Chapter 9
Eve
Itake a cautious bite, mostly to prove a point. The baguette crunches, the flavours settle, and my eyes widen before I can stop myself.
“Alright,” I admit, mouth still half full. “That’s… annoyingly good.”
Aaron leans back against the pillows, smug. “Told you. A finely balanced combination of textures and taste. The culinary peak of Western civilisation.”
I roll my eyes but take another bite. “You talk about sandwiches like other people talk about art.”
He grins. “That’s because mine are edible masterpieces.”
I shake my head, smiling despite myself. “You’re impossible.”
“Confident,” he corrects. “There’s a difference.”
The wind rustles softly around the open boot, the rain a constant whisper against the car roof. The valley beyond looks washed clean, wild and endless.
I glance at him, at the relaxed way he sits there, comfortable in a silence that would make most people fidget. It’s oddly disarming.
I take another bite and decide not to tell him he’s right again. Not yet, anyway.
When we’ve both finished the sandwiches, Aaron reaches for the bag and pulls out a plastic container. “Cake?” he asks, cracking the lid open just enough for me to see the pale sponge and jam inside.
I blink. “You actually brought Victoria sponge?”
“Of course,” he says, sounding faintly offended. “It’s the law. You can’t have a British picnic without it.”
I laugh. “Maybe in a bit.”
He shrugs. “Your loss. More for me later.” Then he leans back against the pillows and nods at the space beside him. “Come on, sit properly. You’re too tense for a woman surrounded by baked goods.”
I shake my head but shift next to him. The mats are soft enough, the pillows piled high behind us. It isn’t warm exactly, there’s a chill that seeps in through the open boot, but the blanket he spreads over us traps a comfortable pocket of heat.
Beyond the car, the landscape stretches for miles, sharp and clear against the bright grey sky. Stone walls cut across the land in crooked lines, and the distant farms look like tiny specks clinging to the hillsides. It’s all so open, so endless, it feels strange to sit still in front of it.
For a while, we don’t speak. We just sit there, side by side, watching the rain sweep in soft lines across the valley.
Then, out of nowhere, I start to laugh.
Aaron turns his head. “What’s funny?”
I try to answer but the laugh catches, turning into a fit I can’t stop.
“Seriously,” he says, chuckling now. “What’s set you off?”
I manage to shake my head, tears in my eyes. “This. All of this. The sandwiches. The blanket. The fact that we’re sitting in your boot pretending it’s normal.”
I wipe at my cheeks, still laughing. “Imagine if someone drives past right now and sees us like this.”
Aaron leans back against the pillows, utterly unruffled. “Let them.”
I blink at him. “You don’t care?”
He shakes his head, a small smile playing at his mouth. “Not at all. Let them stare. Let them think whatever they like.”
I can’t help smiling at that, the last of my laughter fading into something softer. I lie back beside him again, the blanket shifting as I settle against the pillows. The air is cool, fresh, carrying the faint scent of rain and grass.
“I’m almost sad I’m going home tomorrow,” I admit quietly, surprising myself with how honest it sounds.
Aaron turns his head slightly. “That’s a good sign, I think.”
I smile, still looking out at the valley. “Maybe. Still, it feels strange. It’s been nice… all of this.”
He nods, thoughtful. “Then we shouldn’t let it end there. We can stay in touch. Be friends.”
I let out a small, breathy laugh. “I’m not really a good friend person.”
“Why?”
“I live too far away to meet up often,” I say, tugging gently at a loose thread on the blanket.
“I have a phobia of phone calls, and I get bored of endless text exchanges where people describe what they had for dinner or how tired they are. Sometimes I think I was born in the wrong century. I’d have thrived when people wrote letters instead. ”
He chuckles. “Letters, huh? Bit formal for a friendship.”
“Maybe,” I say, smiling faintly. “But at least you get to think before you reply.”
He tilts his head, considering me. “Alright, then. Let’s do letters. But maybe in the modern way.”
I glance over, curious. “What are you saying?”
He grins. “Emails. Same principle, less waiting around for the post.”
“You’re serious?” I can’t stop the giggle.
“Completely. You write, I’ll reply. No small talk required.”
I shake my head, still smiling. “You’re very strange.”
“Probably,” he says, looking out at the hills again. “But in a good way.”
Something about that makes my chest ache in a way I can’t name. “Emails it is, then,” I say softly.
He glances at me, the corners of his mouth lifting. “Good. I like that plan.”
And for a moment, I let myself imagine opening my inbox and seeing his name there… an unexpected tether between two very different lives.
The drive back to Morton Hall is quiet. The rain has nearly stopped, leaving the road slick and shining under the headlights. When Aaron pulls up in front of the hotel, the wipers make one last slow pass before stopping.
I unbuckle my seatbelt but don’t move straight away. “Thank you,” I say after a moment. “For today. And the spa. And the pub. And for being so understanding about… me.”
He glances over, curious. “About you?”
I shrug, trying to sound casual. “You know. The awkwardness. The quiet. The overthinking. Most people find it exhausting. I’m very aware I can come across as a bit of a weirdo.”
Aaron’s mouth lifts slightly, but not in amusement. “You’re not a weirdo, Eve.”
I laugh softly, staring at the dashboard. “That’s kind of you to say, but I think we both know I’m not exactly normal.”
Aaron tilts his head, considering me. “What is normal, anyway?”
I glance at him. “You know… people who don’t rehearse conversations in their heads before having them. People who don’t panic when a stranger says hello.”
He smiles, a quiet, thoughtful one. “Sounds exhausting, being that normal. All that pretending.”
I blink, caught off guard. “Pretending?”
He nods. “Most people spend their lives trying to fit in. You just don’t bother pretending. I think that’s a good thing.”
For a moment, I can’t speak. The words hang there between us, soft but certain, cutting through all the noise I usually carry in my head.
I look down, trying to hide the small, ridiculous smile tugging at my mouth. “You make it sound like I’m... not the odd one.”
Aaron chuckles. “You are not.”
There’s a small pause, the kind that feels warm rather than awkward. Then he nods towards me, a hint of a grin tugging at his mouth. “I’ll need your email address before you vanish back to Norfolk.”
I blink, surprised. “My email?”
He nods. “You did agree to write, remember? Modern-day letters, wasn’t it?”
A laugh escapes me before I can stop it. “You were serious about that?”
“Completely. I like keeping my word. Besides, I think you’d write the kind of emails worth reading.”
I shake my head, still smiling. “Alright, fine. But no inspirational quotes or GIFs of dancing cats.”
“Deal,” he says, pulling out his phone. “Just honest correspondence and the occasional sandwich review.”
I recite my address, and he repeats it back carefully, as if making sure he gets every letter right.
“There,” he says, sliding the phone into his pocket. “Now you can’t escape that easily.”
I reach for the door handle, trying not to let the moment linger too much. “I’ll keep an eye out for your sandwich review then.”
He smiles. “You do that.”
As I step out of the car, the cool air wraps around me. I glance back once, hands on the wheel, that faint smile still playing at his lips.
“Night, Eve,” he says.
“Night, Aaron.”
I turn towards the hotel, but halfway to the door I catch myself smiling again. The kind of smile that lingers long after the moment’s over.
And that’s when I realise I’m already hoping he’ll write soon.