Chapter 10
Ten
Nash
My truck is warm – as are the croissants I have in an insulated bag, and the coffee in two insulated cups in the centre console – when I park up at Aidan’s house at six o’clock the next morning.
Corey is waiting for me on the porch, bundled up in baggy jeans, a hoody, and what looks to be one of Aidan’s winter coats, given the way it’s drowning his leaner frame.
He hops down the few steps and climbs up into my passenger seat as soon as the truck comes to a stop.
Rubbing his hands together, he blows into them in an effort to warm them up.
If he’s this cold now, he’s going to be freezing when we get to where we’re going.
I look over my shoulder to the back seat and… aha.
“Here, pop this on over your hoody,” I say as I grab the navy blue, cashmere cardigan I was wearing the other day. I’d changed into a smarter jacket before my meeting with David, and hadn’t remembered to bring this inside the house.
Corey looks up at me and smiles softly as he shrugs out of my brother’s enormous coat and into my cashmere cardigan.
“That’s better,” I say, feeling more relaxed now that I know he has another layer between him and Aidan’s coat. He’ll be much warmer now.
“Thanks.” Corey’s voice in the morning is a little husky, like he just rolled out of bed, and the smell of toothpaste emanating from him suggests that may not be too far from the truth. “So, where are you taking me at this ungodly hour?”
I snort a laugh.
“I’d hardly call this ungodly. And it’s a surprise.”
I pick up his, frankly diabolical, ‘coffee’ order, and hand it to him.
“Here you go. This might help warm you up, too.”
“T-thank you.” His voice sounds surprised, as though nobody’s ever bought him a coffee before. He takes a sip, and his eyes almost roll back in his head. I like knowing he enjoys it. “Oh my God, that’s incredible. How did you know what I’d like?”
“Poppy remembered your order when I was tapping on the café window this morning while she was baking.” I turn my head briefly and grin at him, then turn my attention back to the roads, which are treacherous with black ice this morning.
“Oh, that’s so thoughtful. Do you want some?”
I indicate my own coffee.
“That’s OK, thanks. I got my own. And mine actually tastes like coffee.”
His jaw drops in outrage.
“So does mine,” he cries, voice an octave higher than usual. I laugh.
“How anyone can be so indignant about a drink with so many ingredients in it you can’t even smell the coffee, let alone taste it…
” I smirk at him as he huffs and puffs around his righteousness, his eyes wide open, reminding me of how he looked like a rabbit caught in the headlights when I called him short the day we met.
“It does smell like coffee, thank you very much, Doc.”
“I’m pretty sure that smell is coming from my cup, little rabbit.”
“Ugh. That nickname’s going to stick, isn’t it?” he checks.
“I’m afraid so.” I nod, lips pursed in all seriousness. He snorts.
“Well, maybe Doc will stick, too,” he says with a sarcastic shrug.
I raise an eyebrow at him, and he chuckles. It’s almost… cute? I mean, Corey is a very attractive man, but as he laughs, thinking he’s gotten one over on me, nose scrunched up in delight… yeah, he’s cute too.
“I bet I know exactly what your coffee order is,” Corey says a second later. I have no doubt he’s right. “Lemme guess. Black Americano, no sugar, no syrup, no nothing. Just an extra shot of espresso, maybe, since it is the crack of sparrow’s fart o’clock.”
“I’m not even going to try to deny it. You should try it. It’ll put hairs on your chest.”
“I don’t want hairs on my chest, thanks. Saves me a fortune on waxing, not being able to grow any.”
“Ha!” The laugh bursts out of me. “Take the win, I suppose.” I smile at him again, and he returns it with a blinding one of his own.
“OK, Doc. So, if you won’t tell me where we’re going, at least tell me how far it is?”
“It’s about twenty minutes from Aidan’s, so settle in and have some breakfast.”
I indicate the back seat with my head, and Corey perks up. He grabs the insulated bag and opens the zip, the smell of warm, buttery pastry quickly filling the air inside the truck.
“Oh my God, you are king amongst men,” he gushes as he searches through the selection of croissants before selecting one and taking a huge bite. He groans around the flavour.
