Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
Holy guacamole. That’s just not fair on a girl.
With his tousled dark curls, lofty cheekbones and a jawline sculpted by the gods, Dale really did look like Timothée.
‘Hi, Madison,’ he said as the star caught her breath, her chest heaving magnificently.
‘It’s amazing to meet you. I voted for you on Tempt Me – you were robbed.
’ His accent was cheeky-Manchester, and his deep brown eyes held a glint of mischief.
‘When you’ve got your breath back, we’ll sort you some boots. ’
‘Dale?’ Madison looked up at him through her eyelashes. ‘Seriously?’
‘My co-owner’s surname is Hill, so ’ow could we not?’
Veronica snorted. So she did have a sense of humour.
His eyes moved to Rosie. ‘And who are you?’
‘Rosie,’ she said, attempting not to sound breathless in the face of his overwhelming hotness. ‘I’m covering Madison’s Lake District visit for a magazine. And this is Veronica.’
‘Vybe’s publicist,’ said Veronica, looking round at the racks of outdoor gear in sensible shades of dull. ‘We’re shaking up this market; introducing colour and style while maintaining our reputation for top-quality activewear. I should talk to you about that. Anyway, Rosie needs boots too.’
‘Oh, I should be fine,’ said Rosie, smiling at Dale. ‘The hotel manager said Doc Martens are okay for low-level walks.’ Her black ones should have dried out by tomorrow.
‘Depends. How low is low?’ asked Dale.
‘Low Ridge Fell?’ said Rosie, trying to remember. ‘Lock Ridge …’
‘Loughrigg?’ said Dale, just as a voice behind Rosie said, ‘Those boots are not okay,’ and she turned to see the man from the stream, leaning against the shop counter, his dog at his side.
Oh god.
‘Meet Mr Hill,’ said Dale with a grin. ‘He takes safety very seriously.’
Rose felt herself colouring. ‘I didn’t mean these actual boots,’ she said, looking down at her floral Docs. ‘My other ones are black.’ And then she realised how stupid that sounded. Fuck’s sake, Rosie. When faced with judgemental men, please, please engage brain before speaking.
Dale looked at her feet too. ‘Those are wicked boots, so you wouldn’t want to spoil them. Let’s get you both sorted with something a bit sturdier. Come take a seat, ladies.’ He looked over at his colleague. ‘Ant – can you assist Rosie?’
Roooh-seh. She loved how these men of the north pronounced her name.
Mr Hill’s gaze rose from Rosie’s Docs to her face; his own remained expressionless. ‘Sure,’ he said, coming over.
‘Wait – what?’ said Rosie, registering Dale’s words. ‘Ant Hill?’
Dale chuckled. ‘It’s been his nickname since school. It fits, too. He works dead ’ard, does our Ant.’
Madison sat down and took off her trainers. She lifted a shapely leg and wiggled her toes at Dale. ‘Size five; Veronica’s in charge of style.’
‘Like I said on the phone,’ said Veronica, ‘she needs to look the part. A serious boot. It’ll be a nice touch with the silvery leggings.’
Dale went over to a stack of boxes sitting ready on the counter.
Rosie sat down next to Madison and began unlacing her Docs. ‘I’m a five too,’ she said to Mr Hill. Ant.
‘We’ll measure you to make sure,’ he said, pulling up a stool.
He doesn’t even trust me to know my own shoe size.
Ant’s accent was softer than Dale’s, his voice quieter. He was tall and long-limbed, and while he didn’t have Dale’s movie-star looks, in a moss-coloured fleece and jeans, he was at least less intimidating than when he’d loomed out of the woods in hooded, head-to-toe black.
He slid out a measuring device from a cavity in the stool.
‘Oh my gosh!’ said Rosie. ‘I haven’t seen one of these since Mum took me to Clarks for T-bars!’ She slipped off her left boot.
Oh dear. Rosie had forgotten she was wearing her Moomin socks. They were sky blue, and featured the children’s book characters floating around on pink clouds. She glanced up at Ant’s face, but his expression hadn’t changed.
As she removed her other boot, he said, ‘You’ll need proper walking socks too.’
Rosie pursed her lips. ‘I know that. These were a present from a friend. They’re lovely and toasty but probably not thick enough.’
Dale glanced over. ‘Oh – Moomin socks!’
Rosie’s face broke into a smile. ‘Are you perchance a fellow fan?’
‘Totally. I was introduced to them by a Japanese girlfriend – they’re massive there. My favourite’s–’
‘Put your heel here, please,’ interrupted Ant.
Rosie looked at him, then back at Dale, who pulled a serious face and said, ‘Pay attention now, Rosie.’
She giggled.
‘The fuck’s a Moomin?’ said Madison, staring at Rosie’s feet.
‘A troll from Finland,’ said Rosie.
‘Oh, I get a lot of those,’ said Madison. ‘Haha.’
‘I like the Groke,’ said Dale. ‘Crazy-creepy. Rosie, which is your–’
‘Moving on,’ interrupted Madison, her tone of voice conveying the message her forehead could no longer manage.
