4. Chapter 3
Chapter 3
Luke
I haven’t even taken a step yet, and I already regret this decision. Damn Philip and his sodding ideas. I only joined because he insisted on me getting out more, and there was some logic to it.
Mrs Higgins is watching me closely, eyes sharp with something I can’t quite put my finger on. There’s no real harm in it, no outright nosiness—just an air of someone gathering information.
“So then, Luke,” she says, adjusting her rucksack like she’s settling in for a long discussion, “do you walk much… with your wife… or girlfriend?”
“I’m single,” I clarify and shove my hands in my pockets. “And I’m not really a walker.”
Nancy snorts. “Not really, or not at all?”
I glance at her. “I work out in my home gym. And I walk to the café almost every day.”
She gives me a knowing look. “Of course you do.”
Mrs Higgins nods. “Well, it’s lovely that you’re giving it a go. Nice to have a bit of company on a walk, isn’t it?”
I hesitate for half a second. Something about the way she says it makes my instincts flicker to life.
Nancy clears her throat. “Shall we—”
“Oh, I just think it’s wonderful when people make the effort,” Mrs Higgins carries on, completely ignoring her. “It’s all too easy to get into a routine, isn’t it? Work, home, bit of telly… before you know it, weeks have passed and you’ve hardly seen another soul.”
Nancy exhales sharply. “Right, well, walking! That’s what we’re here for, isn’t it? Walking!”
I look between them, eyes narrowing slightly. Nancy seems… on edge. Like she knows where this is going.
And then, suddenly, I do too.
Oh.
Oh no.
This isn’t just small talk.
This is subtle matchmaking.
I shift my weight, watching Mrs Higgins carefully. “I keep busy,” I say.
“Oh, I’m sure you do, love.” She smiles, ever so mild. “But a bit of companionship never hurt, does it? I just told this lovely single lady that—”
Nancy visibly flinches. “Shall we go?”
I glance at her. “Are you alright?”
She lets out a high-pitched, too cheerful laugh. “Me? Absolutely fine! Just very keen to start walking before we stand here all morning!”
I press my lips together, resisting the urge to smirk.
Mrs Higgins pats my arm, nodding like she’s confirming something to herself. “Well, I suppose we should get going, shouldn’t we?”
Nancy clears her throat, looking anywhere but at me. There’s a slight pink tinge creeping up her neck, and I don’t know if it’s from embarrassment or the sheer willpower it’s taking to ignore Mrs Higgins.
“So,” she says briskly, clearly desperate to move things along, “I thought we’d start with a nice, steady two-hour circular walk. Nothing too intense.”
Mrs Higgins nods approvingly. “Very sensible.”
Nancy gestures towards the path ahead. “We’ll stop halfway for sandwiches and, if people are up for it, maybe have a drink at the pub when we’re done.” She points into the distance, where the village pub sits neatly nestled among the rooftops. “So, that’s the plan.”
I follow her gaze.
The pub.
Not happening.
I’m already mentally planning my escape. Ideally, the second we return to the starting point. Slip away unnoticed before anyone suggests a ‘quick drink’. Two hours is more than enough forced socialising for one day.
“Sounds good,” I say anyway. No need to raise suspicions.
Mrs Higgins clasps her hands together. “Lovely. I do enjoy a walk with a purpose.”
Bernard sighs heavily, as if the mere concept of a two-hour walk has personally offended him.
Nancy claps her hands together. “Right, shall we—”
Another deep, ominous sound cuts through the air.
A slow, rolling, apocalyptic release of gas.
The smell follows immediately.
Mrs Higgins coughs, waving a hand in front of her nose. “Oh, Bernard, really.”
Nancy lets out a strangled noise. “How—how does it get worse?”
I take an automatic step back, nostrils burning. “I’m pretty sure this is illegal.”
Mrs Higgins tuts. “Good grief, lad, what have you been eating?”
Bernard, true to form, does nothing. He just sits there, staring into the void like a man reflecting on all his past mistakes.
Mrs Higgins sighs, adjusting her walking stick. “Well, I can’t have you two suffering like this.”
I hesitate. “What do you—”
“Oh, you and Nancy go on ahead,” she says, far too cheerfully. “I’ll bring up the rear with Bernard.”
Nancy’s eyes widen. “Oh, that’s—”
“Really, I insist,” Mrs Higgins says, nodding firmly. “Young legs like yours should be stretching out, enjoying the pace. I’ll take my time.”
I glance at Nancy, who looks absolutely like she wants to argue but also desperately does not want to stand near Bernard for another second.
She clears her throat. “Well, if you’re sure.”
“Oh, positive, love,” Mrs Higgins says, already shuffling a few steps back, taking Bernard with her. “Go on, you two, lead the way!”
Nancy presses her lips together, looking resigned.
I exhale slowly, rolling my shoulders before stepping forward.
This is very clearly a setup.
But considering the alternative is remaining in a toxic gas cloud, I’m willing to walk straight into it.
I’ll escape before the pub anyway.
