Page 37 of Twisted Paths

I crack my knuckles, take a sip of tea, and start typing.

For the first time in months, the words come easily.

The sound of my phone ringing jolts me out of my head.

I blink at the screen, adjusting to my surroundings like I’ve just surfaced from underwater. The tea next to my laptop has gone stone cold. The toast plate sits untouched, a sad, abandoned crust on the edge. My fingers ache slightly from typing, and when I glance at the screen, I realise—

Five chapters.

I’ve written five whole chapters without stopping, without thinking about anything else, without second-guessing every damn word.

That hasn’t happened in… longer than I care to admit.

The phone keeps ringing.

I roll my shoulders, ignoring the strange buzz of satisfaction in my chest as I answer. “Philip.”

“Well, hello to you, too,” comes the familiar voice, bright and far too energetic. “I was just calling to check in, but you—” he pauses for dramatic effect “—sent me an outline. An actual, well-structured, coherent outline.”

I rub a hand over my face. “That is usually the goal.”

“Luke, I mean this in the nicest possible way, but it’s been months since you’ve sent me anything that didn’t sound like a man on the verge of setting his laptop on fire.”

I exhale through my nose, leaning back in my chair. “So, you like it?”

“Like it?” Philip lets out an actual cackle. “Luke. A modern, dating, forty-something vicar solving a murder in a small Yorkshire village? A woman of faith who drinks cocktails, goes on bad dates, and has opinions about the state of the world while also solving crime? This is brilliant.”

I smirk slightly. “You think?”

“I know. It’s sharp, it’s clever, and it’s different enough to keep people hooked. It’s still got your usual darkness, but there’s… something else in it. A spark. Where the hell did this come from?”

I stare at the screen. The cursor still blinks at the end of my last sentence.

Nancy’s face flickers through my mind.

The way she had looked at me last night, completely unafraid of wanting me.

I clear my throat. “It just… came to me.”

Philip scoffs. “Oh, suddenly we’re being mysterious?”

I lean back in my chair, rubbing a hand over my jaw. “I joined a walking group.”

There’s a sharp silence.

Then, Philip lets out an actual gasp. “I’m sorry, you what?”

I sigh, already regretting saying anything. “You heard me.”

A delighted laugh bursts through the phone. “Luke Evans, voluntarily engaging in an outdoor social activity. Walking. With other humans.”

I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Yes, Philip.”

“Like… on purpose?”

“Yes.”

“You weren’t kidnapped? Drugged?”

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