Chapter 6
Eve
Iwatch him quietly for a moment. There’s something steady about the way he takes up space in the world, like he’s not afraid of silence. Most people rush to fill it. He lets it breathe.
To keep the conversation alive, I ask, “You mentioned work before… what do you do?”
He leans back a little, thinking. “I run a security company. We support organisations overseas, mainly NGOs and journalists. Make sure their teams are safe when they’re working in places that aren’t.”
“That sounds intense.”
He smiles faintly. “It can be, but I’m not in the field anymore. I run things from an office these days.”
“Still,” I say, tracing a finger around the rim of my mug. “It’s important work.”
He shrugs. “Useful, I suppose. You?”
I hesitate. I don’t usually talk about my job. People either look confused or uncomfortable once they realise what I actually do. “I’m a forensic linguist,” I say finally.
He raises an eyebrow. “That sounds… complicated.”
“It’s not as exciting as it sounds,” I say quickly. “I analyse threatening communications for NGOs, journalists, legal teams. Mostly written threats or harassment cases.”
His expression changes, curiosity sharpening into understanding. “So you work with the kind of people I try to protect.”
“I suppose I do,” I say, surprised by the connection. “From the other side of the fence, anyway. I used to teach part-time at a university, but academia didn’t suit me. Too much noise, too many egos. Now I work alone.”
“From home?”
“Yes. I have a cottage close to the beach. It’s quiet there. Just me, the sea, and a very opinionated neighbour’s cat.”
That earns a laugh, low and genuine. “Sounds peaceful.”
“It is,” I say, then add, “Sometimes too much so. My therapist said I should spend time with actual humans. Hence the walking holiday.”
“Ah,” he says, smiling. “So this is therapy homework?”
“Apparently,” I reply, amused despite myself. “One long weekend of human interaction before I’m allowed back to my spreadsheets and sociopaths.”
He chuckles, and I feel the warmth of it settle somewhere deep in my chest.
“Well,” he says, “you’ve picked an interesting group for your first assignment. Ramblers of St Claire aren’t exactly quiet.”
“I’ve noticed.”
We fall silent again, but it’s different this time. Comfortable. Balanced.
The heater whirs softly above us, rain tapping on the roof in a steady rhythm. Across the table, Aaron looks relaxed, shoulders loose, spoon idle in his hand.
For someone I met barely four hours ago, he feels strangely familiar—not in what he says, but in the calm between his words.
Maybe it isn’t about learning to be louder after all. Maybe it’s about finding someone who doesn’t need the noise.
At that moment, movement catches my eye.
An older woman and a small beagle shuffle into view, the dog trotting with a sort of weary dignity that suggests he’s used to being indulged.
They settle at the table across from us, in one of the other shelters.
The woman brushes rain from her coat, straightening her scarf as the dog curls neatly beneath the bench, nose twitching.
A waitress appears a moment later, balancing a tray with a bowl of crumble and a mug of hot chocolate. She sets them down carefully and gives an apologetic smile. “I’m really sorry, Mrs Higgins, but you’re better off out here.”
Mrs Higgins waves her off with cheerful indifference. “Oh, don’t you worry, love. It’s not the first time Bernard’s got me banished from polite company.”
The waitress bites back a smile and retreats, and Mrs Higgins settles herself at the table, patting the beagle’s head with great affection.
It’s then that she glances over and catches me and Aaron watching. She raises an eyebrow, utterly unbothered. “He farted,” she announces, in the same tone most people use for discussing the weather.
Aaron chokes on a laugh. I nearly spill what’s left of my hot chocolate.
Bernard lets out a heavy sigh and curls tighter under the bench, looking the picture of unbothered.
Mrs Higgins nods solemnly. “Cleared the whole back room in under a minute. Quite impressive, really.”
Aaron’s still laughing, trying to smother it behind his hand. “A tactical evacuation?”
“Exactly,” she says, pointing her spoon at him approvingly. “You understand.”
I can’t help it—I laugh too. Properly this time, the sound escaping before I can stop it. Mrs Higgins beams as if that was the point all along.
Bernard, blissfully unaware, snores softly under the table.
Mrs Higgins takes a sip of her hot chocolate, then looks over again, clearly deciding that silence is optional. “So, are you two tourists, then?” she asks brightly.
Aaron answers before I have to. “Something like that. I’m staying with friends in the village. Jon and Abby from the Sunshine Cottage. Eve’s here on holiday.”
Mrs Higgins nods, satisfied. “Lovely spot for it. Though you must think we’ve dreadful weather.”
Aaron smiles. “We’re managing. The rain adds atmosphere.”
She laughs at that, a sharp, delighted sound.
“That’s a very kind way of putting it. Most people call it miserable.
” She leans a little closer, lowering her voice in mock conspiracy.
“If you get fed up with the wind, there’s a spa not far from here.
Half the village sneaks off there once the weather turns. Hot pools, massages, mud… the works.”
Aaron tilts his head, amused. “A local recommendation, then?”
“Oh, absolutely,” Mrs Higgins says. “I go every other Thursday. Best decision I ever made. Except Bernard, of course.”
At the sound of his name, the beagle lifts his head, tail giving a lazy wag before collapsing again.
Aaron chuckles. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
Mrs Higgins points her spoon at him. “Do. They give discounts in bad weather, and we’ve got plenty of that to go ‘round.”
