Page 27 of Twisted Paths

Nancy tilts her head slightly, considering. “So, you’re a fan of his?”

I flick the kettle on, leaning against the counter. “Never really thought about it.”

That, at least, is true.

She frowns slightly, looking back at the shelf. “You’ve got editions in different languages. Special covers. Signed copies.” She points to a leather-bound hardback sitting near the top. “That looks expensive.”

I cross my arms. “I like well-made books.”

Nancy studies me for a second, and I can see the gears turning in her head.

I don’t like that either.

Before she can push further, I gesture toward the mugs lined up on the counter. “Tea?”

She shakes her head, eyes still flicking between me and the books. “Just water, thanks.”

I grab a glass and fill it from the tap, handing it to her when I step back into the living room. She takes it, her fingers brushing mine for a brief second.

Before she can start in on the bookshelf again, I nod toward the armchair. “So, this idea of yours?”

She hesitates for half a second, eyes still flicking towards the books. Then, with a small shake of her head, she steps away from the shelf and lowers herself into the chair.

I exhale slowly, dragging a hand through my damp hair.

Crisis averted.

For now.

Nancy shifts in the armchair, reaching for the strap of the oversized crossbody bag resting in her lap. The thing looks like it could hold half her life in it, and judging by the way she digs around for a few seconds before pulling out her laptop, it probably does.

She flips it open in one smooth motion, the soft glow of the screen reflecting in her eyes as she taps the keyboard. The faint sound of keys clicking fills the room, her fingers moving with the ease of someone who’s done this a thousand times before.

“I’ve set up a group page,” she says, her tone light but focused. “For the Ramblers.”

I glance at the screen, where what looks like a Facebook page is pulled up. A cover photo of rolling hills stretches across the top, and beneath it, a handful of posts, mostly with updates and an invitation to join.

Nancy looks up briefly, gauging my reaction, then continues. “Thought it’d be easier to keep people updated this way. Make it feel like more of a community.”

I nod slowly. Makes sense. Efficient. Nothing wrong with that.

Then, she pauses, her fingers hovering over the trackpad, like she’s about to drop something heavier into the conversation.

“I was thinking of adding some videos.”

My shoulders tense slightly.

She keeps her gaze locked on the screen, as if easing me into the idea. “Just short ones. Nothing too fancy. Just interviews about the last walk, so people get a feel for it.”

Nancy still doesn’t look at me, which is a clear red flag. She’s easing me in, like I’m some skittish horse that might bolt if she moves too fast.

“Mrs Higgins has already done hers,” she adds casually, like it’s no big deal. Like I’m supposed to nod and move on.

Instead, I fold my arms. “Of course she has.”

Nancy finally looks up, eyes sparkling with amusement as she spins the laptop towards me. “It’s actually very charming. Have a look.”

I glance at the screen. A paused video of Mrs Higgins fills the frame, standing in front of a hedgerow, Bernard panting at her feet. Her expression is delighted, hands gesturing mid-sentence, as if she’s in the middle of recounting something very important.

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