Chapter Ten
Rowan
It rains all through the night, stopping only when dawn shrugs over the treeline.
The sky is thick with clouds, and when I step out of my tent, my boots squelch in the grass.
Every step is agony. I found half a dozen blisters when I peeled off my socks last night, and I didn’t have enough plasters to cover them.
My back aches, and my shoulders are raw from the bag straps and the weight my body isn’t used to carrying.
I feel tired. Spent. Every inch of me screaming to stop.
But I can’t. Not yet. I want to. God, I want to. But when I pause, even for a second, I can feel the doubts and the hurt and the embarrassment rushing out from the cage where I’ve locked them, waiting for their chance.
Today, I don’t want to think about Ethan, or my life back in London, or work, or what a failure I am.
And for that, I need to move. Step after torturous step.
I look around the campsite, but it’s quiet. Peaceful. Me and the never-ending drip of rain. For once, I’m the first awake. Slowly, painfully, I pack away my sodden tent, treating myself to a blueberry breakfast bar and an apple I find buried in one of the pockets that I don’t remember packing.
“Need a hand with that?”
I hiss, my hand slipping on the wet peg, and jump to attention at the sound of Angus’ voice.
“No, I—” The words die in my mouth.
Angus is dressed only in his grey hiking pants and boots.
A towel is slung over one shoulder, barely covering his chest and…
Abs. Defined, drool-worthy abs. Scratch the British Museum, this man’s body should be on display in Trafalgar Square.
A law should be enacted that prevents him from wearing clothes.
Any attempt to cover his physique made punishable by slow, painful death.
Angus’ body is beautiful. Godlike. Practically holy.
I long to worship at the altar of his—
“Are you alright?”
My jaw snaps shut. Shit. Is that drool on my chin? Surreptitiously, I wipe it away with a sleeve, pulling my eyes somewhere, anywhere, other than Angus’ bare torso. There. A peg. I march over and busy myself dragging it from the dense soil.
“Absolutely! All good here! Just… packing down my tent. Getting ready for another beautiful day! Up and at ‘em! Rise and shine!”
Angus stretches, his towel shifting to reveal another flash of muscled skin. “I had no idea you were so perky in the mornings, London. Are you sure you’re okay?”
“That’s me! Perky Rowan! I love mornings!”
The peg is stuck. I crouch and yank. It fails to budge, but the force of my attempt succeeds in one thing: my boots both slip, and I find myself arse-down in the grass.
“Fuckity fuck fuck fuck,” I curse as the night’s rain seeps immediately through my leggings. “Fuck.”
“Here. Let me.” Angus reaches past me and releases the peg with an expert twist of his forearm. A forearm that is packed with muscles and far, far too close to my mouth.
I scramble backwards on my hands and feet. “Jesus, Angus. Aren’t you cold? I get you’ve got the whole rugged Scottish farmer thing going on, but isn’t this taking it a bit far?”
“What are you…” Angus looks down at himself. “Oh. Oh!” But he makes no move to cover up. “Looking at me again, are you, London?”
“Well, you make it very hard not to when you insist on prancing about the place without any clothes on.”
“I’ve got some clothes on.” He gestures at his trousers, and flashes me a wicked grin. The kind of grin that says: but I could have less.
“I’m worried about your health, that’s all.”
“That’s very considerate of you.”
“Well, I’m a considerate woman.”
“A considerate perky woman who loves mornings.” Angus crosses his arms. His biceps bulge.
I swallow hard. I need to get a grip. I busy myself brushing grass stalks off my leggings. “Okay, fine. That last part is a lie. I hate mornings. I would kill you and half the campsite for a cup of coffee.”
“In their sleep? Without even a chance to defend themselves?”
“All’s fair in love and coffee.” I glance around. “Don’t suppose there’s anywhere here that can do a decent flat white?”
“Campsite reception doesn’t open for another couple of hours. And my guess is you’ll be lucky if they have instant.”
“I would rather rip my own tongue out and nail it to the bottom of my boot.”
Angus’ eyes widen. “Violent this morning, aren’t you?”
“Like I say, I hate mornings. Especially mornings without coffee.” I can’t take it anymore. “Look, can you please put a T-shirt on or something?”
“Why? Is there something distracting about me without a shirt on?”
“No, of course not.” I pull at the edge of my own T-shirt. The sun isn’t out, but somehow I’m sweating. “It’s just… this is a family campsite, isn’t it.”
“Is my naked chest not appropriate for families?” The smile creeps back onto Angus’ face.
His gaze lingers on mine for a few more seconds.
My cheeks are flushed. “Ach, I’m fucking with you, London.
I need to finish packing down anyway.” He pauses.