‘Sorry, Madison,’ Dale said, returning his attention to the star. ‘Is it okay if I take off your socks?’
‘You can start with my socks,’ she said, tilting her head to one side and fixing him with a look. And then a pout.
For a moment – a very brief one – Dale was lost for words. ‘And now I need to find my own socks,’ he finally managed, ‘because you’ve just knocked them off.’
Rosie snorted, and Dale glanced sideways at her, giving her a wink. Her heart did a little flip.
There was a small sigh, and Rosie turned back to Ant, whose demeanour implied that everyone here was sorely testing his patience. The measuring tool tickled Rosie’s foot, but she gritted her teeth. If she giggled again, it would only confirm to this man that she was a brainless southern bimbo.
His head dipped over her foot as he read the measurement, and she noticed golden highlights glinting in his glossy light-brown hair.
He looked up and said, ‘Size five, yes, but we’ll go a half size up to allow for thick socks and plenty of movement.
Your feet will swell as you walk, and you don’t want your toes to rub. ’
His eyes kind of matched his hair, she thought. Light brown, with golden flecks. It would be a nice face, if it ever smiled.
His eyebrows rose.
‘Sorry,’ she said, realising she’d been staring. ‘No, that wouldn’t be at all pleasant.’
‘Your right foot, please.’
She swapped, and his fingers were gentle as he measured the width.
‘Okay, five and a half it is,’ he said, standing up. He passed over a pair of thick woolly socks. ‘Can you put these on?’
Madison was walking around the shop with long, confident strides, giving the footwear the full catwalk treatment. As she headed away from Dale, he was transfixed, but his gaze was not on her boots.
He met Rosie’s eye, and his mouth twitched. ‘Well – if that doesn’t get our shop some exposure,’ he said, ‘fook knows what will.’
‘They feel great,’ said Madison as she headed back towards them. ‘You might say I have three perfect booties now.’ She slapped her right buttock before sitting down again.
‘Hell yeah,’ said Dale. ‘You sure put the arse into Grasmere, Madison.’
Rosie gasped, but Madison let out a belly laugh.
Veronica was staring at Dale thoughtfully. (Correction: all three of them were staring at Dale thoughtfully.) ‘Hey, Dale – how tall are you?’ she asked.
‘Five ten. Our Ant’s the tall one,’ he said, as his colleague returned carrying a box. ‘Why?’
‘How would you like to model with Madison in tomorrow’s outdoor shoot?’ she said. ‘You could help Jono carry his gear too, and I’d feel happier about Madison being up a hill if you were with her. We have a few of Vybe’s rain jackets for men with us, they’d look great on you. And we’ll pay you.’
‘Oh – say yes!’ said Madison, clapping her hands together. She leaned forward and touched Dale’s knee. ‘We’d make an awesome couple, I reckon.’
Rosie was surprised when Ant spoke up. ‘That’s a good idea.’ He sat back down in front of Rosie, took a big brown (ugly) boot from the box and said, ‘Let’s try this one.’
Obediently, Rosie slid her foot into the boot. He laced it up and asked if it felt comfortable. She stood up and tested it, flexing her toes, rocking backwards and forwards. ‘It’s a bit tight around my ankle,’ she said. She wasn’t going to comment on its hideousness to this man.
‘Can you get two fingers in?’ asked Dale, meeting her eye again. ‘Down the back of your heel, I mean.’ That was one cheeky grin.
From any other bloke, such schoolboy innuendo would have been killed dead with a withering look, but for some reason Rosie was bubbling with mirth inside.
Maybe it was something to do with the waves of disapproval emanating from his colleague.
Or maybe it was because Dale was so darned irresistible.
She held his dark-eyed gaze as Ant moved a hand round to the back of Rosie’s ankle and gently slid his fingers into the space. A pleasant sensation zipped up her leg, all the way to her thighs, taking her by surprise.
‘All good,’ Ant said.
Rosie cleared her throat. ‘Won’t it slip up and down?’ she asked Ant.
‘Not usually a problem,’ said Dale.
Ant closed his eyes briefly. ‘Like I said, your feet will swell when you’re walking. Let’s try the other one on.’
Once both boots were done up, Rosie took a turn around the shop, stopping to pat Wainwright.
‘Hello again, lovely boy,’ she said. The dog got up and followed her across the shop.
Against the far wall, display shelves were stacked with maps and books, and her eyes fell on a charming collection of pocket-sized guidebooks with white covers and different-coloured borders.
She picked one up. In an old-fashioned handwriting font it said:
A Pictorial Guide to the Lakeland Fells.
Book One: The Eastern Fells
by A Wainwright
‘Oh – Wainwright!’ she said, looking from the book to the dog to Ant.
At last, a smile. It was like the sun coming out.
Dale joined her. ‘We sell these by the truckload, even though they were first published in the 1950s. How’s the boots?’
‘Very comfortable, thank you.’
Madison came over to meet the dog.