Chapter 11
Aaron
I’m still staring at the screen when Will walks in and throws a protein bar towards me.
“Right,” he says, eyeing me like he’s walked into something suspicious, “what’s with the goofy smile?”
I catch the bar without looking. “It’s not a goofy smile.”
“It absolutely is. You look like you’ve just found out your desk chair turns into a motorbike.”
I lean back and stretch, trying to look casual. “Just reading something.”
Will raises an eyebrow and drops into the chair opposite mine, kicking his feet up on the edge of my desk like he owns the place. Which, to be fair, he partly does.
“Let me guess. Eve?”
I glance at him. “You’re very nosy for someone who can’t remember his own wife’s birthday correctly.”
He grins. “That was one time. And Phoebe got her dates confused. Not my fault she’s an unreliable source.”
“You believed a six-year-old over your own diary.”
“She had very strong opinions and a highlighter,” he says, then points at my screen. “So? Did she reply? Eve, I mean.”
I try not to smile again, which is a pointless effort. “Yeah. Just now.”
“And?”
“She’s been thinking about mountains.”
He stares. “Is that a metaphor?”
“No. Actual mountains. The Himalayas, specifically.”
Will folds his arms and gives me the sort of look that usually precedes a pub interrogation. “Right. And this somehow explains why you’re grinning like a teenager having their first pint.”
I shrug, but I can still feel the warmth under my skin. That steady kind of gladness that settles in when someone says something they didn’t have to say.
“She said she almost wishes she could go. To the Himalayas, I mean. And that she might not be a sea person after all.”
Will raises an eyebrow. “That’s it? She reclassified her terrain preference and that gets you all giddy.”
I shake my head. “It’s not what she said. It’s how she said it.”
Will studies me. “Mate, you’ve got a crush.”
I snort. “I’m forty-two, Will. I don’t get crushes.”
“Fine. Deep admiration with romantic overtones, then.”
“It’s not like that.”
He raises both hands. “Sure. Absolutely not like that. That’s why you look like you just won the postcode lottery.”
I ignore that. “I was just thinking… I wonder if she’d actually want to go. To Nepal, I mean.”
He blinks. “What, now?”
“Not now. Obviously. But someday. Kathmandu would probably freak her out, all the noise and crowds, but once you get into the mountains she’d be alright. The pace slows right down. The air clears. She might like that.”
Will gives me a look that lands somewhere between amusement and disbelief. “You’re imagining her in the Himalayas.”
“Well, yes. She said she almost wished she could see it. I could take her… maybe.”
He opens his mouth to respond, but his phone starts ringing in his pocket. He glances at the screen, then sighs.
“Jon,” he mutters, then taps the green icon and puts it on speaker. “To what do we owe the pleasure? And more importantly, what exactly is in the water in St Claire? First you fell in love there, now it’s Aaron’s turn. Should we be bottling the stuff?”
I shoot him a glare. “Oh for—I haven’t fallen in love.”
There’s a pause on the line, followed by Jon’s familiar low chuckle. “Morning, Aaron.”
“Don’t encourage him.”
“I don’t need to,” Jon says. “He’s right, though. There’s something about the place. Quiet air, strong pints, emotionally repressed men making progress. It’s practically medicinal.”
Will grins at me across the desk. I resist the urge to throw his phone out the window.
“Anyway,” Will says, leaning back, “what’s up, mate?”
He tilts the phone a little so we’re both leaning in.
“Actually, I was calling to ask something. Bit of a favour.”
Will narrows his eyes, amused. “Go on.”
“So,” Jon begins, “Layla has apparently decided that her life won’t be complete unless she meets the actual Elsa in person, and she’s somehow convinced Luke—Nancy’s boyfriend, partner…
future husband, whatever he’s being called this week—to take the whole lot of us to Disneyland Paris over half term. That’s in two weeks.”
“Brave man,” Will mutters. “And very trusting.”
“Yes, well, the big sad eyes of my sunshine may have weakened his defences.”
I smile. “Sounds like a tactical ambush.”
“Entirely. Anyway, the only snag is we’ve got one regular booked in at the cottage that week.
Just the one. Lovely chap, Mr Pamir. He's self-sufficient, breakfast’s booked at the greasy spoon down the road, and the cleaner will still be coming in, so there’s nothing to do on that front.
It’s really just someone being around. Making sure the pipes don’t burst and the place doesn’t mysteriously catch fire. ”
Will raises an eyebrow. “And you were hoping Katie and I might fancy a scenic week in Yorkshire over half term?”
“Well,” Jon says lightly, “Phoebe loves it here. You get pies, walking routes, Abby’s leftovers in the freezer. It practically sells itself.”
Will glances at me. I can already see the cogs turning.
Then he shakes his head. “Sorry, mate. I would, honestly, but Katie’s already booked a few days in Turkey for half term. Beach, sun, a hotel with a suspicious number of swim-up bars. We leave in ten days.”
Jon sighs. “Lucky sod.”
There’s a pause.
And then the idea starts to form. Quiet, but insistent. Maybe I could go. It’s only a week, and I can run the company remotely from there. And maybe... maybe I could convince Eve to join me. She can do her work from anywhere, and she did say she’d love to see the little hill behind the cottage.
It’s not a plan, exactly, but it’s something close. A week in St Claire, a chance to spend a bit more time with Eve. As friends, obviously.
Before I can talk myself out of it, before common sense kicks in, I hear myself say, “I could do it.”
Will turns to me. “What?”
“I mean, why not? I’ve got nothing locked in for that week. I can work from there. The guest sounds low-maintenance, and someone should be around.”
There’s a surprised pause on the other end of the line.
“You sure?” Jon asks. “It wouldn’t be a problem if you can’t.”
“I’m sure,” I say, even though I probably shouldn’t be. “It’s only a week. And I wouldn’t mind a bit of fresh air.”
Will raises an eyebrow so high it practically leaves his face. I ignore it.
“Well,” Jon says, “if you’re offering, that would be amazing. I’ll send over the details.”
“Great. Looking forward to it.”
We hang up, and the room falls quiet again.
Will stares at me.
“What?” I ask.
“You are absolutely going to ask Eve to come, aren’t you?”
I don’t say anything.
Will watches me for a beat, the usual grin slipping into something a little quieter. He leans forward, arms resting on his knees.
“All jokes aside,” he says, “maybe just… let yourself think about it. About her. About this.”
I frown, but he holds up a hand.
“I know you. I know you’ll talk yourself in circles and convince yourself it’s nothing. That it’s just timing or convenience or whatever excuse you’re running with this week. But mate… it doesn’t look like nothing from where I’m sitting.”
I glance down at the desk, at the pen I’m fiddling with. I don’t say anything, because I’m not quite sure what to say.
Will sighs, softer now. “Look, I know things got rough when the marriage ended. You went all quiet for months. I let you. Figured you needed the space. But just because that relationship didn't last doesn’t mean you are destined to stay single. You’re allowed to want something again.
You’re allowed to let yourself like someone. ”
That lands with more force than I expect. Not because I don’t want it to be true. But because it might be.
“I’m not rushing anything,” I say.
“I know,” he replies. “And I’m not saying you should. But don’t shut the door on something just because it might matter.”
There’s a beat of silence between us. Then Will stands, stretching a little.
“Anyway. I’ll leave you to your totally platonic, friend-only invitation drafting.”
He heads for the door but pauses on the threshold and throws me a look over his shoulder.
“Just don’t wait so long you miss your chance.”
Then he’s gone. And I’m alone again, staring at the screen, heart a little unsteady, wondering how to write the invitation.