Chapter 11
Alex
Work has dragged all week. Every plank I planed, every phone call I took, every job I ticked off was really just a way of pushing time towards Friday. I’ve pulled ten-hour days to make space for tonight, and finishing at noon feels like a hard-won reward.
On the drive out to Chris’s farm, the valley narrows until it feels like the hills are leaning close to listen. His place sits tucked between slopes, all weather-beaten stone and the steady smell of hay. As I climb out of my car, Chris steps out of the barn wiping his hands on a rag.
“You going to tell me why you need my truck and one of my fields?” he asks, skipping hello entirely.
“I’m creating a memory,” I say.
His eyebrows lift. “Phil said you’d met someone. This for her?”
My grin answers for me.
We walk towards his pickup. It gleams more than usual; the cargo bed is freshly washed, exactly as I’d asked for.
Only Chris would humour a strange request without demanding details.
His truck is a two-seater American style model, the sort nobody in Britain really needs but every lad secretly wants.
“And your perfectly good Range Rover won’t do?” he chuckles.
I pat the smooth metal of the tailgate. “This has something mine doesn’t.”
“A ridiculous fuel bill?”
“A cargo bed.”
He gives me a long, knowing look but doesn’t push. Chris isn’t a gossip, but news in Fellside has a habit of travelling faster than wildfire in a heatwave. Better to keep the surprise between me and Emma.
“Keys to Stone Meadow are in the glove box,” he says. “Bring her back in one piece.”
“You know me,” I tell him, shaking his hand before heading off.
By the time I reach Fellside, the clock says five minutes to seven. I park outside the florist instead of behind her cottage. The surprise begins the moment she opens her door.
And when she does, the breath genuinely leaves me.
She’s wearing jeans and a soft blue top that makes her eyes brighter than I’ve ever seen them. But it’s not the outfit that hits me. It’s the look she gives me: tentative, hopeful, trying to be brave. Something inside me settles.
“I wasn’t sure where we were going,” she admits. “Is this okay?”
I pull her gently against me and kiss her, slow and soft. “Perfect. You’re perfect.”
She blushes and rests her head against my chest for a moment. I stroke her back, wishing time would slow down already.
“Right,” I say. “Do you trust me?”
A flicker of nerves crosses her face, but she nods. “I do.”
Her trust feels enormous and I wonder again what has happened to me. A few months ago all I wanted was for a woman to give me her phone number. Now I want her trust, her smile… her heart.
“Will you wear this?” I hold a blindfold out to her. “Only until we get there.”
She studies it, breath steadying. I keep my voice calm. “I’d never put you in situations that are unsafe or uncomfortable. Ever.”
Another nod. “Alright.”
I slip it over her eyes and guide her round the corner to the pickup.
“This doesn’t feel like your Range Rover,” she laughs nervously, hand gripping mine firmly.
“It isn’t,” I say as I help her settle. “Don’t worry, I haven’t taken up kidnapping.”
“You’d make a terrible kidnapper,” she says, trying for dry wit and nearly managing it. “You keep holding my hand.”
“Occupational hazard.”
She huffs a tiny laugh.
Once the engine starts, she stiffens. I give her hand a reassuring squeeze, and gradually she relaxes, though occasionally she takes a deeper breath.
A few minutes into the drive, she says, “Can I ask a question?”
“You can ask anything.”
She pauses. “Are we… leaving the county?”
“No.”
“Are we crossing any major roads?”
“Define major.”
She turns her head sharply toward the sound of my voice. “Alex.”
I smile. “Fine. No A-roads. No motorways. No detours to Yorkshire.”
She hesitates. “Are there animals where we’re going?”
“Yes.”
She tenses. “What kind of animals?”
“Friendly ones.”
“That is not an answer.”
“It is. Just not a helpful one.”
She lets out a frustrated sound that is so endearing I nearly pull the truck over just to kiss her for it.
After a moment, she tries again. “Are we going somewhere… outdoorsy?”
I glance at the sky ahead and smile. “Extremely.”
Her free hand curls into her lap. “And will I be expected to interact with nature?”
“You will be expected,” I say, “to enjoy yourself.”
“That sounds suspiciously like pressure.”
“It’s not. I promise. I’m doing the work tonight. Your only job is to be here.”
She goes quiet for a while. Not tense. Just thinking.
Eventually she says softly, almost shy, “I’ve never done anything like this before.”
“You’ve never been blindfolded in a stranger’s pickup and driven into the countryside?” I tease.
She snorts. “Oddly enough… no.”
“Well, then,” I say, “first time for everything.”
“Is this something you usually do?” she asks suddenly.
The question is so earnest, so quietly vulnerable, that I answer without hesitation. “No. Not even close.”
She lets out a breath I don’t think she meant me to hear.
We approach Stone Meadow. At the gate she grips my hand when I move.
“Where are you going?”
“Unlocking the gate,” I reassure. “I’m coming right back.”
When I return, she relaxes instantly at the touch of my hand again. That simple reaction nearly undoes me.
We drive a few more minutes until the valley opens around us. I park in the centre of the field, kill the engine and help her climb down.
“Don’t take the blindfold off,” I remind her, voice soft.
She grips my jacket lightly as I guide her to the back of the truck.
I fold down the tailgate, remove the cover from the small mattress I picked up from my house on the way to her cottage, arrange the duvet, lanterns and pillows, and place the picnic cooler where we can reach it.
“Right,” I say, turning to her. “Up you go.”
I lift her gently onto the tailgate; she yelps in surprise but doesn’t pull away.
“Reach back. You’ll feel the mattress.”
She taps for the edge, finds it, shifts back cautiously. I take off her shoes before she settles fully. Then I climb in beside her, my own trainers discarded to the grass.
“Lie back,” I whisper.
She hesitates. I touch her hand lightly.
“I’m right here. Trust me.”
She exhales slowly and lowers herself onto the mattress, hands resting lightly on her stomach. I kiss her forehead gently, then brush her hair aside.
“Close your eyes,” I say. “And only open them when I tell you.”
She nods.
I slip the blindfold free, letting the cool valley air brush her cheeks.
“Now.”