Page 8 of You, As You Are

Mountain Man’s brow twitched, and Maisie stifled a groan.

“Is everything okay?” Vera leant around the seats at the very top of the steps.

“I’m great.” Maisie let out a nervous chuckle and wrangled her backpack, determined to get up the steps without another incident and hide away at the back of the bus. “Just slipped.”

“We saw Iain catch you.”

Two thoughts came to mind: first,wasn’t that just peachy?andsecond,Iain.Mountain Man’s name was Iain. And he apparently wasn’t a stranger.

Dots of dried dirt littered his worn jacket, and his leathered hiking boots were discoloured in places. Maisie should’ve realised a lot sooner that he was with the group, though age–wise he didn’t fit in at all.“When we stop on the walk”he’d said–she should’ve figured it out then, but her mind had been elsewhere, namely on those earthy eyes that felt like they studied her far beneath just her skin.

Maisie trudged up the steps and bypassed the strange look on the driver’s face, answering her grandma. “Yes, he was very …”Strong.“Kind.”

Boots treaded up the steps behind her. She hadn’t stood level with Iain, but she just knew that he was at least half a foot taller than her, and she was a decent five foot seven for a woman. A fact that became painfully obvious when she stopped dead at the start of the aisle between the seating, and Iain had no choice but to crowd behind her. She felt his presence even if no inch of their bodies touched, which sent her hormones into a little bit of a touch-deprived overdrive.

Oh god.It was like she was the last salty chip at the beach again. Every single seat bar two next to each other in the middle of the bus were occupied, and every single one of them had faces that zeroed in on her. It justhadto be a capacity fifteen minibus, didn’t it?

“Why don’t you sit with Iain?” Vera ushered as she wriggled back to her seat next to Ronnie.

An enclosed space for however long this drive took with a man she’d only met one minute ago? Sure. Maisie didn’t sweat from the idea at all. And she didn’t really have a choice.

Her cheeks were impossibly hot as she bumbled onwards, having to crab sideways slightly as she went, and sat down, claiming the only available window seat so that Ted could lie down beside Iain in the aisle. Then there was the urgent decision of what to do with her backpack. She left it sitting on her knees and tried not to glance as Iain folded himself down into his seat beside her. Unfortunately, Maisie couldn’t exactly stop the thickness of her hips from invading his space.

So there they were. Pressed awkwardly side by side. Two relative youngsters in a bus full of septuagenarians.

Wonderful.

The minibus rumbled into life and drove north up the promenade, past tall Victorian seafront hotels and multicoloured terrace buildings. Maisie could make out the railway she used to take up the cliff to the top of Constitution Hill as a child with Vera and hertaid. Coming from London, it used to be the first thing she and her brothers would do when they visited, and it always fascinated her how on a clear day she could see for hundreds of miles from the top in every direction along the coast.

She didn’t get those kinds of views anymore.

After five minutes of driving out of town, Iain still hadn’t said anything. Maisie was sure that he was trying to give her space, but this was going to be an agonising journey if she didn’t make conversation.

“What breed is Ted?” she asked, clutching at straws to keep herself composed. Normally simple conversations like these happenedbeforea man had had his hands on her.

Iain’s head whipped as though he hadn’t expected to hear her voice. “Huh?” Did he need her to repeat herself? “He’s a German Wirehaired Pointer. Five years old.”

His hand moved from his lap to scratch Ted between the ears, drawing Maisie’s attention down. She wished that she hadn’t looked, catching how the green-brown technical fabric of Iain’s outdoor trousers laden with exterior pockets and zips strained against his thighs.

So he worked out too as well as looking like he did facially. That was … nice.

She forced herself to swallow. “Do you always bring him on hikes?”

“He loves it.” Iain was quiet for a second, any expression hidden by his thick beard. Then he turned on her. “Who are you?”

Maisie startled at the bluntness. “Pardon?”

A couple of the elders in the rows in front of them definitely leaned back into their seats.

“I assume ‘Moo Moo’ isn’t your real name?”

Her eyes widened as her stomach fell with embarrassment. She’d hoped to forget that he knew about that.

Okay, it’s fine. Just start over.“I’m Maisie, Vera Moss’ granddaughter. I just moved in with her.” Which made her sound thoroughly pathetic for her age.

Iain got a look in his pinched eyes—would he stop scowling for just one second—and hummed. “That makes sense.”

Maisie recoiled. “What does?”

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