires.
He’d seen her list of places she’d been and places she still wanted to go.
He’d seen some of her photographs and highlights from her life spent always moving on and always exploring.
If he thought she’d ever consider giving up that life she’d built in order to move here to this little market down in this quiet corner of the English countryside, he must be absolutely out of his mind.
And yet attempting to convince her to do just that was exactly what he was doing.
Talking up the virtues of Foxglove Street as they’d walked along it earlier.
Taking her to that café in the old boathouse with the pretty views of the river.
Telling her all about the new businesses that were making a success of things in Hamblehurst, the new ventures that were taking off, the hospitality opportunities that were growing by the day.
He was trying to sell this place to her, trying to make her see that there might be a life here for her, places she could work, a career she could build.
And a man she could love.
A man who’d fallen for her all over again ever since she’d walked back into his life.
Obviously, he was deranged. And doomed.
And he only had himself to blame, because he was the one who’d talked her into spending this weekend together. He was the one who’d kissed her and told her there was nothing wrong with a nostalgic walk down memory lane.
Well, there quite obviously was something wrong with it because it had made him hope for something he could never have.
A whole world of hurt lay on the other side of this weekend when Gaby left. Peter could already feel the jagged edges of the broken heart that waited for him there.
But still, he took her hand in his as they left the riverside path behind and walked back into Hamblehurst… because he simply couldn’t help himself.
And as Gaby seemed to be enjoying his stint as a tour guide, why not keep doing it? Even if he was headed for disaster when she left next week, he could comfort himself with the memory of the smile on her face right now and the sound of her laughter and the feel of her fingers brushing against his.
They had right now together and that’s all they’d ever have, which meant he ought to make the most of it.
So, he led her back into Hamblehurst and they wandered along the high street together. They window shopped and enjoyed the sunshine and the buzz of the busy stores. They meandered along the cobbled lanes and past the old church and through the market square.
When they passed a bistro with pavement tables catching the last of the afternoon sunshine, they sat down and ordered wine and talked and talked and talked.
Why was it so easy to talk to her? Why had he never experienced this easy conversation with any other woman he’d ever known? Why did being in her company make him feel like everything was right in the world?
Why did being close to her make his soul feel like it had found its mate all over again?
Peter didn’t want to answer those questions and so he forced himself to enjoy his glass of wine, enjoy the light draining from the sky above the rooftops, enjoy the glow of the coloured festival lights that lit up the bistro’s outdoor seating area and made the early evening feel magical.
By the time they finished their wine, the last warmth of the afternoon had vanished and Gaby was pulling her coat tighter around herself against the evening chill.
“Shall we start moving again before we get too cold?” he asked.
“Good idea,” Gaby replied. “Although this is such a pretty spot. I’m sorry to leave it behind.”
“We’ll find somewhere else to go. There are plenty of nice places around here. In fact, there’s a bar just around the corner that serves wonderful tapas with the drinks. I think you’d like it.”
He couldn’t stop himself from selling this town to her. She must think he was so transparent, even as she nodded at his suggestion.
“I doubt the tapas will compare to the real deal you’re probably used to enjoying in Spain, but this place isn’t half bad,” he added.
“I’m looking forward to it. And you don’t have to worry that I’m comparing it to the ‘real deal’ as you put it, Peter. That’s not how I work.”
“But I’m sure you’ve enjoyed some amazing authentic tapas while you’ve been in Spain?”
“Of course. That doesn’t mean the tapas I’m about to eat in this bar you’re taking me to won’t be amazing, too.”
She smiled and that made him feel better about his inevitably doomed attempts to convince her this town might be somewhere she could call home.
“Tell me about the best tapas you’ve ever had,” he said as they walked towards the bar.
“That’s a hard question. There’s so much to consider.”
“Like what?” he asked, captivated by the way her mind worked.
“It’s not just about the food. It’s the ambience of the bar, the personality of the waiter or barman.
And the weather and the company and the location make a big difference too, because tapas is about being sociable and enjoying good times with good people.
But I’d have to say the best tapas I’ve ever had was… ”
He listened as she talked about a little bar in a tucked-away street in Seville which she’d stumbled upon while exploring the city one warm spring evening some years before.
He listened as she talked about the exquisite servings of roasted meats and grilled vegetables and baked fish she’d sampled while drinking a perfectly paired sherry recommended by the barman.
He listened as she explained how the barman had kept track of her order by writing it in chalk on the bar counter and how, once she’d reached a certain total on her bill, he’d pointed at it and made her pay before letting her order anything else and had nodded with approval once she cleared her slate, and he’d wiped the chalk from her tab and started afresh.
He listened as she talked about that memory and then shared others from her travels around Spain, a country she obviously adored. She’d seen so much of the world, unlike him. He wondered if he seemed irredeemably provincial in her eyes.
When they settled at a window seat in the bar overlooking the market square, he was glad when she smiled at the cosy interior and the twinkle lights around the walls and the soft piano music playing the background.
“This is a nice place,” she said, taking it all in.
“I’m glad you like it. I’ll choose the wine and you can choose the tapas.”
“It’s a deal. And if we both like the tapas they serve here, maybe we could order something more for dinner. I think we’ve done enough walking around for now and I’ve worked up an appetite.”
“Sounds good to me.”
“I’m having a really nice time, Peter,” she said with a soft sigh. “Thank you.”
“I know spending time in a bar drinking wine isn’t exactly in keeping with the walk down memory lane I promised because we didn’t do things like this back then. But I figured we’re entitled to some mix and match.”
“No arguments there. This is perfect.”
She lifted her wine glass and clinked it against his in a toast.
“Cheers,” he said.
“Cheers. To our lovely day.”
“So far.”
Her eyebrows lifted in a question. “There’s more to come?”
“Of course. I promised we’d walk up Blackberry Hill once it got dark and look at the stars.”
“You’re serious about that?” she laughed.
“Absolutely. Why wouldn’t I be?”
“I mean, it’ll be dark.”
“It was dark when we walked up there the last time and looked at the stars.”
“True. And I was fifteen years younger back then. So were you, for that matter.”
“Are you saying you’re not up to the challenge, old woman?”
She laughed, obviously delighted by his cheeky remark. “Oh, I’m up to it. I’m just not sure if I can remember the way after all these years.”
“I’ll show you the way.”
And just like that, the light-hearted moment turned into something freighted with meaning. Peter held her gaze for a long beat, lost in her eyes, searching for any sign that his words had landed the way he hoped they might.
“Well, if we get lost up there or break an ankle, I’m holding you responsible,” she said with an easy laugh. “Let’s order some wine. I think we’ll need it.”
Peter laughed and turned his attention to the wine list. He chose a rich Spanish red and ordered a bottle to see them through the tapas and the meal… and the starlight walk that waited on the other side of it.