Page 117 of Candy Hearts, Vol. 2

CHAPTER 1

NOLAN

“Ouch!” The first reminder I have that I’m not in my own home is hitting my head on the low door frame. I might have remembered to duck if it had been fully light or I’d switched a lamp on, but I did none of those things while needing to pee in the half light of the pre-dawn. Rubbing my head, I navigate the rest of my way to the bathroom—ducking for this door—and manage to relieve my bladder without any further problems.

My head is throbbing, so the chances of falling back to sleep until some decent hour of the morning are slim to none. I might as well have some coffee instead. I did want an early start this morning, just maybe not this early. I pull on some sweatpants and try not to fall down the ridiculously steep staircase to the kitchen.

I thought the cottage was quaint when I arrived late last night, and it is very charming. I just don’t think it was built for someone with my six-two frame. It’s only for a short while though, a few days away on my own and not brooding at home with the date mocking me. I used to like Valentine’s Day. I actually enjoyed the romance of it. I’m fairly romantic, or I used to be, and I’d try to make Valentine’s Day special. That was until last year. I’d thought it was the perfect day to propose to Cliff. After being together for five years I was more than ready to take the next step, we’d even talked about it. I’d planned the day down to the finest detail, right up to when I went down on one knee and proposed. Cliff’s look of shock that turned to embarrassed horror will be forever etched into my memory. I don’t remember his words, just his look, and then the sound of my heart being crushed as not only did he not want to marry me, he proceeded to break up with me. I spent months going over the few weeks leading up to that day, trying to work out whether I’d missed something, whether I’d been so caught up in planning the perfect proposal that I’d not noticed any signs. But if they were there I couldn’t detect them. In the end I had to move on. I’ve sworn off romance, and as for Valentine’s Day, it doesn’t exist. Which is why I’m in this tiny cottage, in this old-fashioned village, and far away from gift shops and grocery stores full of cards and balloons and heart-shaped boxes of chocolates.

I drink my first coffee looking out the window as the sun rises over the thatched roof of the pub across the green, and excitement at spending the day exploring and enjoying my hobby—photographing nature—starts to build.

When my best friend Mackinley suggested this to me, I scoffed at the idea. I’m a city guy; I’m used to the hustle and bustle and urban sprawl of the city. Though I can appreciate the wide open spaces and green landscapes for photography, I just don’t want to live amongst it. But Mac sold me on its charms, which makes me laugh, as although he grew up here in Larchdown, he hightailed it out as soon as he got his driving licence and in twenty years hasn’t returned. But with the lure of endless woods to lose myself in, and no one to bother me, it did sound appealing to take the cottage for a long weekend.

Despite being officially on holiday, I can’t resist opening my laptop and checking a few emails. It’s hard to switch off when you work for yourself. Well, I’m a senior partner in Relan Solutions, the company I started with another friend, Reece Fisher. I chuckle as I wait for my laptop to boot up. Reece would hate it here. He’s American, and according to him he fled the small town he grew up in the day after he graduated. He says he much prefers the ancient city of Oxford to the two-bit place in South Carolina he’s from.

Thankfully, there aren’t many emails in my inbox, just one confirming my meeting on Monday with Duncan Blake, a local architect and another reason why I agreed to let Mac talk me into this. Relan Solutions is a project management and engineering company, who usually specialise in urban and infrastructure projects. Getting a call about the development of a new polo ground with a hotel and spa complex was a surprise, but with the size of it, it wasn’t something we were going to turn down easily. The project is in the next town, Blackwood Heath, and I’m meeting Duncan and his client Gabriel on Monday to see if it’s within our scope. If it is, it’ll be an exciting contract to win and could open up the field of other commercial projects for us.

Happy that I can start my break with nothing outstanding, I close my laptop, keen to get outside. I decide to make another coffee to fortify myself while I get dressed. While the kettle boils, and I lament the lack of a proper coffee machine, I mull over what I should wear if I’m going to spend the whole day outdoors. Just myself, endless trees, grassy downs, and nothing to remind me of the worst day of the year.

As I start up the stairs, mug in hand, there’s a knock on the door. Frowning, I answer it. I got the keys from Pete, the owner of the cottage, at the garage last night. He’d confirmed payment had gone through, and no one else but Mac and Reece know I’m here.

I open the heavy oak door and stare into the greenest eyes I’ve ever seen. They’re the first thing I notice. The second, and far more prominent to be honest, is the huge bouquet of red roses he’s holding.

My body goes cold, but it’s not due to the fact I’ve opened the door wearing nothing but sweatpants in February, because that doesn’t explain the nausea roiling around in my stomach.

Is this some kind of fucking joke?