Page 59 of Autumn at the Willow River Guesthouse
‘Just be ready to grab her if she makes a run for it.’
‘Will do.’
She could have taken the bike, but she wanted to talk to Michael as they walked together up the cycle path towards the annexe. Michael, taking one look at the hamper, had insisted on carrying it, although he did allow Lily to hold a separate bag containing a flask and three coffee cups.
‘So, what is it you do?’ she asked as they walked side by side along the cycle path, red and gold leaves fluttering through the air around them.
‘I hassle people who haven’t paid their TV licenses,’ Michael said.
‘Oh.’ Lily couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed. While she hadn’t wanted him to be some mountain explorer or secret agent, there was comfortably boring, and then there was just plain dull.
‘Not really,’ he said. ‘I’m a travel writer.’
‘Really?’
He nodded. ‘I suppose writing runs in my family, although I’m not famous or anything like Mother is. I do commission work for various guidebooks, a few articles for the BBC, places like that. Mostly UK-based stuff, small town, regional things. I’m actually working on my own book right now, about small town Britain.’
‘That sounds awesome.’
‘Hence the bike. Most tourists flit through a place in a couple of days, seeing only the main sites, but if you take your time a little, go a little deeper … there’s all sorts of interesting things you can learn. Everyone is in such a scramble to be heard these days. Not enough people are prepared to listen.’
Lily nodded. ‘Sounds familiar.’
‘And what about you? Did you decide to work in the family business?’
He said it without any hint of condescension, as though waiting tables at the Willow River Guesthouse was the most honourable job in the world.
‘For now,’ she said. ‘It’s only been a few weeks, though. Before that I was living in London.’
‘Really? What did you do there?’
He sounded so interested. Lily found herself talking and talking, starting with the basics, before going deeper, talking about her run of bad luck, Steve, her job, losing her flat, deciding to come back and reset.
Never once did he look bored. He watched her as she spoke, occasionally asking questions to clarify, nodding along and returning comments here and there.
‘I’m sorry,’ Lily said at last, when she looked up to find they were standing outside the annexe. ‘I must sound like one of those talkative types you were saying about.’
‘Not at all,’ Michael said. ‘Sometimes we need to get things off our chest. I think you did the right thing, by the way.’
‘With what?’
‘With all of it. And take your time before deciding what to do next. Maybe you’ll want to return to the financial sector, or maybe not. There’s no rush, though.’
‘You sound like a therapist.’
Michael lifted an eyebrow. ‘That’s too bad. I was hoping I sounded like a friend.’
‘You do—I didn’t mean—’
Michael put a hand on her arm and laughed. ‘Relax, Lily.’
His touch sent a shiver through her, and the way he said her name sent another. Lily felt like she was losing her mind and heart all at once, and part of her wanted to rebel against it.
‘Tell me something bad about you,’ she said quietly. ‘I want to know you’re not … not … perfect.’
‘Oh, I’m definitely not that,’ Michael said with a smile. ‘How bad?’
‘Really bad.’