“Can’t do you a flat white, but I can make you a coffee if you like? ”
“Is it going to be instant?”
“I wouldn’t dare.”
I hesitate. I want to say yes. I want to linger longer in Angus’ company. He’s kinder than I expected, with a dry sense of humour, and the sight of his smile does unexpected things to my knees.
But my feet are already aching, and the ounce of momentum I gathered when I woke up is fading fast. I need to force myself into motion, before I give up entirely. And I need some time to myself. Time without men whose abs turned my entire body to jelly.
“There’s a café about an hour down the trail,” Angus offers, checking his watch. “Reckon it will be open by the time you get there. From memory, they do a mean flat white.”
I blink at the unexpected thoughtfulness. Angus sensed my hesitation, and instead of pushing the point, he’s given me an out.
One point for the burly Scottish yeti.
“Thanks. That sounds like just the ticket.” I grab my tent fly and roll it into a sausage. “Well, I guess I’ll see you on the walk?”
Angus shrugs. “Probably. Doubt I’ll be far behind you. Once I’ve had breakfast and packed up, I’ll be on my way.”
“Not going to team up with anyone else?” I tease. “Form a walking group? Make friends?”
He shakes his head. “I’m not much for walking in company.”
“How introverted of you.”
“Says the woman haring off at the crack of dawn.”
“I’m not haring off. I’m in dire need of well-brewed caffeine. There’s a difference.”
“That’s what all the introverts say.” Angus lifts one hand. “Well, I’m in dire need of a shirt, apparently. Something about being inappropriate to families and catching my death of cold.”
“I’m only looking out for your health.”
“Uh huh.”
“And the children!”
Angus laughs over his shoulder, striding towards his own tent. I resist the temptation to watch his well-developed back disappear across the campsite. Focus, Rowan. Tent. Walk. Flat white.
Recover from the cheating arsehole who broke your heart.
Only, right now, Ethan is the furthest thing from my mind, the sight of his naked, bouncing arse replaced by something equally raunchy, but far more pleasant.
And I don’t yet know if that’s a good thing.
* * *
The flat white is heavenly. I’m hard pressed to hold back a groan as the gloriously hot liquid touches my parched lips.
The walk to the café was more of a trudge; with the full weight of the bag on my back, the pain in my feet was hard to ignore and calves were on fire again within five minutes.
But the lure of coffee dragged me on, and by the time I got here, the discomfort had settled back to manageable levels.
The clouds clear and a ray of sunshine falls across the bench I’m sitting on. I take a bite of my croissant. Bliss. Pure, decadent bliss.
I’m savouring the final sip when the chatter of familiar voices rings around the corner.
Priya dances ahead of the group, her pigtails swinging, and behind her Angus and Lila support Ewan between them.
His face is grey, his expression tight, and he is clearly in agony, but still he lurches forward, the stick we found for him gripped tightly in his hands.
I salute their approach with my empty coffee cup and lever myself to my feet.
“Hi, Rowan!” Priya sing-songs happily. “You were up early.”
“Couldn’t sleep,” I reply, smiling at her. “You’re full of beans this morning.”
“I saw an Alpine Lady’s-mantle and a Melancholy Thistle. Don’t you love that name? It’s so poetic.” Her head whips around as she catches sight of something in the distance. “Oh my god. A b—”
And then she’s haring down the path, leaving the rest of us to follow.
“Thought you weren’t much for walking in company.” I can’t help but poke at Angus.
“Little girl didn’t give me much choice,” he replies, watching Priya dance ahead. “She’s… forceful. And Ewan here looked like he needed a hand.” He pauses. “I’ll stay until lunch, but then I’ll need to make my own way for a bit. Didn’t sign up for a crowd.”
I look around. “Has the definition of crowd changed since last I checked? Because I only see four people here.”
“Feels crowded to me,” Angus grumbles.
“‘Hell is other people’.” Priya skips past us, stopping to pluck a dandelion from beside the path and tuck it behind one of her ears.
“Did that little girl quote Satre at me?” Angus stares after her.
“You know who Satre is?”
“Do you think because I don’t live in the big city that I’m illiterate?”
“No. God. Sorry. I know you’re not. I saw you reading in the pub.”
His dark eyes catch mine. “Watching me, were you, London?”
“I— No. I…”
“Pubs. Lochs. Sunsets. Campsites. How’s a man meant to get an inch of privacy when you’re around?”
“For the love of god, can you stop flirting when you’re meant to be helping me?” Ewan interjects with a squawk, as his ankle slips to the side and he falls into Angus’ sturdy arm. “Get a bloody room.”
“I am not flirting with him—”
“We are not flirting—”