Page 52 of Crossed Paths
“This way,” she says.
I follow her gaze. Nestled just beyond the slope, half-camouflaged by the tall grass and creeping ivy, is a crooked old barn—leaning a little to one side, slate tiles missing from the roof, but solid enough to do the job.
Inside, it smells of warm dust and old straw. A few bales of hay sit clustered near the back wall, scattered like the remnants of a forgotten season. I drop my backpack onto one and brush off my hands, then step over to where Alex stands at the entrance.
She’s still, watching the clouds roll over the hills like they’re deciding whether to behave.
A single drop lands on the stone near the entrance. Then another. Then five.
And then it breaks—rain coming fast and hard, drumming against the roof in sharp, steady bursts. The sound fills the barn, thick and echoing, like it’s trying to drown out everything else.
I step in behind her, slide my arms around her waist and pull her gently back into me. My chin rests on her shoulder, the familiar fit of us anchoring something deep.
She leans into it, just a little.
“I hope it doesn’t rain itself in,” she murmurs.
I smile against her skin. “Then we’ll just have to make the most of it,” I growl, my lips brushing the curve of her neck before I start kissing her there—slow, deliberate.
She lets out a soft moan, breath catching, and tilts her head just enough to give me better access.
We’ve been together ten months now, and I still can’t get enough of her. Not just the way she fits against me, or the way her breath catches when I kiss her like this—but the small, quiet things. The way her eyes find mine across a crowded room. The way her presence settles something in me I didn’t even realise was restless.
She moved in two months ago, just after the Easter rush.
It took some convincing. She didn’t say yes right away. There were nerves, questions. That stubborn edge she gets when she’s afraid of wanting something too much.
But she came.
One night she brought a half-used bottle of shampoo and never took it back. The next week, her favourite mug appeared in my cupboard. And then she stayed.
Waking up with her next to me every morning is the best part of my life.
Since the mess with Silvia—who, true to my word, was gone by Monday—we’ve built something steady. Ellie, Silvia’s replacement, is everything I hoped she’d be: competent, calm, ethical. A proper grown-up.
Alex and I have even crossed into business together. Wine tastings, holiday events, Sunday roasts that run like clockwork between the pub and the Hall.
It’s been good for business.
It’s been even better for us. So much so that she finally told me she loved me at Christmas.
No fanfare. No hesitation.
Just her voice, low and certain, over a cup of mulled wine and a fire that was burning too hot.
“I love you,” she said, like it had always been true.
And I knew, in that moment, it had been.
Lightning brightens the sky for a second. I kiss her neck again, slower this time, lips brushing just beneath her ear.
She sighs and melts back into me, and I hold her tighter.
The rain drums harder on the roof, loud now—steady, relentless. A perfect excuse not to move.
Still, I shift, guiding her gently backwards into the barn, away from the open doorway and the spray of wind-blown rain.
“Tell me,” I murmur, lips brushing her ear, “have you ever had sex in a barn?”
