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Two wandering souls, one farting dog, and a love story no one saw coming.
Nancy
St Claire is the kind of Yorkshire village where the sheep outnumber people, and the most exciting event of the week is spotting the postman twice. Don’t get me wrong, I love my cosy life as a freelance marketing expert, but sometimes I feel like a hermit in yoga pants. That’s why I decided to shake things up and start a walking group: The Ramblers of St Claire. The turnout? Let’s just say it’s… intimate. There’s Mrs Higgins, her dog (whose gas problem could be classified as a biohazard), and Luke, the village recluse who radiates grumpiness like it’s a competitive sport. Gossip about him is practically a local pastime, but I don’t care. What I do care about is the fact that he looks like someone dragged him here against his will. Cheerful walking buddy? Definitely not. Mystery man who might just need a nudge to lighten up? Challenge accepted.
Luke
I moved to St Claire for peace and quiet. What I got instead is nosey neighbours, endless gossip, and writer’s block the size of the Dales. My next crime novel is overdue, my editor’s losing patience, and I’m completely out of ideas. So when I see an ad for a walking group, I think, “Why not? Fresh air, inspiration, a chance to study local characters.” What I didn’t count on was a group that’s more like a comedy trio: one eccentric pensioner, her farting dog, and Nancy—the walking embodiment of sunshine. She’s too chipper, too chatty, and far too determined to make me smile. Honestly, it’s infuriating. But also… strangely refreshing. Maybe she’s just what I need to crack my next story—or at least survive this village with my sanity intact.
