Chapter 13
Eve
The train pulls into Skipton just after one, the brakes sighing in that way that sounds almost human.
My stomach does a small, traitorous flip as I gather my suitcase.
It’s ridiculous, really. It’s only Aaron.
A friend. A very tall, irritatingly attractive friend who happens to be waiting on the other side of the ticket barriers.
My heart doesn’t seem to have received that memo.
The air hits me as soon as I step off the train, cooler and sharper than in Norfolk, carrying the faint smell of rain and something green. I take a steadying breath, tell myself to behave like a functioning adult, and follow the stream of passengers towards the exit.
And then I see him.
He’s standing just beyond the barriers, a ridiculous sight in the best possible way. Bernard is slumped at his feet, half asleep, the lead looped loosely in Aaron’s hand. In the other, he’s holding up a white piece of card with my name on it, written in large, unnecessary block letters.
I can’t help it. I start to laugh.
He grins when he spots me, lowering the sign with a small shrug. Bernard stirs, stretches, and gives a single wag of approval before promptly sitting back down again.
Aaron looks exactly as I remembered, and somehow, not at all. His hair is a little longer, his coat dusted with rain, and his smile, steady and genuine, hits somewhere right beneath my ribs.
“Welcome to Yorkshire,” he says when I reach him. “Your chauffeur awaits.”
Before I can reply, he leans in and presses a brief kiss to my cheek. Warm, gentle, almost casual.
Almost.
And for a moment, standing there in a half-busy station with a sleepy beagle and a man holding a cardboard sign, I realise I haven’t stopped smiling since the train slowed down.
My nerves get the better of me. The kiss is nothing dramatic, just a light touch against my cheek, but it manages to short-circuit every sensible thought I’ve ever had. Before he can notice, I duck down to greet Bernard instead.
“Well, hello, trouble,” I say, scratching behind his ears. “Still charming everyone in a five-mile radius, I see.”
He yawns and leans all his weight against my leg, his eyes half-closed in bliss. I can’t help smiling. Some dogs just radiate comfort, even while smelling faintly of mischief and digestive gases.
By the time I straighten up, I’ve mostly managed to get a grip on myself. Aaron is still standing there, smiling in that steady, assured way of his, the cardboard sign now tucked under one arm.
“So,” I say, nodding at it, “what’s with the grand welcome? Planning to start a chauffeur service?”
He laughs, folding the sign in half. “I wanted to make sure you recognised me. It’s been weeks. I couldn’t risk you walking right past and pretending you didn’t know me.”
“I’d have managed to identify you without props,” I reply.
He looks entirely unbothered. “I was also going to bring flowers, but they’re impractical and die within days.” His smile turns teasing. “So instead, I bought a lemon tart from the bakery across the street.”
“That sounds much more practical,” I say. “Although, I’m now wondering why you sound slightly guilty about it.”
He hesitates, then laughs. “Because we’re no longer welcome there. Bernard may have, well… made his presence known. Quite dramatically. In the queue.”
I blink. “He didn’t.”
“He absolutely did,” Aaron says, grinning. “Cleared out half the shop. The owner opened a window and asked if we could take our business elsewhere.”
I try to keep a straight face and fail completely. “You’ve been in Skipton for what, ten minutes?”
“Seven, technically.”
I can’t stop laughing. “You and Bernard really are something else.”
He grins, utterly unrepentant, and for a moment, the station, the noise, the fluttering nerves, all of it just fades away.
By the time we pull into the gravel drive of the Sunshine Cottage B&B, the clouds have started to thin, letting a pale strip of sunlight spill across the stone walls.
The place looks like it has been there forever, tucked between the trees at the edge of the lane.
The walls are warm honey-coloured stone, the kind that seems to hold on to the light, and there are two small windows with lace curtains and a crooked wooden sign swinging from a post that reads Sunshine Cottage.
It looks exactly like somewhere you could accidentally stay forever.
The drive from Skipton was quick. Aaron talked most of the way, telling stories from his climbing days: a night spent in a tent that nearly took flight in a Himalayan storm, a teammate who claimed eating dry noodles counted as a training regime, and the goat incident, which apparently still haunts Will to this day.
I mostly listened. Smiled when he glanced over. Laughed once or twice. It was easy, the kind of conversation that doesn’t demand anything from you. Mostly, I watched the hills roll past the window, soft and endless and somehow already familiar.
Now, as the car engine cuts off, the silence folds back around us. Bernard lifts his head from the back seat, stretches, and gives a theatrical sigh as if to announce our arrival.
Aaron steps out first and opens my door before I can reach for the handle. “Welcome to Sunshine Cottage,” he says, his tone light but his smile unguarded.
I jump out, the gravel crunching beneath my boots, and take it all in properly. The air smells faintly of woodsmoke and wet grass. Somewhere nearby, a stream is murmuring to itself. “It’s beautiful,” I say, before I can stop myself.