Aaron thanks her warmly, keeping the conversation flowing, asking just enough questions to keep her talking. I sit quietly, half-listening, half-hiding behind my mug, grateful that he’s doing the heavy lifting.
Between the warmth of the heater, the rhythm of their voices, and Bernard’s soft snoring, I realise I’m… comfortable.
It’s been a long time since I’ve felt that.
Back in my hotel room, I stare at the swimsuit lying on the chair as if it’s personally betrayed me.
I’d packed it with good intentions, thinking I might use the pool at Morton Hall.
I’d even looked up the opening times. But the moment I arrived and saw the number of people floating about in the not very big pool, I decided it was safer to admire the water from a respectable distance, fully clothed.
Now, here I am, debating whether I’ve completely lost my mind.
How on earth did I let Aaron talk me into this?
He’d walked me back to Morton Hall after we finished our hot chocolate, unhurried, the way people do when they don’t actually want to say goodbye.
Somewhere between talking about Mrs Higgins’ “tactical evacuation” and the ridiculous spa recommendation, I’d admitted I liked the idea of a hot tub, just not the part where it involved other humans.
He’d grinned, that maddening, cheeky grin of his, and said, “Then we’ll go when there aren’t any.”
I’d laughed it off, but he’d somehow turned it into a plan.
And then, before I knew what I was doing, I’d given him my number. With conditions.
“No calls,” I’d said firmly.
“Only texts,” he’d promised, hand over heart, like it was a solemn oath.
Now my phone sits on the bedside table, silent and accusing, while the swimsuit stares at me from across the room.
If someone had told me three days ago that I’d be considering a semi-spontaneous spa visit with a man I barely know, I’d have assumed they’d mistaken me for someone else.
Maybe I have too.
I find Aaron waiting in the lobby, standing near the fireplace with his hands in his pockets.
He looks far too at ease for someone his size, all six foot four of him taking up space without trying.
His dark hair has just enough silver at the temples to make him look effortlessly distinguished rather than old, and the faint shadow along his jaw suggests he’s either forgotten to shave or decided he looks better without bothering.
He’s wearing jeans and a white shirt, sleeves rolled up to his forearms, the top button undone. Simple, casual, and entirely attractive.
When he turns, those dark brown eyes—the same ones I’d admired yesterday over the hot chocolate—catch mine and I have to remind myself to breathe normally.
“You came.” He beams at me.
“I did,” I manage, though it sounds cautious, even to my own ears. “But only because you promised there wouldn’t be many people.”
His grin widens, the sort of grin that feels like it comes with its own gravitational pull. “I can do better than that. There won’t be anyone else.”
I blink, already suspicious. “What do you mean?”
“The spa’s closed,” he says, far too casually.
I frown. “Closed as in we’re not going?”
“Closed as in we have it to ourselves,” he says, clearly enjoying my confusion. “Jon and Abby know the owners. They offered us after-hours access.”
I glance at the clock above reception. “That explains the late start then.”
“Exactly,” he says. “No crowds, no noise, no audience. Just you, me, and the hot tub.”
My cheeks warm instantly. For a split second, the words sound far too intimate, the sort of thing that should come with candlelight and consequences.
Then, I catch myself. Of course he doesn’t mean it like that. He’s just being considerate. Kind. Understanding that a quiet spa sounds far more appealing to someone like me than a room full of strangers.
Still, the faint heat in my face refuses to go away.
He notices the tote bag hanging from my shoulder and gestures towards it. “Here, let me take that for you.”
“Oh, it’s fine,” I say automatically, clutching the strap a little tighter.
He tilts his head, smiling. “I promise I won’t peek at the top-secret contents.”
I roll my eyes but hand it over before I overthink it again. “It’s just my robe, towel, and things.”
“Understood,” he says, slinging it easily over one shoulder. “Classified material.”
I can’t help smiling at that. “Exactly.”
He pushes open the door and holds it for me, the cool night air rushing in.
“Spa’s a little outside the village,” he says as we step out into the dark. “About ten minutes by car.”
I nod, hugging my coat tighter around me as we cross the gravel drive. The village looks different at night, quieter, the cottages glowing softly behind their curtains. The rain’s stopped, but the air still smells damp and clean.
His car is parked near the gate—a dark grey 4x4 that looks like it could drive through a flood without noticing. He unlocks it and walks around to open the passenger door for me.
I hesitate for a moment. It’s been years since I’ve gone anywhere with a man I barely know, let alone at night, let alone while secretly wearing swimwear under my clothes. Then again, if Aaron meant me harm, he probably wouldn’t have spent the afternoon sharing apple crumble with me.
“Thank you,” I say, climbing in. The seat is warm, the interior faintly smelling of cedar and rain.
He shuts my door gently and circles to the driver’s side. “Comfy?”
“Very,” I say, buckling in as he starts the engine.
The headlights slice through the dark as we pull out of the village, the tyres crunching softly on the wet road. For a while, neither of us speaks. I’m oddly aware of the quiet rumble of the engine, the rhythm of the wipers, and the way he drives—unhurried, steady, like everything about him.
“So,” he says eventually, glancing my way with a small smile, “still convinced this was a terrible idea?”
I bite back a laugh. “The jury’s out.”
He nods as if that’s fair. “I’ll take that. You might even enjoy yourself.”
“I doubt that,” I say, smiling despite myself.
“Good. Keeps expectations low.”
I shake my head, pretending not to notice the flicker of amusement in his eyes as the car winds its way up the narrow road, the lights of St Claire fading behind us.