Page 12 of Crossed Paths (The Ramblers of St. Claire #2)

Bernard licks his lips with great ceremony and settles further into the grass.

Right. It’s time.

I clear my throat. “Pete.”

He looks over. “Yeah?”

“I’ve got to tell you something.”

He frowns slightly, tilting his head. “Go on.”

I set down the last bit of my sandwich, wipe my hands on a napkin, and take a breath.

“I’m seeing Alex.”

He blinks. “Yeah, I know. She said she’ll be at the pub later.”

“No.” I meet his eyes. “I mean I’m seeing her. As in... we’re dating.”

For a beat, there’s nothing. Bernard shifts, resting his chin on my boot like a stamp of approval.

Then Peter sits back slightly, brows pulling together. “Wait. What?”

“I’m serious.”

“You’re dating my sister?”

I nod.

He stares at me. Gobsmacked. Properly speechless for once in his life.

“I don’t understand,” he says slowly, shaking his head. “You’re dating my sister ?”

“We—bloody hell, Pete,” I say, heart hammering now, “I’ve been in love with her since—”

“ Love? ” he interrupts, eyes wide .

“Yes,” I say, steady and sure this time.

“Love. I know it sounds mad, but I’ve felt it for a long time.

I didn’t say anything because it wasn’t the right time.

First, we were too young. Then she was married.

And then she withdrew from the world, and she just wasn’t ready.

But now... she is, I think. And I don’t want to wait any longer, lose any more time. ”

Peter narrows his eyes slightly. “What do you mean, you think she’s ready?”

I open my mouth. “She…”

But I stop myself.

Because it’s not my story to tell.

Whatever Alex shared with me—about the hurt, the wreckage Darren left behind, the way she rebuilt her life carefully and quietly—it’s hers. And as much as I want Peter to understand, to see how far she’s come, it’s not mine to explain.

I let out a slow breath and try again.

“You know what Darren did to her,” I say, voice low. “How he made her feel like nothing. Like she couldn’t trust her own instincts. It’s only natural she needs time. Longer than most, probably. But she’s still here. She let me in. That means something.”

Peter doesn’t speak right away.

Just watches me.

Like he’s trying to work out if this is some mad joke, or the beginning of something real.

Bernard shifts again, this time nosing at Peter’s hand until he gives in and offers another morsel. It’s a strangely comforting presence—this old dog playing peacekeeper.

Peter finally speaks, voice quieter now. “Just… promise me you’re not taking the mickey. ”

I look at him, dead-on. “If you mean that I am trying to prank you, no. Of course not.”

He doesn’t look away.

“And if you mean mess around with Alex,” I continue, “then I swear to everything—I’m not. I’m a hundred percent serious. About her. About us.”

I pause, throat tight.

“She’s not just someone I care about, Pete. She’s my life. She’s my love.”

The words hang there, heavier than I expected.

And then it hits me.

I’ve said it—to him —before I’ve even told her .

I open my mouth to say as much, but before I can get the words out, there’s a sound.

A low, unapologetic pffrrrrt followed by a moment of stillness. Confusion. A brief, naive hope that maybe it was the wind.

Then the smell hits us.

Fucking hell!

It's like someone cracked open a vat of sulphur and despair. The stench is immediate and unforgiving—ten rotten eggs, a dead badger, and a hint of something that might once have been vegetable matter but now belongs in a cautionary tale.

We both lurch back in unison, faces twisted in horror.

“Bloody hell,” Peter gasps, grabbing the rest of his Scotch Egg and stumbling upright.

I follow suit, scooping up my sandwich and nearly tripping over Bernard, who remains blissfully unbothered, stretched out like a small hairy grenade of pure chemical warfare.

We stagger several feet away, eyes watering, barely able to look at each other.

We stare at the dog, then at each other, then back at the dog.

“That came out of him?” I whisper, as if Bernard might detonate again if spoken to too loudly. I should have known when he set off a stink bomb on our first walk, but back then I naively thought it had been a one-time incident.

Peter shakes his head slowly, awe-struck. “That dog needs a different diet.”

A familiar chuckle bubbles up behind us.

Mrs Higgins, cardigan flapping in the breeze, appears at our side. “Oh, I see Bernard’s made himself known,” she says brightly. “He’s toxic, isn’t he?”

She strolls over, utterly unfazed, and pats him affectionately on the head. Bernard gives her a lazy blink, tail thudding once against the grass like he’s proud of himself.

Peter and I look at each other again, still holding our half-eaten lunches like we’ve just escaped a biological hazard zone.

“New spot?” I suggest.

“Other end of the fell,” Peter replies with a grin.

We relocate with purpose, settling as far away from Bernard as the landscape allows. The view’s not quite as nice, and the wind’s stronger here—but we can breathe.

And honestly, after that, we need the oxygen.

“Pete, I haven’t told her yet,” I say, scrubbing a hand over my face.

“What? Sorry, I have no clue what we last talked about before Bernard happened,” he sighs .

“I haven’t told her that I love her. Not like that. Not in those words.”

He opens his mouth, probably to ask why the hell not, but I cut him off.

“Don’t say anything to her. Please. I need to tell her myself. When it’s right. When she’s ready to hear it.”

He studies me for a moment, the wind rustling the grass around us.

Then he nods. “Alright. My lips are sealed.”

“Promise me.”

“I promise.”

I exhale in relief and glance down at the half-eaten sandwich on my lap, appetite long gone.

After a beat, I glance sideways. “So... we good?”

Peter doesn’t answer immediately. He picks at a stray crumb on his knee, then gives me a look that’s half smirk, half warning.

“We’re good,” he says. “But if you hurt Ally—”

“Yeah?”

“I’ll set off ten thousand bed bugs in every room of your hotel.”

I laugh, properly this time. “You’ve been watching too much telly.”

“I mean it,” he says, though his mouth twitches. “The vindictive energy I’ll bring will haunt your TripAdvisor reviews for the next decade.”

I shake my head, grinning despite the lump still lodged somewhere between my chest and throat.

But then his tone shifts.

“All joking aside… if you’re serious about her— really serious—I’ll back you. Both of you.”

I meet his eyes. “I am.”

He nods once. “Then I’m in your corner. But if you break her heart—"

He keeps the warning unspoken. I know this would be the end of our friendship. But I am not worried because I am not planning to do anything that could hurt her. I feel lighter now. Relaxed.

Peter’s not just given me permission.

He’s given me his blessing.