Page 52 of Moonlit Nights & Northern Lights
I didn’t trust him not to snoop. My phone was like a crime scene—revealing far too much about me. Not because there was much to find, but because of what wasn’t there: no group chats, or social media. A couple of messages from my work buddy George planning our occasional hiking trips. The camera reel housed photos of landscapes only.
And then there were the notes. Dozens of them, fragments of poetry I’d written late at night when sleep wouldn’t come. Words I’d never show anyone, certainly not Rory Thorne, who’d have a field day if he discovered “Detective Dickface” wrote sonnets about moonlight and longing. Christ, I’d never hear the end of it.
“If you’ve got porn in a locked folder, Felix can totally hack into that, by the way. Trust me, I have experience. I think I scarred him for life.”
I threw my charging wire at his face.
Then, as if a miracle had decided to bless me, I spotted a sign by the roadside. “Oh look, a B&B.”
“Especially when he saw the one of—”
“Please don’t.”
I knew he was only winding me up—that goddamn twinkle was back in his eyes again, the corners of them doing the crinkly thing.
I turned off the motorway, navigating down increasingly narrow country lanes. Each twist in the road seemed to heighten Rory’s restlessness. His fingers drummed against the dashboard, tapping out an irregular rhythm.
He’d somehow managed to resist asking the “are we nearly there yet” that looped around his mind.
Finally, we pulled into a tiny village—barely more than a cluster of stone buildings huddled around a single main street. The sign for “Heather’s Haven B&B” swung gently in the evening breeze, its paint faded but welcoming.
I parked in the small gravel lot beside the building. Rory was out of the car before I’d even switched off the engine. He remained outside as I entered the B&B’s tiny reception room to find it empty.
After ringing the small brass bell, I cast my eyes over the numerous tourism leaflets scattered all over the place. Through the window, Rory stretched his arms above his head like he was trying to touch the sky. The fading sunlight caught in his hair, turning it to gold as he tilted his face upward, eyes closed.
“Can I help you?”
I almost jumped out of my skin. Turning, I found a cheery-looking woman behind the desk.
“We need rooms for the night,” I said, glancing back through the window where Rory had wandered over to examine a weathered stone wall, running his fingers along the moss-covered surface.
“Beautiful view, isn’t it?” the receptionist said, and I snapped my attention back to her.
“Yes…”
“How many rooms?” she asked, tapping at her computer. “We have two left.”
I hesitated, then felt confused at myself for hesitating. “Umm… yes, two…”
What the hell was that pause for? I needed two rooms. Of course I needed two rooms. One for me, one for Rory. Separate. As they should be.
The receptionist looked at me curiously, her gaze drifting to the window where Rory was visible. Her eyes flicked between us, a small smile forming on her lips.
“You sure about that?” She winked. “You don’t look sure.”
“Yes, I’m—”
She suddenly started bashing her keyboard with theatrical force. “Oh, silly me! Honestly, I think I need my eyesight checked. I’m afraid we actually have just the one room available, sir. With one bed.” At this, she sighed dramatically. “Though itisqueen-sized.” Another wink, more obvious this time.
I stood there, stunned into silence, as she slid a key across the counter. My brain offered precisely zero helpful responses. I should have corrected her. I should have insisted on checking elsewhere. I should have done anything except stand there like an idiot while she assumed Rory and I were—
Christ.How was Rory goingto react?
“Breakfast is served between seven and nine,” she continued cheerfully, then proceeded to witter on about this and that, including countryside walks and the dinner menu that evening.
I nodded mechanically, my fingers closing around the key as my brain struggled to catch up with what had just happened.Tell her you need the other room.But my mouth refused to form the words, and my tired brain started replaying the entire scenario, wondering if maybe I’d imagined the winking, that she did only have one room after all.
I stepped outside, the key heavy in my hand. Rory had wandered over to a small patch of grass where Freddy was now scampering around his feet, the ferret’s matted fur almost blending with the ground.