“I honestly thought you’d be a chocolate croissant man,” I say, nodding in approval at his choice, which just so happens to be my favourite, and I thank my past self for buying four of the almond-filled ones.
“Show me a man who doesn’t like almond croissants, and I’ll show you a sociopath.” He looks at me suspiciously. “Are you a sociopath, Doc?”
“I am not. Hand one over. They’re the best ones.” His nod of approval makes me smile once more – I don’t remember the last time I laughed, or smiled, this much before seven o’clock in the morning – and he hands me a warm almond croissant, wrapped in a paper napkin.
The rest of the journey is made in silence as we each devour two almond croissants, and precisely none of the chocolate ones or the pains aux raisins I had in there as well.
I turn into the lane that leads to the car park at our destination and pick my way around the obstacle course of suspension-breaking potholes.
“Jesus,” Corey exclaims as he grabs onto the ‘oh shit’ handle by his head. “Where have you brought me? The moon?”
“Not quite.”
We continue down the lane another hundred yards or so before arriving at a large gravel car park, empty of other vehicles at this hour. I choose a space, the lines loosely demarcated by a different coloured gravel, next to the footpath we will be heading down, and we climb down from the truck.
As soon as the doors open, the sound of waves crashing can be heard from beyond the towering dunes that surround us.
“The beach?” Corey asks, his face alight. “I love the beach.” Oh, just wait, I think to myself.
“This way,” I say, and he follows me through the kissing gate at the start of the carefully signposted footpath to the beach. The sharp points of the marram grass stab our skin even through our jeans, and Corey stops for a moment to tuck his jeans into his thick socks.
“What?” he asks. “It’s making my skin itch. It always has. I used to go to the beach a lot with my parents when I was a kid.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Mmhmm. Before they kicked me out, they were pretty good parents, all things considered. We went on holidays, day trips, and we used to spend a lot of time at the beach. Ironically, we visited Great Yarmouth a few times, which is quite near here, isn’t it?
“Yeah, it’s maybe twenty miles down the coast from here.”
“I always remember getting these unbelievably delicious chips in a cone from the stalls on Yarmouth market with so much salt and vinegar it dripped out the bottom.”
“Ugh, I haven’t had chips off the market in so long. But you’re right, they’re incredible. I don’t know what they do to make them taste different to any other chips,” I say, my mouth watering at the memories.
“Witchcraft.” He nods sagely.
“It’s the only reasonable explanation,” I agree, and we grin at each other.
“Oh my God.” He stops in his tracks, and for a minute, I panic. I grab both of his hands in mine and pull him towards me.
“What? Are you OK?”
His rambunctious laugh startles me, so big and outdoorsy it almost takes his strength from him, and he leans into me slightly. I hold him up as he tries to calm down, but laughter being the way it is, I’m soon leaning into him as well.
“What are we even laughing at? I thought you’d hurt yourself.”
“No, sorry. I’m fine. I just remembered that rollercoaster on the seafront. The Snails? Is that it? What’s the name of the amusement park it’s in?”
I scoff, knowing exactly where this is going. I school my features into a very serious expression.
“Excuse me, Mr Wells. The Snails at Joyland are an institution in our county, and I cannot have you disparaging them.” We both crack up again.
‘The Snails’ are, in fact, an institution, and yes, the amusement park is legitimately called ‘Joyland’. They are also the single most terrifying children’s ride you’ll ever see. Not because the rollercoaster itself is a high-octane, adrenaline-filled, ride-of-your-life type of rollercoaster. No.
Rather, because the snails themselves, the cars you ride in, are painted in such oddly dated colours and faces so strange they’re almost grotesque. Cole had nightmares after the first time he rode them and would never go again.
“Anyway,” I say once we finally manage to curb our laughter. “We need to be quiet now.” He frowns in confusion, and I simply smile and say, “Come on.”
We finally reach the top of the dunes, and Corey stops dead in his tracks.
He sucks in a gasp at the sight before him, and my heart thumps harder in my chest.
I knew he’d love this.