Page 38 of Twisted Paths

“No.”

Philip hums. “Wow. I mean, I did suggest you join a group, but I was thinking, I don’t know… something with minimal effort involved. Like a pub quiz. But instead, you went full ‘embrace the countryside’ mode? I have to say, I’m proud.”

I sigh, hoping this conversation might derail into something else. “See? Your idea. Blame yourself.”

“Oh, I love taking credit for this,” he says brightly. “Now tell me more. Who are these fine Yorkshire folk who have welcomed the infamous Luke Evans into their flock?”

I hesitate, keeping my tone casual. “A mix of people. A woman runs it—Nancy.”

Philip goes suspiciously quiet for a second. “Nancy.”

“Yes.”

Philip bursts into laughter, the kind that tells me he’s just pieced something together that I probably should have noticed myself.

“So, like the vicar,” he cackles.

I frown, his words sinking in. And then—oh, shit.

Nancy.

I named the vicar after her.

Of course, I knew I’d done it. I wasn’t completely oblivious. But I hadn’t really thought about it. Hadn’t connected the dots properly until now.

Philip is still laughing. “Luke. Please tell me you realise what you’ve done.”

I rub my temple, feeling very much like I should have seen this coming. “It’s just a name.”

Philip gasps, like I’ve just personally insulted him. “It’s just a name? It’s just a name?” He lets out another delighted laugh. “Mate. You’re telling me that, out of every name in existence, the one you subconsciously chose for your new, charismatic, crime-solving, modern and witty vicar—who also happens to be your first original character idea in months—just happens to be the name of the woman who got you to leave your house?”

I press my fingers to my forehead. “It’s a coincidence.”

Philip snorts. “Sure. And I suppose this vicar has absolutely nothing in common with your Nancy, either?”

I say nothing, which is, apparently, an answer in itself.

Philip’s laughter somehow gets worse.

“Oh my God,” he breathes, clearly delighted. “This is better than I imagined.”

I shake my head, trying to divert the conversation. “Do you like the outline or not?”

“Oh, I love the outline,” Philip says, still grinning. “But let’s be honest, I could have hated it, and I’d still be enjoying this moment.”

I sigh, already regretting everything. “You’re insufferable.”

“I’m invested,” Philip corrects. “And honestly, you should be too. Because if this isn’t proof that Nancy has gotten under your skin, I don’t know what is.”

Philip hums, far too pleased with himself. “Wait until I tell Mark.”

I sit up straighter. “Absolutely not.”

“Oh, absolutely yes.”

“Philip.” My voice comes out sharp, a warning.

Philip ignores it entirely. “You know he’ll want to hear about this. We’ve all been convinced you were going to die alone in that house of yours, surrounded by stacks of unread books and an unopened bottle of whisky.”

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