Page 57 of An Unexpected Kind of Love

He parks and we step out into a fine mist.

Blake outstretches his arms broadly, smiling with his eyes closed. “Oh, this is perfect.”

I can’t help a grin at how blissed out he is. I tug on the hood of my light jacket. “This is the normal weather in my country. I’m glad it’s finally delivering.”

He returns the grin and comes close to draw me into his arms, into a deep kiss. There’s no one around, just rain and grazing sheep off in the distance, and the rustle of leaves in the light breeze from the nearby trees. A bird sings, and there’s a stillness and peace I haven’t felt in a very long time. The sort of peace that doesn’t exist in the heart of London.

Blake catches my face between his hands, gazing affectionately at me. “We made it.”

“We did,” I confirm, and greedily I steal another kiss. It’s him and me and Cumbria is all ours this afternoon, without another human in sight. It’s perfect. And then I smother a yawn and he laughs.

“Am I boring you already?”

“Oh no. It’s just I’m not used to long car rides. Long anything, really.”

“Really? I might have something for you that you’d be interested in,” Blake teases, pressing into me with promise. “Well, we can have a nap and a lazy night.”

So we go in and check out the quaint cottage from an era gone by, all traditional furniture and paisley print cushions and matching curtains. There’s a working hearth with fire, if it gets cool enough later. A small kitchenette is off to the side, with the all-important kettle. Being me, I’ve brought along a selection of tea in my pack. A bowl of fresh fruit sits on the counter along with a welcome note. It’s all quite perfect and Blake draws me down on a proper bed. And we make out till we finally give in to the drowsy, lazy afternoon and fall asleep to the patter of rain, held in each other’s arms.

The evening passes quietly, with us holed up in the cottage, and both of us getting an actual decent night’s sleep with the cooler temperatures. For me, the cottage also means the luxury of a real bed.

Today, the sky brightens. We put on our hillwalking gear and off we go tromping about through farmer’s fields and windswept paths and along green tracks. We come across few people along the way, eventually rewarded with vistas over villages and expanses of lakes. Our reward at the end of it when the next squall rolls in is putting our feet up in a local pub and drying off.

We kick off the mud from our boots and hole up in a corner together, in a mix of locals and other hillwalkers. Everyone is happy to be dry inside.

After I return to Blake with two ales, we reward ourselves for our efforts and clink glasses.

“Not a bad way to spend a day,” Blake says, still smiling from our adventure.

“Not bad,” I agree, and I could happily spend a lot of days tromping about with Blake outdoors. We both brought our cameras and enjoyed some photography along the way.

“I’ve got the bean of the day for you.” Light-hearted, I smile affectionately at Blake, unexpected brain chemicals making me happy, almost giddy. See, I can do new tricks.

“Bean of the day!” Blake beams over his ale, looking a bit like a mountain man today in his thermal top and five o’clock shadow, a bandana around his neck and sunglasses on his head. “You’ve got my attention.”

“I’ve got a clue.” I give him an intent look. “It’s white.”

“Ooh, let me guess: navy bean, broad bean, the actual white bean.”

I make a face at him, wrinkling my nose. “That’s cheating. There’s no such thing as an actual white bean. Cop-out.”

“There really is such a thing,” he assures me with an irreverent sparkle in his eye. Was there a time when I was Blakeless, without any bean banter in my life?

“Another clue.”

“I’m all ears.”

“It’s got a black bit.”

“Oh! Black-eyed bean.” Blake looks at me, triumphant. “Easy.”

I gawp. “Seriously? How did you guess that so fast?”

“I know my beans, remember? Runner-up would be the pinto bean, but those have brown spots on them.”

Harrumphing, I sip my ale to nurse the abject loss of stumping Blake over beans. Really, I ought to know better than go head-to-head with a vegan over legumes, but sometimes I go a bit off the rails.

“They’re one of my favorites.” Blake looks at me hopefully. “Great in soups.”

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