Page 2 of Twisted Paths

“That was one time,” I huff. “And it was anunnecessarilycomplicated bookcase.”

She sighs, but I can tell she’s intrigued despite herself. “Alright. Say you do set this up. Who’s actually joining? Because last I checked, St Claire is mostly pensioners and people who prefer their exercise in the form of lifting pints at the pub.”

I roll my eyes. “You underestimate the power of structured socialising. There are probably loads of people who’d love an excuse to get out and meet new people. I bet it would be great for mental health, too.”

She goes quiet for a second. “You know, you might be onto something. Walking’s free, it gets people outside, and if nothing else, it’ll give Mrs Higgins a new thing to be nosy about.”

“Exactly,” I say, pleased. “So, you think I should do it?”

“Go for it,” she says. “Worst case scenario, it’s just you and a bunch of overly enthusiastic dogs.”

I grin. “I could live with that.”

“Oh, and I could mention it to my B&B guests,” Abby adds. “A lot of them come here for the countryside, but half of them don’t know where to start. They’d love a local guide.”

I blink. “That’s actually a brilliant idea.”

“Obviously,” she says, unimpressed by my surprise. “I’m full of them. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to go stop Layla from blow-drying a banana.”

The line goes dead.

I stare at my phone for a moment, then shake my head. Layla and her clumsiness are Abby’s problem now.

Turning back to my laptop, I open Canva and start a blank design. If I am doing this, I might as well do it properly.

I type out the first words that come to mind.

The Ramblers of St Claire.

I sit back, looking at the words on the screen. Simple, clear, and, dare I say, slightly charming.

This might actually work.

Chapter 1

Luke

Thecursorblinks.

It has been blinking for fifty-three minutes. I know this because I have checked the time. Repeatedly.

I tap the keyboard. Type three words. Delete them.

A low sigh escapes me as I lean back in my chair, staring at the empty page on my screen. It stares back, unimpressed.

My phone vibrates against the desk, and I glance at the screen.

Philip.

I let it ring. Maybe he will think I’m busy.

It stops and then rings again.

This time I answer, because there is no escaping him, apparently. "Before you start, no, I haven't written anything, and no, I don’t need a lecture."

"You need a miracle," Philip says, impatiently. "And possibly an exorcism."

I sigh, pinching the bridge of my nose. "Good morning to you, too."

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