Chapter Eight #3
She laughed softly. “Yes, Blane. Of course I’ve heard of Yellowstone. I’ve always thought I’d like to see it someday.”
For half a second she wondered if that sounded like more than she’d intended. Apparently not.
“Yeah, we get plenty of tourists. It’s the transplants that bother me. Like you were saying before, people move someplace because they like it, then expect the place to adapt to suit them. Got no time for that.”
“I imagine it must be difficult if you’ve lived there all your life and your friends have too.” She glanced up at him. “And you weren’t joking? They really are ranchers and cowboys and that sort?”
“No joke. Cash, the one you heard on the phone, his family has a big ranch. Mav, our other partner, has another one farther down the valley.”
He made a low sound she was beginning to recognize as his shorthand for a laugh.
“Twenty miles apart and they’re both called MacFarland Ranch. But that’s those guys for you. The others too. Ranchers, cowboys.” He smiled. “One of them’s even the sheriff these days.”
“Oh my goodness. You really still have sheriffs?”
“Yep. Sure do.”
“I can’t imagine a life like that. I’d definitely stick out as an expat—or what did you call it? A transplant.”
He turned his head and looked at her. “You’d fit fine in my valley.”
Her breath caught. He probably hadn’t meant anything by it, and yet she couldn’t help noticing what he’d said. Not that she’d like his valley. That she’d fit there. She risked a smile. “Perhaps I’ll have to see it someday.”
He looked at her again and nodded, but they kept walking.
There wasn’t really anywhere for the conversation to go after that.
Perhaps she would see Yellowstone someday.
She’d always thought she might. But if she ever did see Blane’s valley, it wouldn’t be because of him. There was no someday in their plan.
She knew that.
Still, as they wandered through Soho and his hand somehow found hers again, part of her couldn’t help wishing there were.
They spent the rest of the afternoon wandering with no particular destination.
They went in and out of shops, with Blane frequently looking faintly bewildered by whatever she picked up to show him.
Mostly, though, they walked—hand in hand now—pointing things out to each other and talking about whatever came to mind.
It was the most wonderful afternoon Bea could remember having in years.
Perhaps longer. She tightened her fingers around his as the thought brought a strange ache with it.
Not because everything that had come before had been wasted.
It hadn’t. It had made her who she was, and there had been good years as well as difficult ones.
But being with Blane was showing her something she hadn’t known to miss—ease.
She’d spent so much of her life adjusting herself around someone else that she’d forgotten what it felt like simply to be beside someone and remain entirely herself. And somehow, in the space of a few days, Blane had reminded her.
She had to make the next chapter count. Crete was going to be good. She’d already decided that. She wasn’t going there to let her life quietly peter out in some prettier place. She was going there to live it. To find out what she liked, what she wanted, who she was when the decisions were hers.
And now, perhaps, she understood a little better how much might still be waiting for her.
“You okay?”
She looked up at Blane and felt a stab of guilt when she saw the concern in his face.
He didn’t need to know where her thoughts had gone. It wasn’t his fault that knowing him had made her see possibilities she hadn’t seen before.
“I am.” She sighed. “But I think my feet have had enough wandering for one day.” She glanced at the time and squeezed his hand. “And I hate to bring it up, but it’s getting late. The afternoon’s almost gone, and I’m afraid I don’t have much evening left to share.”
His fingers tightened around hers.
“My flight’s at nine-thirty tomorrow. I have to be at Heathrow three hours early, and my car from the hotel is booked for five-fifteen.”
He nodded slowly. “Yeah. You said it was early.” He looked around. “We’re nearly back at the museum, right?”
“We are. I hadn’t even realized it, but I think we’ve somehow looped all the way back to Bloomsbury.”
“Then what do you say we find somewhere for an early dinner?” His brows drew together almost immediately. “If you want to have dinner with me. Or was that your way of saying you’ve had enough and need to get back to the hotel and pack?”
She stopped and placed her hand in the middle of his chest. She couldn’t explain why she kept doing that. Then again, she doubted anyone would blame her.
“I’d love to have dinner with you, Blane. I’m not trying to get rid of you. Far from it. It’s that, unfortunately, I do have to be realistic.”
“Early dinner, then.”
“Perfect.” She looked around and realized exactly where they were. “Oh! You know what? We can give you a proper taste of London. There’s a very famous fish-and-chip restaurant just around the corner, and unless I’m mistaken, they open early.”
Blane did not look convinced.
“What do you think? Want to give it a go?”
He considered it for a moment, then nodded. “Suppose I should try it while I’m here.”
She laughed. “You definitely should. Come on.” And she led him toward what she was certain would be an excellent plate of fish and chips.