Page 39 of Twisted Paths

I scowl. “I might still.”

“Answer me this, are you seeing her again?”

It’s a simple question, and I could so easily lie, but something makes me tell him the truth. Maybe because I want to tell someone—anyone—about her. “Tonight… I think.”

“Oh…” he is silent for a moment before laughing, “I didn’t expect you to admit it. Next you’ll tell me you already shagged her.”

Silence. I will not admit that. But my silence apparently did that for me.

“Luke! No, what? A week ago, you didn’t want to leave the house and now you are hooking up with a woman who has wormed her way into your brain, inspired some brilliant writing and is the inspiration for your vicar. Oh, shit, tell me it’s not the local vicar.”

I snort, “No, Nancy is a marketing freelancer.”

“Oh, phew. Not that I have something against vicars, but an atheist like you, I can’t see you having a happily-ever-after with a vicar.” He genuinely sounds relieved.

“Who said anything about happily-ever—”

“Stop right there, Luke. You don’t need to explain anything to me, and I won’t tease you any further, but don’t downplay this. You and I both know that, at best, you’ve had one-night-stands in the last few years. Especially after the bitch went after your book. This is the first time where there is more to it than just a quick fuck. You don’t have to explain anything to me, but you need to promise me that you’ll give this a chance.”

“Philip, I—”

“No, Luke. Promise me. Just let it happen.”

I open my mouth to argue, but nothing comes out.

Because he’s right.

And that realisation hits me harder than I expect.

Philip lets the silence stretch. Then, as if sensing my internal breakdown, he changes tactics. “So, what exactly is tonight? Are you asking her out? Making a move? Seeing where it leads?”

I shake my head, trying to find the right words. “I… it’s just dinner.”

Philip makes a doubtful noise. “Just dinner.”

I exhale. “She invited me.”

He perks up. “Oh?”

“It’s just—” I stop myself before I finish that sentence. Because there’s nojustabout it.

Philip howls with laughter. “Oh, you are so done for.”

I drop my head back against the chair, staring at the ceiling, trying to will some sense into this conversation.

“Philip, this is ridiculous. How can I have feelings for her? I barely know her.”

Philip hums thoughtfully but miraculously doesn’t jump in with some sarcastic response. “Alright,” he says, voice lighter now, almost like a challenge. “What do you know?”

I exhale, rubbing my jaw. “I know she’s originally from Yorkshire. Grew up not far from here.”

Philip makes a vague noise of acknowledgment, like he’s taking mental notes.

“She’s got a sister, Abby, who runs a bed and breakfast. They’re close. She helps out sometimes, mostly looking after her niece, Layla.”

Another hum from Philip.

“She works in her pyjamas, mostly. Likes the freedom. Hates the corporate rat race.”

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