Page 13 of Twisted Paths

I should have seen that coming.

I keep my gaze ahead, shrugging slightly. “I’m a lawyer.”

Not technically a lie. I was a lawyer. It just hasn’t been true for a long time.

She nods, seemingly satisfied. “Still working, or did you move up here to escape it all?”

A loaded question, that might require more hiding the truth.

I exhale lightly. “Bit of both.”

Nancy hums thoughtfully, as if weighing whether to push for more. Then, thankfully, she just nods again. “Makes sense. I imagine it’s a stressful job.”

I give her a vague, noncommittal noise.

I don’t really tell people about my books anymore. The moment they find out what I write, some get all condescending, others start picking apart everything I do, and then there are the ones who suddenly want in, offering cover art, editing, proofreading, or even pitching ideas they think I should write, expecting a cut of the royalties.

Once, I was even dragged to court by a woman I’d been dating. She claimed I’d stolen my book idea from her. Took me ages to prove my copyright and that she’d had absolutely nothing to do with it.

So, no.

As far as St Claire is concerned, I’m just another overworked lawyer trying to live a quiet life in the countryside.

Nancy nods ahead at the path. “Well, you’re certainly getting a change of scenery here.”

I glance at the rolling hills and the stretching sky.

“Yeah,” I murmur. “Bit different from London.”

Silence settles between us again.

The path stretches ahead, curving gently along the hillside. Beyond it, the land folds into rolling green fields and the odd yellow spot of rapeseed. The breeze stirs the grass, carrying the faint scent of damp earth and heather.

Nancy walks with an easy, steady rhythm, her gaze shifting between the scenery and the path ahead. She seems content enough with the quiet.

For a while, at least.

“So,” she says, drawing out the word like she’s testing the water, “if you’re originally from London, what made you pick Yorkshire?”

I could tell her the truth. That I was burned out, that I was sick of the noise, that I needed space to breathe and Philip’s husband knew someone who was selling what is now my house.

But that sounds too much like a confession.

I shrug. “Felt like a change and St Claire was the best offer I could find.”

Nancy gives a small, amused hum, like she doesn’t entirely believe me but isn’t going to press. “That’s a very non-answer.”

I smirk slightly. “It’s a very non-exciting story.”

“Fair enough.” She kicks a loose pebble along the path. “It’s just that people don’t usually end up here by accident.”

I glance at her. “And you? Born and raised?”

She nods. “Grew up a few villages over, but I’ve been here for years.” She tilts her head slightly, looking out over the fields. “Always liked this place. It’s got the right balance. Quiet, but not too quiet. Friendly, but not… overly friendly.”

I arch an eyebrow. “So you’re saying I won’t have to fend off people knocking on my door with homemade jam?”

She laughs lightly. “Not unless you specifically ask for it. Though I wouldn’t put it past Mrs Higgins to turn up with a matchmaking agenda disguised as a Victoria sponge.”

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