Page 31 of Crossed Paths
There’s a smattering of nods and murmured agreement.
I exhale, grateful for the pause in my own thoughts. Nancy has a way of centring everyone, even me. I watch Peter hoist his rucksack higher on his back, easy and relaxed, chatting with a couple I’ve never seen before. Butwhen the group begins to move, boots crunching on gravel, he rejoins me.
For a while, Peter and I walk side by side in companionable silence. It’s the sort that’s filled with early morning birdsong and the occasional rustle of waterproofs, but no pressure to talk. Still, I feel the weight of what I’m not saying settling between my shoulders like a second rucksack.
Half a mile in, he drifts.
I glance up just in time to see him peel off slightly, veering toward a blonde woman walking alone near the back of the group. She’s new. Tall, understated walking gear, carrying herself like someone used to solitude. Peter gives her that easy smile of his—the one he uses when he wants to be liked without trying too hard.
And just like that, I’m alone with the rhythm of my boots and my thoughts again.
I wish Alex were here.
She would’ve hated the incline. Would’ve moaned about the gradient. Maybe made a comment about her knees not being built for Yorkshire hills.
And yet she’d have done it anyway. Gritted her teeth, kept pace, made jokes just to distract herself. She’d have reached the top, red-faced and smug, hair falling loose around her face, and grinned like she owned the bloody landscape.
I can picture it so clearly.
Her cheeks flushed from the climb. Her laugh caught on the wind. Her hand finding mine when she thought no one was looking.
I miss her.
And not just in the surface way.
I miss the way her skin feels against mine; warm, soft, familiar in a way that didn’t make sense for something so new. I miss the way she tastes, sharp and sweet, like lemon tart.
But more than that, I miss what it feels like to be with her. To be allowed into the world behind all her walls. To touch her and see her go quiet, like the noise in her head stopped just long enough to let me in.
When I’m with her, I don’t want the moment to end. I want to stop time and find out everything—every small, ordinary thing. What she sings along to in the car. Whether she prefers tea bags or loose leaf. How she takes her toast. What makes her cry when no one’s around.
I want all of it.
The easy things. The hard things. The in-between.
I’m so deep in my thoughts I barely notice the steady climb, the slow curve of the hill giving way beneath our feet, and before I realise it, the slope flattens out and the sky stretches wider.
Nancy turns, hands on her hips, and announces, “Right. We’re here. We’ll stop for about an hour. Plenty of time for lunch, a cuppa, and a good view.”
And she’s not wrong.
The summit of Wild Boar Fell sprawls around us. Far below, the valleys spread out like patchwork, dry stone walls slicing green fields into tidy fragments. The sky’s clear, the air sharp, and the light’s got that hazy gold edge that makes everything look like a photo.
I drop into the grass a little away from the main group, letting the quiet settle around me. The ache in my thighs feels earned. I pull out my ham and cheese sandwich, unwrapping it like it’s a reward.
A moment later, Peter drops down beside me, landing with a satisfied huff. He rummages in his bag and pulls out a Scotch Egg.
“Classy,” I say, raising an eyebrow. “No gourmet wrap today?”
He smirks, biting into it like it’s a fine delicacy. “Protein, mate. Functional fuel.”
I take a bite of my sandwich, eyeing him sidelong. “Thought you’d be up there charming your mystery blonde.”
He shrugs, chewing. “Oh, I will. At dinner.”
I nearly choke. “Jesus. Confident, aren’t you?”
Peter just winks, licking a crumb off his thumb like he hasn’t just casually dropped that bombshell.