He looks pleased. “Wait until you see inside. Abby’s been on a mission to make it look like a magazine cover. She succeeded, obviously.”
Bernard hops out of the car and trots up the front path with purpose, as if he’s giving a guided tour. I follow, my handbag slung over my shoulder, and try to ignore the ridiculous warmth spreading through me. A warmth that has nothing to do with the spring sun and everything to do with being here.
Inside, the cottage is even lovelier than I expected. Warm, bright, and faintly scented with polish and lavendar. The hallway opens into a small sitting room with mismatched armchairs, a vase of tulips on the windowsill, and a low hum of peace that feels instantly disarming.
Aaron carries my bag upstairs, insisting it’s no trouble even though I try to protest. The staircase creaks softly under our steps, and he pauses at the top to gesture toward a door on the right.
“This one’s you,” he says, nudging it open with his shoulder. “And I’m next door.”
Something inside my stomach does a small, traitorous flip. I tell myself it’s just the climb up the stairs.
The room is simple but beautiful. A soft bedspread in cream and pale green, a wide window looking out over the fields, sunlight pooling on the floorboards.
“It’s lovely,” I manage, setting my bag down carefully, as if the wrong movement might break the spell.
Aaron smiles. “Glad you like it.”
I nod, trying very hard not to think about the ‘I’m next door’ part.
“And Bernard?” I ask instead, grasping at a safe topic.
“He’s probably downstairs in the kitchen,” Aaron says, straight-faced. “But don’t worry, he has his own room at night. It’s just opposite from us. His… gas emissions are lethal. I’d risk suffocating if I shared a space with him.”
I laugh, half horrified, half delighted. “That’s quite an image.”
“It’s also not an exaggeration,” he says, looking far too pleased with himself.
Before I can come up with a response, he steps forward and, without hesitation, pulls me into a cautious hug. It’s warm and brief, just long enough for me to feel the steady beat of his heart against my cheek.
“I’m really glad you’re here,” he says quietly.
And then he’s gone, leaving the faint smell of rain and lemon tart in the air and me standing in the middle of the room, smiling like an absolute fool.
I’ve just finished unpacking and am about to head downstairs when my phone rings. The sound makes me jump. I glance at the screen and frown. Jennifer. It can only be her. She is the only one who is determined to break my phone phobia by calling me regularly.
For a moment, I consider letting it ring out. Then I sigh and answer. “Hi.”
“Eve!” she says brightly. “I was thinking of taking the kids up tomorrow to see you.”
“Ah.” I hesitate. “That sounds lovely. Except… I’m not exactly home.”
There’s a pause. “What do you mean, not home? Don’t tell me you’ve gone off somewhere again.”
“I might have,” I say carefully.
“Eve,” she says in that drawn-out way that usually means she’s halfway between amusement and despair. “Where are you?”
“Yorkshire.”
“Yorkshire? Again?” she says, incredulous. “What is it with you and Yorkshire? I thought that trip was a one-off. What are you doing there this time?”
“Just a short break,” I say, moving towards the window. “I needed a change of scenery.”
“Right,” she says slowly. “Alone again?”
I pause, weighing my options. “No. With a… friend.”
There’s a short silence, the sort that usually means she’s raising an eyebrow on the other end of the line. “A friend,” she repeats. “I didn’t realise you’d started collecting those.”
“Very funny,” I say, trying not to smile.
She laughs softly. “I’m only saying, you don’t usually go gallivanting across the country with company. Who is this friend, then?”
“His name’s Aaron,” I admit. “I met him the last time I was up here. We’ve kept in touch since.”
“Ah.” She draws out the word, but her tone is gentler than I expect. “And how do you and this Aaron get on?”
I hesitate. “He’s easy to talk to. Funny, in that dry, slightly infuriating way. And he’s good with dogs.”
“Well, that covers the essentials,” she says, amused. “Sense of humour and a soft spot for animals. I approve.”
“It’s not like that,” I say quickly. “We’re just friends.”
“Of course,” she says lightly. “A friend who makes you sound about three degrees happier than you usually do. I’m not complaining.”
I sigh, but I can feel the smile tugging at my mouth. “You’re reading too much into it.”
“Probably,” she admits. “But that’s my job as your older sister. You worry, I pry, and then I pretend I know best.”
“Very comforting,” I say dryly.
She chuckles. “Just promise me you’ll actually enjoy yourself. Don’t spend the whole time thinking about work or talking yourself out of having fun.”
“I’ll try.”
“That’s my girl,” she says warmly. “And send me a picture when you can. I want to see what this mysterious ‘change of scenery’ looks like. Maybe even this Aaron, if he doesn’t mind sharing the frame.”
I laugh. “I’ll think about it.”
“Good. Enjoy yourself, Eve. You sound lighter already.”
When we hang up, I stay where I am for a moment, phone still in my hand, smiling at the screen. Then I tuck it away, take a steadying breath, and head downstairs—a little flustered, but definitely lighter.