Page 6 of Knots About You
Everything looked the bloody same. Hedges and stone walls and darkness and so many puddles masquerading as tarmac. Streetlights were nonexistent, and somewhere to my left, wavescrashed, adding to the din of the storm. If I listened hard enough, it almost sounded like the sea mocked me. Stopping would mean admitting defeat, and giving up wasn’t in my wheelhouse.
By the time I saw glowing lights through the wind-whipped trees, I didn’t give a damn who lived there. It was shelter, and I was like a waterlogged terrier in need of a vigorous towelling down. My suitcase dragged behind me like a stubborn toddler, leaving me cursing all the way down the lane. A large sliding door stood open enough for me to shimmy into. It wasn’t a house, but an outbuilding. But it was warm, had lighting, and seemed deserted. Perfect. A hand-painted sign that read ‘No Smoking’ greeted me, along with towering stacks of wooden barrels.
I hoped they didn’t contain bodies. It would be just my luck to stumble on some small-town serial killer.
Collapsing against a barrel, I leant my head back and took a long, shuddering inhale. The place smelled of wood and warmth, like a cosy little pub with a log burner. God, I hadn’t been in one of those for years. I’d abandoned country pubs for wine bars years prior. The rows upon rows of fat-bellied barrels stretched as far as I could see. Looming like giants over me, they seemed like a perfect place to either be murdered or find warmth, and I had little choice but to hope for the latter. The air was sweet, filled with... a hint of smoke, fruit, maybe a whisper of vanilla? Like how I’d imagine a dusty, dried-up orchard might smell.
‘Okay,’ I told the barrels. ‘I just need to ride out this storm. Don’t go falling down and squashing me or anything.’
My socks squelched as I pulled off my boots, upending them so the water streamed out and formed a puddle beneath. At least I had a suitcase full of warm clothes. I tugged at the zip with my frozen fingers until it split open, spilling my clothes onto the concrete floor. Picking up a jumper brought awave of annoyance. It was soaked through, sending thick drops splashing into my boot-puddles. As cute as my designer luggage might have been, I should have opted for something more sturdy than the floral fabric piece. I hugged myself, which paled compared to being embraced by someone else, but I was once again alone. That’s why I’d clung onto Marty for so long. Why I’d believed all his next weeks and a future where we wouldn’t have to hide our relationship. At least I hadn’t been alone. And Marty had fit the person I was striving to become: the slick, organised city girl with everything just right. Not the complete mess underneath. I closed my eyes, took a breath, and immediately burst into tears.
Not small, elegant sniffles, but an unstoppable outpouring. All of it leaked from my face. The day. The week. The whole stupid set of choices that led to me standing in a barn in the middle of nowhere, wearing a raincoat that failed its sole purpose.
Movement outside had me swallowing down a sob.
I sat bolt upright as the door rolled open. A lone figure filled the doorway, large and gruff. Broad shoulders beneath a rain-stained jumper, and rain-plastered hair touching his cheekbones. My breath seized in my chest as I shrank back under his stare.
Please don’t be a serial killer.
Please don’t lock me in a barrel.
‘Hello,’ he said in a gravelly voice that lilted with a Scots drawl. Holy pants moistening batman. ‘You all right?’
‘Yes,’ I lied. Then hiccupped and made a noise that was part laugh, part farm-animal. ‘No. Obviously, I’m about five light-years from fine. Sorry. I’ll just… sorry. Am I trespassing? It was just so bloody wet outside, and everything looks the same, and the taxi driver booted me out in the middle of the road?—’
He slid the door shut behind him while raising a brow at me. The massive man hit a button on the wall that filled the barn with harsh yellow light, making the stacks of barrels look even taller. Leaning back against the wall and folding his thick forearms, the man eyed me from top to soggy socks. Not like I was a burglar, more like I was a stray sheep that needed to be herded off his property.
‘You’re fine.’ He ran a hand through his short beard. ‘Can’t blame you for ducking out of the storm.’
‘So… you’re not going to call the police?’ I wiped my tears on the back of my wet sleeve, only smearing them around more.
The man chuckled and shook his head. ‘The officers will be at least three beers in down at the Tipsy Otter, and you look like a night in the cells is the last thing you need.’
And something in me broke at the soft, kind way he spoke. All throaty and steady. Like it would take far more than a storm to rock him.
‘It took three trains to get even anywhere close to this place, and then the taxi driver said there was to many puddles to go through, and ejected me at a junction with a sign for the village, and it was dark and scary and…’ I paused to breath, but only succeeded in letting out a choked squeak before tumbling into more harried words. ‘and the place I’m meant to be staying won’t answer the phone, because there’s no signal out in the land that the world forgot, and I don’t do the countryside, I do Ubers and tubes and takeaway food and wine bars, and I can’t feel my toes, and my socks are… they’re…’ I held up a foot. ‘They drip. Socks shouldn’t drip. And I’m here in your… barrel-y… place. And you look nice, but you might be planning to turn my thighs into your curtains, and that would be justtypical. Just so bloody typical.’
He listened without a word. He didn’t smile, which I appreciated because if he had found my plight amusing, I might have had to turnhiminto curtains.
‘Right, are you finished?’ he asked, when my sobs had given way to sniffles.
I nodded, feeling like a prized idiot for unloading on the poor stranger.
‘First things first.’ He crossed the space in four long strides, crouching so his eyes were level with mine. Two giant hands settled on my upper arms, warm even through my soaked coat. I flinched from the sudden touch until I relaxed into it. His eyes were the most vivid shade of green and practically hypnotised me into calming the heck down.
‘Breathe. In. Hold it. And out.’
His tone was firm yet gentle, like a command wrapped in a blanket. For once in my life, I didn’t fight a demand.
In. Hold. Out.
The storm roared on outside while the stranger held me. His thumbs rested on my biceps, and my brain, the traitor, noticed things it had absolutely no right to be noticing, given my current state of dishevelment. The absolute plate-sized hands. The way his jumper stretched across his shoulders, and how the sleeves were pushed up, exposing veined forearms. A scar near his eyebrow, from his work or being a ruffian, who knew. The way he smelled like rain and whisky, which made my stomach do somersaults.
‘It’s all right.’ He dropped his hands but remained crouched in front of me. ‘I can guarantee I’ve neither the time nor the patience to be turning you into curtains. You’ve had a bit of a day, and wet socks would make the sunniest person swear. We’ll sort you out.’
Good god. Was this… a competent male? I’d long given up on believing they existed. He might as well have been a flipping unicorn. I stared at his mouth for seconds too long, considering proposing to him on the spot. When he cleared his throat, it brought the world into sharp focus. I was being ridiculous.
Something orange tore through the gap between us.
