Page 40 of Twisted Paths

I pause, glancing at the note still sitting on the counter.

“She can’t cook.”

Philip actually snorts at that.

I keep going. “Or bake. Tried to make something for her book club once, and it came out half-burnt.”

“She’s got a thing for rambling but doesn’t like doing it alone. Not because she’s scared or anything, but because she thinks it’s a bit sad wandering the hills by herself with no one to talk to.”

Philip stays silent.

I shift in my seat, frowning slightly. “She gets this crease between her eyebrows when she’s concentrating. Proper focused. Like when she was setting up the camera for that stupid rambler group video.”

My mind flickers back to that moment: her biting her lip slightly, muttering under her breath as she adjusted the angle, standing back with her hands on her hips, eyes narrowed, utterly determined to get it right.

I rub the back of my neck. “She does this thing where she tucks her hair behind her ear, but it never stays there. She’s constantly pushing it back. It drives her mad.”

My fingers tap against the desk.

“She smells like…” I trail off, realising how insane I sound. But Philip is still quiet, so I keep going. “Like something citrusy. But not overpowering. Subtle. And she always runs her fingers through her hair when she’s thinking. I don’t even think she realises she’s doing it.”

I sit back, suddenly feeling far too aware of what just came out of my mouth.

“Oh, mate.” His voice is soft now. “You’re so falling for her, you’ve got to give this a chance.”

I let out a slow breath, pinching the bridge of my nose. “It’s not that simple.”

“But it is.” His voice is steady, certain. “I’ve known you for years, and I have never heard you talk about someone like this. Not even close.”

I shake my head, even though he can’t see me. “That doesn’t mean—”

“That you’re falling for her?” Philip interrupts, unimpressed. “Oh, it absolutely does. You just listed more details about this woman than you have ever willingly shared about yourself.”

I stay quiet, because… well.

I don’t have a good argument against that.

Philip exhales. “Look. When I met Mark, it wasn’t planned. We were in a bar, right? Just chatting, nothing serious. Then, completely out of nowhere, he says, ‘Fancy getting the train to Whitstable?’”

I frown. “What?”

“Exactly. It made no sense. I barely knew him. But something in me just knew I had to say yes.” His voice shifts slightly, quieter now, like he’s remembering it in real time. “So, we went. Spent the whole weekend there. Ate chips on the beach, drank terrible wine, stayed in some tiny, overpriced B&B. And that was it. That was us.”

I lean back in my chair, the weight of his words pressing against something in my chest.

“You never know when love’s going to hit you, Luke,” Philip continues. “There isn’t some perfect formula. No checklist. No slow build that follows all the right steps. Sometimes it’s a spur-of-the-moment train ride to the coast with a stranger.” He pauses. “Or a walking group you had no intention of joining.”

I rub a hand over my face. “Philip.”

“No, listen. You’re not the kind of person who just lets people in. And yet, here you are, obsessing over a woman who has completely gotten under your skin. That doesn’t happen to you, Luke. Ever.”

I swallow, my fingers tapping against my desk.

“Trust me,” Philip says, a little softer now. “I know this is new for you. And I know it’s probably terrifying. But if you don’t at least see where this goes, you’re going to regret it. And I’m not going to sit back and watch you let something good pass you by because you’re too stubborn to admit it.”

I close my eyes, exhaling slowly.

Nancy’s note is still in the kitchen.

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