The only sound is the steady rhythm of boots on packed earth, the occasional rustle of leaves in the breeze, and the soft click-clack of Mrs Higgins’ walking stick behind us.
Nancy strides ahead, arms swinging lightly at her sides, her pace sure and even. I match her step without thinking, hands tucked in my pockets, my eyes flicking to the landscape stretching out ahead. Fields roll into the distance, dry-stone walls crisscrossing the hills, the sky a soft patchwork of blue and shifting clouds.
Neither of us speaks.
A bird calls somewhere in the distance, answered by another. The wind stirs through the hedgerows, carrying the crisp scent of grass and earth.
Behind us, click-clack.
Then—deep, low, and drawn out—a sound rumbles through the air.
Nancy’s shoulders tense. My jaw tightens. Neither of us turns around.
Silence, except for the steady crunch of gravel beneath our boots.
A moment passes.
Then another.
Nancy lets out a slow breath, her hands briefly tightening into fists before relaxing again. “At least he’s downwind now.”
I nod once. “Small mercies.”
Nancy adjusts the strap of her rucksack, her fingers brushing absently over the buckle. A beat of silence passes. Then, with the kind of casual tone that suggests effort, she says, “So, what do you do?”
My steps falter for half a second, barely noticeable.
I should have seen that coming.
I keep my gaze ahead, shrugging slightly. “I’m a lawyer.”
Not technically a lie. I was a lawyer. It just hasn’t been true for a long time.
She nods, seemingly satisfied. “Still working, or did you move up here to escape it all?”
A loaded question, that might require more hiding the truth.
I exhale lightly. “Bit of both.”
Nancy hums thoughtfully, as if weighing whether to push for more. Then, thankfully, she just nods again. “Makes sense. I imagine it’s a stressful job.”
I give her a vague, noncommittal noise.
I don’t really tell people about my books anymore. The moment they find out what I write, some get all condescending, others start picking apart everything I do, and then there are the ones who suddenly want in, offering cover art, editing, proofreading, or even pitching ideas they think I should write, expecting a cut of the royalties.
Once, I was even dragged to court by a woman I’d been dating. She claimed I’d stolen my book idea from her. Took me ages to prove my copyright and that she’d had absolutely nothing to do with it.
So, no.
As far as St Claire is concerned, I’m just another overworked lawyer trying to live a quiet life in the countryside.
Nancy nods ahead at the path. “Well, you’re certainly getting a change of scenery here.”
I glance at the rolling hills and the stretching sky.
“Yeah,” I murmur. “Bit different from London.”
Silence settles between us again.
The path stretches ahead, curving gently along the hillside. Beyond it, the land folds into rolling green fields and the odd yellow spot of rapeseed. The breeze stirs the grass, carrying the faint scent of damp earth and heather.
Nancy walks with an easy, steady rhythm, her gaze shifting between the scenery and the path ahead. She seems content enough with the quiet.
For a while, at least.
“So,” she says, drawing out the word like she’s testing the water, “if you’re originally from London, what made you pick Yorkshire?”
I could tell her the truth. That I was burned out, that I was sick of the noise, that I needed space to breathe and Philip’s husband knew someone who was selling what is now my house.
But that sounds too much like a confession.
I shrug. “Felt like a change and St Claire was the best offer I could find.”
Nancy gives a small, amused hum, like she doesn’t entirely believe me but isn’t going to press. “That’s a very non-answer.”
I smirk slightly. “It’s a very non-exciting story.”
“Fair enough.” She kicks a loose pebble along the path. “It’s just that people don’t usually end up here by accident.”
I glance at her. “And you? Born and raised?”
She nods. “Grew up a few villages over, but I’ve been here for years.” She tilts her head slightly, looking out over the fields. “Always liked this place. It’s got the right balance. Quiet, but not too quiet. Friendly, but not… overly friendly.”
I arch an eyebrow. “So you’re saying I won’t have to fend off people knocking on my door with homemade jam?”
She laughs lightly. “Not unless you specifically ask for it. Though I wouldn’t put it past Mrs Higgins to turn up with a matchmaking agenda disguised as a Victoria sponge.”
I make a small sound in my throat. “Noted.”
We walk a little further, the silence settling again, comfortable enough that she doesn’t seem to feel the need to fill it.
I glance at her from the corner of my eye.
There’s something about her.
She’s… interesting.
There’s an ease to the way she moves, a quiet confidence. She doesn’t seem to need constant conversation, but she also doesn’t let silence linger too long. It’s a strange balance—one I don’t think I’ve come across in a while. In my experience, people always feel the need to fill every second of silence with irrelevant chatter, and that’s just not me.
I’ve spent years carving out my own space, settling into my own ways, building walls that keep everything at arm’s length.
That’s how I like it. That’s how I work.
And yet—
Nancy glances at me again, her expression unreadable.
I shift my gaze forward, ignoring the flicker of intrigue in my chest.
No.
I’m not getting comfortable here.
This is just a walk. A morning of forced socialisation to appease Philip.
And then I’ll go back to my usual routine, maybe with my writing block broken.
That’s the plan.
And I always stick to the plan.